china blossom
by
margaret moore

Margaret Moore says that the first great love of her life was Errol Flynn.
"Naturally I was devastated to learn that he died when I was three years
old," she admits, but adds that her interest in historical romance writing
developed from that early fascination.  Margaret lives in Scarborough,
Ontario, Canada, with her husband and two children.  When not in her basement
at the computer, she enjoys reading and sewing.

CiHINA.

BLOSSOM

Margaret Moore

Recent titles by the same author:

A WARRIOR'S HEART

MILLS & BOON'

With thanks to Una O'Connor, Alan Hale, Edna Mac Oliver, Barry Fitzgerald
and all the other great supporting players who made movies so special for me,
and with love to Bill, Steven and Amy.

Chapter One

"If you please, sir, a note came for you.  Important, the boy said, sir."

Having to strain to hear the barely audible voice of the maid on the other
side of the heavy.  oak door annoyed Darcy Fitzroy almost as much as the
unwanted interruption.

"What boy?"  he called out, trying to get his necktie in a proper bow.  Damn
stupid thing.  Maybe he'd have to get a valet, but he detested the idea of
having somebody hovering around as he dressed.  One of the most important
things about being wealthy was the privacy money could provide.

"The ship's boy, fro TM China Lady, he said, sir."

"Why didn't you say so?"   Darcy demanded, his eXCitement not evident in his
voice as he strode to the door.   China Lady had been due to dock in
September, and it was now nearly the beginning of April.   Even he had begun
to fear that the ship had gone down with all hands somewhere between Canton
and England, despite his faith in Captain Driscoll and his outward calm when
the investors came calling.

He threw open the door.  The timid maid, who stood trembling on the threshold
as if she expected him to gobble her up like an ogre in a fairy tale, held
out a note.  He took it, recognizing Captain Driscoil's round, large letters
on the outside.  Without another word, he slammed the door shut and walked
toward the lamp.

He opened the letter, glad Captain Driscoll wrote as clearly as he issued
orders aboard ship.  Darcy's early years had been spent on sailing ships,
which didn't leave much time for reading and writing.  Even yet, he could
read latitude and longitude.  more easily than many people's written words.

"Fitzroy," the note said, "God-awful bad weather this voyage.  Now come at
once and take this cargo off my ship or I won't be responsible."

Darcy felt relief and joy as he stared at the note.  No doubt the voyage had
been perilous, which would explain the extreme terseness of Driscoll's note,
although the cap; tain was not a man given to loquaciousness.  Darcy could
guess why Driscoll was so anxious to unload the cargo.  Mitchell, his
business agent in Canton, must have followed orders and compelled that rascal
Wu Wing Toi to pay his debt of almost one thousand pounds--in silver, not
trade goods.  A cargo of small, portable silver ingots would be risky to keep
safe, even from a usually trustworthy crew.

As Darcy took a moment to enjoy his pleasure at this good news, he Caught a
glimpse of himself in the huge gilt-framed mirror over the fireplace.  In
formal dress, he looked like someone only playing the part of a rich
merchant.  The sun-darkened skin of his face, the premature wrinkles around
his eyes from hours on watch at sea and the permanent calluses on his large
hands were evidence that he was not born into wealth.

The son of a wainwright and seamstress, Darcy had gone to sea at the age of
ten.  With a combination of guts and luck and shrewdness, he was now a rich
man.  With the safe, if late, arrival of China Lady, a very rich man.

It was about time he had some good fortune, he thought.  His last two rotten
turns of luck--the loss of one ship and the near wreck of another, which had
arrived when the markets were already flooded with tea and silk--had caused
many of his investors to think of abandoning him.  "Only Darcy's personal
assurances and his partner's facility for soothing panicking upper-class
fools had prevented financial disaster.

But now stock in Fitzroy Shipping would rise, he could pay off his most
pressing debts and his damned fainthearted investors would smile and say they
knew they'd make a profit all along.

Deciding to change and head straight for the ship, he began to tear off his
coat.  He tossed the note onto his dressing table, then caught sight of the
invitation there.

There was still the matter of Emmaline, who expected him at her party.

Lady Emmaline Whitmore was famous for redecorating one of the main rooms in
her London mansion every year just before the start of the season.  She made
it a point to personally supervise the workmen.  To be invited to one of her
dinner parties before the first of May added tremendously to one's social
status.

Darcy felt his pulse begin to quicken.  Emmaline was surely the most
accomplished woman he had ever had, in bed or out, and the fact that she was
married to a nobleman made the game that much more enjoyable.  However, the
thought of seeing China l.  xtdy, the finest vessel of his fleet, stirred his
blood even more than Emmaline.

He would go to the ship.  Perhaps there would be time to get to Emmaline's
later, after everyone else had left.  Her footman knew enough to let him in
no matter what hour.  Emmaline always found it more exciting knowing that her
idiotic husband slumbered in the next room while she and

Darcy made love, and Emmaline excited was something to experience.

He decided not to change and marched out of his room and down the stairs to
the entrance hall.  Powlett, by some second sense known only to butlers,
stood holding Darcy's cloak at the ready.

"Don't wait up.  I'm going to the docks first, then to

Lady Whitmore's.  I'll let myself in.  "

"Very good, sir."

Darcy knew that Powlett had probably guessed the nature of his employer's
relationship with Lady Whitmore, but the middle-aged manservant was much too
well trained to comment.

Blossom watched Ah Tup's trembling fingers as the maid put the finishing
touches to her mistress's elaborate coiffure She sighed and pushed aside Ah
Tup's hand.  "It is enough," she said softly, smiling up at her servant as
she tried to control the terror building inside her.

Soon she would be taken by the Englishman.

She closed her eyes and tried to draw strength from tl knowledge that she was
here on this stinking fan kow ship: to save the House of Wu Wing Toi.

It was her duty, as slave of his house, to do whatever he commanded.  Yet it
had not been his idea to give her to the Englishman to pay the vast debt.  It
had been hers.

She remembered only dimly the other ship and the man who was her father.
What she could recall as plainly as the cut of a knife in wax was the terror
of that day when her father had pushed her into the cupboard on the ship.
The terror in his eyes.  The awful sounds of the fighting.  The overwhelming
horror of being discovered by the pirates and seeing her father's lifeless
body lying in a puddle of blood.  Even now she could not blot out those stark
images.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the small sounds of Ah

Tup bustling about the tiny, smelly cabin.  They would both be pleased to be
off this ship.  The one called captain had insisted they stay inside for most
of the voyage, only allowing them on the upper deck at night.  Even when the
ship was in port, they hadn't been allowed to leave.  That had not troubled
them at first, but soon the idea of a fresh, cool breeze had come to mean
heaven.

"It will not be long now, I think, Mother," Ah Tup said brightly, using the
traditional form of address from servant to mistress.

Blossom forced herself to smile, and as always marveled at Ah Tup's ability
to see the best of every situation.  Silently she blessed Honorable Wu for
giving her Ah Tup as a final gift so that she would not be totally alone in a
strange and.  He had known that Ah Tup was her only other friend.  "

The girl's clever reSOurcefulness had proved a boon.  She had devised a way
to COOk proper meals using the oil lamp, a small wok and the store of
supplies they had smuggled on board, so that they didn't have to eat the
terrible food provided for them by the ship's cook.

Blossom sighed softly.  Honorable Wu had been kind and gentle to her from the
first moment he had seen her in the marketplace, with its strange babble of
Chinese voices and the new, exotic smells.  He stood out from the other men
staring at her, the men with wondering looks in their eyes--and something
else, something that filled her with nameless fear.  He had smiled with pity
and gentleness, and their friendship had been sealed in that first instant.

Her relief was indescribable when she realized she was to go with him, and it
lasted until until she arrived at his house.  One look at the women there,
and she knew she was no more wanted than a plague of locusts.

But Honorable Wu liked her and because of their friendship, he had defied his
tai tai, or wife, and kept her long past the age when most girl slaves were
sold to brothels or other men.

Honorable Wu's simplicity made him seem foolish in the eyes of other men and
his shrewish wife, who had never forgiven him for failing the Imperial
examinations that would have insured him a position in the government.

Blossom hated Precious Jade.  It had been she who had forced her husband to
borrow more and more money until he was so in debt that the venerable House
of Wu was threatened with destruction.

By then Blossom could understand Chinese well enough to know exactly what
Precious Jade was saying that day in the courtyard.  She was determined to
force Honorable Wu to sell Blossom.  Honorable Wu told Precious Jade why he
had bought the foreign devil girl: you could never trust foreigners.  If he
had the girl, she might be useful as a tool with which to bargain.  Precious
Jade, understanding bargaining more than anything else, believed him.
Blossom, understanding Honorable Wu, did not.  Yet the memory of that quarrel
stayed with her, until the terrible moment when she learned that the House of
Wu was about to be ruined because there was no more money.

If she could help Honorable Wu, she would.  She did.  She had asked him to
sell her to one of the foreigners.  They would pay more for her than anyone
else.  She was a house servant, not trained in the arts of pleas inga man,
but surely they would never know that.  It was common knowledge that in
intimate matters between men and women, foreigners were astoundingly ignorant.

Tears came to Blossom's eyes at the memory of that conversation.  He had only
looked at her, but she had seen that he understood her sacrifice.

Precious Jade, delighted at finally getting rid of Blossom, sent for Water
Lily, a famous concubine who owned many floating pleasure boats.  After hours
of subtle bargaining,

Water Lily agreed to instruct Blossom in some of the arts of pleas inga man,
thereby increasing her value.  She he-moaned the fact that Blossom's feet
were much too big to be beautiful, but wisely didn't mention the ugly scars
on BIossom's back from the many beatings.

Water Lily was a remorseless teacher.  She taught Blossom to serve food and
to sing, as well as instructing he ring several ways to arouse a man and how
to treat him when the moment of passion was past.

One day a barbarian in a long black hat and ugly black clothes that made him
look like a beetle arrived.  Honorable Wu, a terrible bargainer with Chinese
merchants, was easily able to match wits with the foreigner, and so Blossom
had been accepted.

Blossom stood up suddenly restless.  She would give much to be back with
Honorable Wu even if she was only a slave, and one with too-large feet at
that.  Surely he missed her, too, for she alone truly liked the thin, kind
man whose weakness was a too-generous heart.

Suddenly Ah Tup froze and they both heard the harsh sound of male voices in
the corridor outside their cabin.  Ah Tup, trying to smile and not quite
succeeding, spoke quietly.  "You are lovely, Mother," she said.  "He will
surely find you pleasing."

Blossom couldn't return the smile.  She was desperately trying to think in
English," going over and over the words Water Lily had told her.  Still, she
remembered with some faint hope, she was trained to speak to a man in many
different ways.

Suddenly the door crashed open.  Hurriedly, without looking up, Blossom knelt
on the floor and placed her forehead down, her arms outstretched, kowtowing
as she had been taught to do.  Behind her she could hear Ah Tup do the same.

"What the devil is this?"

To her surprise, she realized that the man was shocked, as well as very
angry, his anger spilling into his words like thunder in a storm.

"If you please, honorable lord," Blossom said, the words coming slowly but
coming nonetheless, "I, worthless woman though I am, am sent by Honorable Wu
to pay debt."

"English?  You speak' English?"

Still without looking up, Blossom answered, "Yes, honored lord.  She could
see his boots now, big black shiny boots planted wide apart.  The stance of a
proud man.  " Get up.  "

She obeyed but kept her eyes lowered to show that she understood her position
as a lowly, good-for-nothing fe,

male as Water Lily had commanded her in so many lessonS; "What's your name?"

"Fragrant Blossom, honored lord."

"Stop calling me 'honored lord' and look at me."  Slowly Blossom raised her
eyes.

He was like one of the gods, taller than any man she had ever seen.
Everythingabout him, from the furrowed brow to the broad shoulders swathed in
a black cloak to the powerful legs encased in tight-fitted coverings filled
her awe.

"You're not Chinese!"  The man walked around her, heavy boots slamming the
boards of the floor like the of the temple.

"No, honored lord."  The brief spasm of shame passed.

"Where are you from?"

To her surprise, she was actually understanding Somewhere, deep in the bottom
of her mind, the language of her childhood stirred and rose to the top like
mud from the bottom of a storm-tossed lake.  "I was born barbarian.

Then .  bad men take me.  Honorable Wu buy me.  That is all I know, honored
lord.  "

"Stop calling me 'honored lord," for God's sake.  "

" Yes, master.   "

"God give me strength!"  He stopped walking and now stood in front of her,
staring.  He reached out and took her chin in his hand.  Instinctively she
recoiled at the terrible impropriety of touching another's person.

But now you belong to this man, she reminded herself.  "I hope Mitchell has
an explanation for this," the man muttered as he let go of her and opened the
paper he had clutched in his fist.

As he read silently, Blossom studied his face.  He was not young, but not
old, either.  He lived well but had known sorrow, to judge by the lines in
his face.  Power and strength seemed to burn in him, flashing out from his
deep brown eyes.

She remembered what Water Lily had told her of strong men: they despise
weakness, seeing all too much of it in others.  Blossom smiled secretly.
Without meaning to help, Precious Jade had made her strong, beating and
berating her until she had learned to retreat inside herself and become deaf
to the harsh words if not insensible to the pain.

Besides, now she was more of the Middle Kingdom than a foreign devil, and so
was surely a match for any barbarian, even this one.

But her task would not be as simple as Water Lily had told her.  The older
concubine, who had met many foreigners, had claimed all Englishmen were weak
and as liable to cry tears as cry out when they reached the zenith, and that
even a third-class whore could easily please such a man.  This man would not
be so easy.

"Damn Wu!  How the hell am I supposed to accept a whore instead of a thousand
pounds?"

She heard the contempt in his tone and straightened indignantly "I virgin,"
she said the word carefully, having repeated it many times until Water Lily
had found her pronunciation acceptable, "and worth much silver."

The man's mouth twisted slightly in an expression Blossom could not quite
comprehend.  "So my agent tells me," he said.  "He says that if he had not
accepted you as the payment, Wu threatened to sell you to a brothel to get
the money he owes me."

The man believed it.  Blossom kept the pleased smile from her face.  Such had
been the story she and Honorable Wu had concocted, and that would make the
barbarians take.  Blossom.

The man's eyes narrowed, and Blossom feared her face had revealed too much.

"You're proud of being sold like a slab of meat or a piece of cloth?"  He
sounded disgusted.

Blossom began to wish Water Lily was here to help her.  "Yes, master.  Men
pay much for me, who taught many ways to bring men to the zenith."

He stared at her for a long moment.

"I'll be damned," he said at last, surveying her slowly.  For the first time
Blossom thought she saw what Water Lily called "the bloom of lustful
thoughts."

"Who's that?"   He gestured toward Ah Tup, who still kowtowed on the floor,
as unmoving as a frog await inga fly.

"She is Ah Tup, master.  My slave."

"We don't have slaves in England," the man said harshly, glaring at her until
she felt the tinge of a blush that she could not stop.  Why should she feel
shame, she wondered, when it was he who didn't understand the ways of
civilized people?

He looked around.  "Well, you can't stay here and that's for certain.  Pack
up and come with me."

Blossom nodded and turned to Ah Tup.  "Gather our things.  We are to go," she
said quickly in a strange amalgamation of English and Cantonese that only
they could understand.

"Ayee, of course, Little Mother," Ah Tup said, a relieved smile lighting her
round, smooth face.  Ah Tup was most unattractive, as Precious Jade was
forever pointing out, but her perpetual joy at simply being alive made up for
any shortcomings she might have had in beauty.  "I shall be happy to get off
this stinking hulk of rotten wood.  He is quite a man, isn't he?  Perhaps it
will take us both to satisfy him, heya?"

Blossom would have smiled, but she couldn't be sure that Ah Tup's joke might
not turn out to be the truth.  She stood still as Ah Tup hurried about making
a fine show of working.  In truth, they had never unpacked most of their
goods, not trusting the crew of the ship.

Darcy watched the little slip of a Chinese girl hurry about the cabin tucking
in silks and crockery as the taller, older girl remained motionless.  From
her imperious stance, he could well believe this girl-woman was used to
ordering slaves about.

He glanced at his "payment" covertly.  If he had to hazard a guess at her
age, he would reckon about twenty.  Old for a concubine in the Orient, so the
story about being a virgin was probably a lie.  If anything, she was no doubt
being given to him because she was getting too old to earn much money.

Who were the "bad men" who had taken her and taken her from where?  From
whom?  Sle didn't seem to recall, and her English was so stilted it had
probably happened many years ago.  A small seed of pity sprouted to life in
his heart.  What kind of life had she led, a slave in a foreign land?

He looked away.  He still didn't know what he was supposed to do with the
wench and her servant.  Driscoll had bluntly refused to have them another
minute on the ship even after Darcy had heatedly pointed out that he owned
the ship, not Drisco!  l.

He supposed he could put them up in a hotel, but he couldn't risk being seen
with two such females.  It would severely damage his reputation.  And only
that morning he had read a letter to the editor of The Times complaining that
the forthcoming opening of the Crystal Palace was leading to a dearth of
rooms in hotels and boarding houses, so it might not even be a simple matter
to find a lodging for them.

It would be even worse to take them to his house.  Ali though he held the
upper class in general contempt, he did plan to marry well one day, and if
the girls were discovered there people might assume that he had the
effrontery to establish a love nest without following proper form.

Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anyplace else to take the TM Mrs.
MacTavish, his housekeeper, could be trusted to keep quiet, as could Powlett.
He would keep his charges secluded in a bedroom until he figured out what to
do next.

At least it was night.  Perhaps he could get them inside his house without
being seen from the street.

They were standing there watching him.  "Come."  He watched the taller girl
as she moved toward the her gait in the narrow red silk gown swaying and Only
once before had he seen a Chinese woman.  She been put on exhibition over
twenty years ago.  young and on leave, but even now he recalled the
fascination he had felt staring at the poor woman's ibly tiny bound feet.

What if they had done this to her?  He couldn't another second to find out,
but quickly reached lifted her skirt.

Normal.  Small but normal.  He almost sighed until he caught the scandalized
expression on the face.  He didn't quite know what to say, so he didn't say
anything.

He turned away and saw the smaller girl valiantly try to hoist a huge trunk
onto her slender back.

He went over and took the trunk, lifting it onto his broad shoulders.  Ah Tup
was too stunned to speak .  for a minute.

"Ayee, Mother," she whispered as they followed him out the narrow door, "this
is a good sign.  Such strength!  In bed he will no doubt perform with much
vigor."

Blossom was thinking the same thing, but she signaled Ah Tup to be silent.
She wasn't sure if the man would like to hear them talking or not, so it was
best to be careful and speak little.

As they stepped onto the gently rocking deck, Blossom arid Ah Tup took in
deep gulps of air and then looked at each other in alarm.  How it stunk!
Worse than the ship.

The murky air, thick with a yellow fog, smelled like the farmers' fields
outside Canton, which were manured with human as well as animal droppings.
The air was damp and chill, and Blossom gathered her thin cloak more tightly.
She had worn her best silk brocaded garment to impress her new master.  She
would have done better to wear something less fine and more warm.  Voices,
harsh and angry, drifted to them like ghosts.

Ah Tup grabbed Blossom's arm.  "So many restless spirits!  This is surely a
terrible place."

Blossom swallowed hard.  She told herself she didn't believe in ghosts, the
perpetually angry spirits who could make a person's life miserable with their
tricks and wiles.

They followed the man down the narrow plank to the dock.  A group of
boisterous men passed by with their arms around women who could only be the
lowest class of whore possible, since they didn't even belong to a house.

Waiting on the wet, slippery street was a large black conveyance drawn by two
horses.  The man opened a door and motioned them inside.  Blossom looked at
Ah Tup but.  decided there was nothing else to be done but enter.

It was a stuffy, tiny little room with seats on the sides.  As Ah Tup joined
her, it shifted like a boat.  When the man came in, it jostled as if the boat
had encountered a high wind.  He barked something, then the vehicle began to
move.  Ah Tup stifled a little scream, and they both held tightly.

The man stared out the window, his face scowling.  "Where are we going?"  Ah
Tup whispered.

'To his house, I suppose," Blossom whispered back.  The man turned andJ
glared at her, his gaze running over her from head to fool Acutely conscious
of her huge feet, Blossom tried to tucl-them in a little more.  When he went
back to stating out the window, she murmured, " My feet.  "

Ah Tup nodded sadly.  It was a fact that Blossom's feet were much too big for
a lady of beauty, since never been bound.  Several times Precious Jade had
wrap B!  ossoni's feet in the long, eral times Blossom had torn them off,
despite the beatings and lack of food that inevitably followed.

Finally, however, Precious Jade had given up had tdumphed .  until she had
learned how ugly her rendered her.  By then Ah Tup had come to have spect for
the fan kow girl.  Something barbarian was stronger than the hardest iron and
more table than the mountains, whereas Ah Tup was to be alive.

There were many unhappy fates that lay in store female child.  For Ah Tup,
however, being a peasant from Szechwan, foot binding was not one of them.
Secretly she had always-been pleased to have ugly feet, since it kel' away
unwanted masculine attention.  Nevertheless she understood why Blossom was
trying to put her feet as far: under her gown as she could.

While Ah Tup thought about feet, Blossom covertly watched their new master,
trying to guess what he was like from his features.  She noticed the calluses
on his hands.  Honorable Wu had told her she was going to a wealthy man, but
clearly he had not always been so.

This knowledge made her a little happier.  She had no liking for the
smooth-skinned, pale hands of the rich men who had come to see Honorable Wu.
They always reminded her of the bellies of the fish waiting to be cooked.

Then Blossom noticed that the air didn't smell quite so bad.  As the strange
cart rolled along, the air began to get better with each passing moment.  She
took a deep breath and realized Ah Tup was doing the same.

"What is it?"  the man asked, looking at them.

Blossom felt rather embarrassed but knew she had to ' answer him.  "The ship
... too stinky."  She held her nose.

Suddenly the man grinned.  Only for an instant, but she felt strangely
pleased.  "I suppose it is, when you're below decks all the time."

The cart came to a sudden stop, and Blossom fell forward, almost landing on
the man's lap.  "Careful, there," he said, pushing her back.  His big hands
cupped her shoulders, then let go.  "Wait here a minute."

She nodded, feeling rather giddy.  It must be the fresher air, she thought.

"You have made a conquest, Mother!"  Ah Tup cried.  "I am sure of it.  His
face when he touched you!: If I had not been here, who knows...?"

Before Ah Tup could continue, the man returned.  "Come," he said, opening the
door and helping Blossom down.  Ah Tup, wearing loose-fitting trousers and
blouse, jumped down with no assistance.

The girls stared at the building before them, then turned to each other,
horrified.

"Ayee.t" Ah Tup whispered, "the secret arrow!"

Blossom nodded, looking in dismay at the angle of the street, which seemed to
point directly at the front door of the house before them.  Evil influences,
which always travel in a straight line, would surely flow directly at the
entrance, which, to make matters even worse, was on the same level as the
street.

"There should be a wall to turn back the sha," Ah Tup whispered fervently.

"What's the matter now?"  the man demanded.  "Perhaps it is better inside,"
Blossom answered quietly.

Once again Ah Tup began to lift the trunk, but again the man took it on his
shoulders and led them inside.

What they saw inside made their hearts sink.  Thehouse had the worst possible
design, one that would encourage evil sha to enter and that would also
prevent the beneficial chi from lingering.  There was a long hall with wooden
panels on the bottom of the walls and ugly patterned painting on the other
half, a hall that 'seemed to lead directly through the house.  A staircase
ran directly up on one side, with no turning point.  Ch'i would pass all too
quickly through such a house.

Other rooms opened off the corridor.  The man led them into the first one,
set down their trunk and told them once again.

Blossom looked at Ah Tup in dismay.  This place was incredible.  Although the
room they were in was large, was much too crowded with furniture, including
something like a strange table with its top tilted up.

A fire burned in the wall, kept in its place by an ornate screen.  There was
no mirror over the opening to keep the chi in the room, and although the area
seemed cluttered, it was with plants and other objects that she doubted had
any special meaning.  The chi would have no cause to linger, but would flow
away.  The paper on the walls, representing flowers, was the same everywhere
she looked, making a terrible monotony.  Heavy curtains were shut over what
she assumed would be tail, narrow windows.  Probably they faced north, the
least favorable direction.  Beyond the room they were in, she could see
another.

"It is like a tomb," she said softly to Ah Tup, who wasn't smiling.

"It is the very strangest place I have ever been in and has the worst feng
shui," she said solemnly, "but at least I think it is clean.,"

"Who could tell, with all the furnishings and rugs and ugly plants?  And what
do you suppose this is?"  Blossom went over to the strange table.  Little
white and black tiles sat on a part like a shelf.  Gently she touched one of
the tiles, then jumped back when the table made a noise.  Ah Tup came over
and also touched it, making a sound.  They looked at each other incredulously.

"That's a piano," the man's voice interrupted.

Movingaway from the thing guiltily, they watched him come in.  This time he
wasn't alone.  He was followed by a tall, white-haired woman who appeared to
have the biggest hips they had ever seen.

Quickly Blossom and Ah Tup kowtowed, certain this was either the man's tai
tai or his honorable mother.

BlosSOm risked a glance at the woman's feet but couldn't see anything under
the gigantic skirt.

"Mercy on us, Mr. Fitzroy!"  Mrs. MacTavish cried, her Scottish accent
broadened by surprise.  "They're heathens!"

"I haven't had a chance to question our guests on their religious beliefs."

As his housekeeper continued to stare, Darcy suddenly felt the corners of his
mouth begin to twitch with an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh.  Mrs.
MacTavish was the widow of a former shipmate, sixty years old, and
Presbyterian to the marrow of her bones.  She had a back as rigid as a spar,
a mouth as tight as a taut line and a sincere belief that cleanliness was
indeed next to godliness.  No matter what time Darcy summoned her, day or
night, she always looked the same: black bombazine dress, watch pinned to a
chest that looked so smooth and hard it could have been ebony, every
iron-gray hair in the proper place, and her large skirt as unwrinkled as a
full sail in a stiff breeze.  He sometimes wondered if she slept upright and
fully clothed.

He subdued the urge to laugh, and when he spoke, his voice was calm.

"Guests?"  Mrs. MacTavish repeated, looking at him.  "For now.  They arrived
on Ch/na Lady.  There's no place else for them to go, and it wouldn't be
proper Christian charity to turn them out on the street."

His words hit their mark.  "I suppose we could put the my in one of the spare
bedrooms."

Mrs.  MacTavish's gaze returned to the prostrate figures.  "Must they kneel
down like that, Mr. Fitzroy?"

"Get up," he ordered, and the one called Fragrant Blossom obeyed instantly.
Her maid followed her example.

"Mr.  Fitzroy!"  Mrs. MacTavish exclaimed when she saw Blossom's round blue
eyes.  "What's all this about?"

"It's a long story."  He hoisted the trunk again.  "Come."

He had decided the set of rooms intended to be a nursery, with a governess's
bedroom, a classroom and a smaller chi id bedroom, would be the best place to
put them.  Mrs. MacTavish and Powlett slept on the third floor, and the maids
and the footman didn't sleep in the house.

He led the way upstairs and past the master bedroom, followed by the girls
and Mrs. MacTavish, who was probably more rattled than she'd been in the past
forty years.

Upon entering the small, feminine bedroom, he set the trunk down with a thud
and began to leave as Mrs.

MacTavish spoke to Ah Tup.  "Now, if you'll come with me, I'll take you
upstairs."

Clearly Mrs. MacTavish had guessed, from the younger girl's demeanor and
dress, that she was a servant.  "No!"

Darcy turned around.  The servant girl looked terrified, and the older girl
was making a show of defiance, but underneath, in the depths of her blue,
blue eyes, he saw fear.  "Ah Tup stay with me,"

"There's quite a nice maid's room just at the top of the stairs," Mrs.
MacTavish said soothingly.  "She'll come back to help you undress."

"Ah Tup stay."

Blossom felt a growing sense of panic that she might be separated from her
friend.  If she were, who knew what might happen in this barbaric place?
Maybe she would never see Ah Tup's cheerful smile again.

Ah Tup sidled a little closer to her mistress's side and Blossom knew she was
frightened, too.  She glanced at the man, who was watching from the doorway.
Blossom spoke to him, ignoring the black and gray woman.  "I want Ah Tup
stay."

The man nodded.  "Very well.  It's too late to stand here arguing about it."

"But where will the poor girl sleep?"  the older woman asked.

Blossom couldn't believe the woman's stupidity.  "On floor," she replied, as
if instruct inga child.

The man shrugged his shoulders and left the room.

"Heathens!"  the woman exclaimed, going out and banging the door closed.

Blossom and Ah Tup smiled at each other, each feeling vastly relieved.  Then
they looked around the room.

It, too, was strange beyond belief.  It had paper on the walls with lines
running from floor to ceiling, like the bars of a cell.  There was a white
cupboard with doors, a table with a mirror over it and a stool.  But the
single most astonishing piece of furniture was the narrow iron bed.

"How are a man and a woman supposed to lie in comfort on such a thing as
this?"  Ah Tup asked incredulously.  She went over and pushed down on it.
"We!!"  it is soft, at least.  "

Blossom, too, couldn't quite see how she was to be sufficiently entertaining
on such a bed.  "Ah," she said after a moment's reflection, "undoubtedly I am
to go to the master's bed, heya?"

Chapter Two

The smoke from Darcy's cheroot spiraled 1owly around the bust of some dead
Roman on the mantelpiece, then curled upward toward the ornate ceiling of his
study.  Around him were mahogany shelves of leather-bound books, not one of
which he had read.  His large desk, covered by papers, stood nearby.

He sat in his favorite wing chair, holding a glass of whiskey he hadn't
tasted in the past ten minutes.  Usually he enjoyed being here surrounded by
costly but old furnishings, especially when the only light was the flickering
glow from the coal fire in the grate at his feet.  It was easy-to think in
this room, with its air of comfort and wealth, like the rest of the house,
which Darcy had chosen more for its fashionable address than its actual
design.  It seemed the embodiment of his long-held dream of money and
permanence.

Unlike many men who went to sea at a young age, the sea had never got into
Darcy's blood.  He was quite content to let other men captain his vessels,
perhaps because he could never forget that the sea was ultimately stronger
and more powerful than he would ever be.

Darcy took a sip of his whiskey.  If someone had told him this morning he
would have some whore and her maid in his house tonight, he would have roared
with laughter, or taken a swing at the jester.  However, such was indeed his
current situation.  He set down his glass, then absently ran his finger over
the long, thin scar on his right hand, the reminder of the last time he had
been with a whore.

That had been many years ago in Curao.  The woman had given him something to
drink that made him pass out, but he had come to in time to grab on to the
man trying to rob him.  The man had a knife and had almost killed hiTM, but
at least Darcy had got a good look at the pimp's face.  Darcy's ship had left
the port before he could find the man again, but the next time his ship
docked there, Darcy went searching.

By then the woman was dead.  But the thieving pimp was not--although he had
wished he was by the time Darcy had finished with him.

He had never gone with a whore again.  Instead he had devoted all his energy
to the accumulation of wealth and made a rather interesting discovery.  As he
had begun amass a fortune, he found that several married women more than
willing to satisfy his carnal desires.  For free.

Darcy finished his drink in one gulp, then inhaled dee pi on his cheroot.  In
the morning he'd write to Mitchell.  damn Wu couldn't get away with this,
sending must have been kidnapped in payment for his debt.

How had she come to be in that predicament?  Obviously she wasn't Oriental,
and her English had a British accent.  It was well-known that the Chinese
lacked the intelligence to learn English, although there were some who
claimed that the Chinese didn't learn English because they didn't think it
was worth the effort.

He'd get his partner to find out what he could about English families in
China.  Charles might even know how to go about finding information about a
girl who must have gone missing several years ago.

Of course he would have to come up with some reason for wanting to know about
such things.  The Honorable Charles Horton-Smythe had a marvelous head for
business and the best of connections, but also a tendency to be curious.  It
would be difficult to try to keep Fragrant Blossom's presence a secret, but
for now Darcy couldn't see any alternative.

Feelingas if he'd solved at least part of the problem of Fragrant Blossom,
Darcy stubbed out his cheroot, tiredness beginning to creep into every
muscle.  He got up and went to the stairs.  It was about time he went to bed.

Bed.  Emmaline!  He stopped abruptly.  Oh, God, she'd be angry with him.  He
frowned for a moment, then resumed going up the steps.  Well, he'd have to
apologize for missing her party and take her something, a ring or a brooch,
to show how sorry he was.

Not that he had any illusions that Emmaline would sigh over it and keep it in
some secret spot.  He had no doubt that she sold every jewel he gave her.

He had recognized her hunger for wealth the first time he'd seen her, perhaps
because it was something they had in common.  Already married to that idiot
Whitmore, she'd come to his shipping office with her husband like a
well-rigged-clipper tow inga barge.  He was, she said, thinking of investing
in one of Darcy's ships.  It hadn't take long to realize just who was in
charge of Whitmore's money.

He stopped again.  Emmaline might have some small house somewhere that he
could rent until he settled this business.  He would ask her, although he
wouldn't dare say exactly what he needed to "store."  If Emmaline ever got
terribly angry, she could make his social life extremely uncomfortable since
she wielded enormous power in that regard.

He paused outside his bedroom.  All seemed quiet.  Then he went in wand
halted confusedly.

Fragrant Blossom, wearing a white robe of silk so thin it was almost
transparent, waited at the foot of his bed.  As he stood there staring, she
kowtowed, but so slowly and gracefully that he had a long, lingering view of
her almost naked beauty.

She was exquisite.  His hands could probably circle her waist.  One of her
white breasts would probably fit snugly in his palm.

"What are you doing in here?"  he asked coldly but not unkindly.  She must
have been told to do this, to offer herself to him, by that old villain Wu.

She didn't say a word, but lifted her face and him.  He knew she would do
wanted.

He took one step forward, then caught sight of the cris cross of scars on her
back.  It looked as if someone gone at her with a cat-o'-nine-tails.

He looked into her eyes.  She was afraid.  Did she he would beat her, too?

"Get dressed," he said, "and go."

She stared at him, looking more terrified than ever.  "Go, I said."

As she got slowly to her feet, he thought he glimmer of tears in her eyes.
"I ... am ... not..  she whispered.

Not pleasing?  By God, in another instant he have given a damn who she was or
how she got there.  He would have thrown her onto the bed and made love to
hex,

He heard a small sound behind him and turned around to see her servant
standing in the doorway, The girl looked horrified.  She began to speak, not
bothering to keep her voice lowered.  It didn't seem to matter to them that
Fra grant Blossom would be discovered virtually undressed in a man's bedroom.

Fragrant Blossom answered mournfully.  Then she straightened, the action
making him all too aware of her breasts beneath the thin fabric.  "Why I not
please you?"  she demanded.

"Mr.  Fitzroy!"

Darcy spun around.  A shocked Mrs. MacTavish stood where the maid had been
moments ago, looking like an artist's depiction of Moses before he threw down
the tablets.  Fragrant Blossom and Ah Tup hurriedly knelt on the floor.

"She was here When I came in," Darcy said defensively.  "Well, I don't know
what those heathens teach their girls, but here in England..."  Mrs.
MacTavish gasped when she saw Blossom's back.  Quickly she grabbed the satin
coverlet from Darcy's bed and wrapped it gently around BIossom's shoulders.

"Ach, the poor wee thing!"  she murmured, shoot inga look at Darcy as if he
were somehow responsible.  "Beaten like that.  Oh, the poor hairn!"

"May I be of any assistance, Mr. Fitzroy?"

Darcy scowled at the appearance of Powlett in the door.  The butler wore a
brilliant scarlet robe, an equally brilliant nightcap and an expression of
complete calm.

Blossom, holding the coverlet around her, said, "My master's wife, I come to
pay debt of Honorable Wu."

 "Wife?"   Mrs. MacTavish went beet red.

"Mrs.  MacTavish is the housekeeper," Darcy said.

"She is servant?"  Blossom glanced at Ah Tup with something like triumph.

"In a manner of speaking.  Now go to bed."

Blossom turned to a puzzled Ah Tup and fired off a spate of Chinese.  Then
she began heading toward Darcy's bed, a smile of satisfaction on her face.

"Not my bed," he said, trying to ignore the scandalized expression on Mrs.
MacTavish's face.

"If you please, miss, I shall escort you to your room,"

the ever-unflappable Powlett intoned.

"What he say?"  Blossom asked.

Mrs.  MacTavish recovered.  "That won't be necessary, Mr. Powlett," she told
him.  She turned to Blossom.  "Come along, deary.  You're in England now,
thank the Lord, so you can forget whatever you've been told to do by those
idolatrous pagans."

Ah Tup started to speak loudly, obviously chastising Mrs. MacTavish.  Blossom
joined in, refusing to budge from her place in the room.

"If nothing more is required of me..."  Powlett be "You can't stay in
here..."  Mrs. MacTavish Darcy couldn't stand the noise and confusion moment.
"Get out?"  he roared.  "Everybody--out!"

Blossom and Ah Tup scurried away like two mice in pantry, Mrs. MacTavish
swept out with her skirts indignantly, and Powlett calmly and quietly closed
door

The whole episode reminded Darcy of the caught in a gale off Tortuga.  What
had happened to all hard-won peace and quiet?  How was he going to avoid
scandal?

Something was going to have to be done.  That was vious.  The question was,
what?

Slowly he undressed and climbed into bed, minus the coverlet.  He would try
to forget about all this business for now and get some much-needed rest.

Unfortunately, whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Fragrant Blossom, naked
and perfect.

He lay awake until almost dawn.

"You do not think I have lost face?"  Blossom asked Ah Tup worriedly the next
morning.

"Ayee-ah, surely not," Ah Tup replied as she slipped BIossom's shoes onto her
feet.  "You did the proper thing, but that awful Crow Woman, who clearly does
not know her duty, prevented you from fulfilling your duty.  If anyone has
lost lian, it is her.  What a terrible creature!  And as for that other
servant in the blood robe, hum I think he must be a eunuch."

"It is true I tried to do my duty," Blossom said, her brow still knit with
worry, "but perhaps I did a thing I ought not to have done.  Perhaps I should
have waited to be summoned, or perhaps the master expected to come here,
although" -- she frowned at the narrow bed "--his bed seems much more
suitable."

"Who can possibly understand these barbarians?"  Ah Tup said with a sigh.
"You remember nothing of these.  things?"

Blossom shook her head sadly.  ,"I was too little.  All I can remember is a
big room with long seats and my father at the front in a white robe.  Then
his death."

"Ah, well."  Ah Tup shrugged her shoulders.  "We.will have to learn.  Until
we do, I do not see how you can lose face.  These are not civilized people."

Ah Tup went to the grate and st'lrre the rice in the wok.  A delicious spicy
aroma filled the small room.

"We shall have to try to find out the ways here," Blossom said thoughtfully.
"Watch and listen until we know what is expected of us."

Ah Tup nodded and took the wok from the fire.

There was'a brief knock and the Crow Woman entered, carrying a large tray
filled with dishes.

"Merciful heavens, what's all this?  I've brought you some breakfast.
There's no need to cook in here.  You'll be setting the house on fire."

Blossom looked at her coolly.  Since this woman was merely a servant, she
didn't have to talk to her.

Mrs.  MacTavish set down the tray on the small table and left the room.
Curious, Blossom and Ah Tup examined the meal the woman had left.

"Do you suppose this is for all the servants?"  Ah Tup asked in wonderment.

"That must be so," Blossom said, for there was enough food on the tray to
feed ten hungry people.  "We must get to choose first, and then the others
afterward."

"But," Ah Tup said with a dismayed look, "who be expected to eat this?"

They stared down at the porridge, crisp bacon, toast, fried eggs, pots of jam
and honey and tea, with cream and sugar beside it.  Blossom glanced up at Ah
Tup.  Ah TuP looked back.  Together they turned away from the unpalatable
food.

Darcy set down his knife and fork and reached for his cup of tea.  He felt
absolutely wretched, as if he'd been double watch at sea.

The doors to the breakfast room opened, and in came Mrs. MacTavish, the keys
on her chat elaine jingling irritation.  Powlett, impassive, followed close
behind.  get her they stood at the opposite end of the table like so!  diers
on parade.

"Mr.  Fitzroy," Mrs. MacTavish said, "Mr.  Powlett and I would like to know
what is going on here."

Darcy stretched out his long legs under the table.  He couldn't say he was
surprised by their question.  After it wasn't every day a man brought home
two young girls:

"A Chinese merchant owed me some money.  This is his way of paying."

The full import of the payment--all too clear from the episode the previous
night--didn't escape either one of the two people standing before him.  Mrs.
MacTavish's eyes grew wide.  Even Powlett twitched an eyebrow.

Darcy nodded.

"But where did they come from?"

"Mitchell sent them on China Lady.  I think you'll agree that the one girl,
the one who obviously isn't Chinese, couldn't be left in Canton.  Who knows
what might have happened to her?"

Darcy didn't say what he suspected had already happened to her, or what Wu
had threatened to do if Darcy didn't accept her as payment.

"It's ... it's monstrous.t" Mrs. MacTavish cried.  "The poor thing!  How did
she come to be among those heathens?"

"Kidnapped, !  gather.  She doesn't seem to remember exactly."

Powlett cleared his throat.  "Is it your intention that they remain in the
house, sir?"

Darcy steepled his fingers.  "For now, until I can find someplace else.  But
I want them to stay in their room."

"She'll have to have some decent clothes, Mr. Fitzroy," Mrs. MacTavish said.

His housekeeper was right.  It would be impossible to move Fragrant Blossom
anywhere without attracting attention if she was still wearing those Oriental
robes.

Darcy reached for his wallet, then hesitated over the amount Mrs. MacTavish
would need to get Blossom suitably attired.  Like many self-made men, Darcy
was leery of spending extravagantly, and despite the Scots' reputation for
frugality, he had seen the presents Mrs. MacTavish sent to her family at
Christmas.  After due consideration, he pulled out two bills.  "That should
do," he said in a tone that didn't brook any protest, ignoring the displeased
expression on Mrs. MacTavish's face.

The maid scratched at the door and sidled inside, bear inga silver tray with
a card on it.  Powlctt took it from her and held the tray out to Darcy.

"It's Mr. Horton-Smythe," Darcy said after reading the card.  "Show him into
the study--and tell those girls to stay upstairs."

He pushed away from the table after his servants had departed and walked
slowly to his study.  Wu wanted this girl to repay the debt and, instead, she
was costing him even more.

When he opened the door to the study, Charles

Smythe turned quickly to greet him.  "By Jove, Fitzroy wonderful news, what?
China Lady back when we'd the worst, eh?"

As always, Darcy was struck by the air of subdued citement that emanated from
Charles.  It was as if the man were Compressed in a body too small to contain
his force and might explode any minute.  Even when Darcy had first met him
and Charles had been as drunk as a sailor on a one-day leave, Darcy had been
struck by the man's of vitality.

That, and his flamboyant manner of dressing.  For some.  : one from one of
the oldest families in the south of gland, Charles seemed to have a touch of
the carnival barker about him.  To be sure be wore black frock coats and
black trousers, but his waistcoats, like the bright red-and-yellow one he now
sported, could be glaring.

However, they made excellent partners.  Darcy hand leVi the shipping and
Charles took care of the contracts, money and the cultivation of investors.
The man way around a contract or a promissory note the way.  knew his way
around a clipper ship, and Charles the kind of people who had the money to
invest in shipping.  He had been to Eton and Oxford before the family fortune
was too seriously depleted by his drunken father and equally debauched older
brother.

Charles had proved his worth as a partner many times and had made his own
fortune.  It had always amused Darcy that the clever, amusing and well-bred
Honorable Charles Horton-Smythe had survived without some woman managing to
marry him, but perhaps he, too, was holding out for the most advantageous
match.

"Driscoll didn't say much about the voyage," Darcy said, sitting at his desk.
He gestured for Charles to sit down, too.

"Wish I'd known it'd arrived last night.  Creditors getting rather nervous.
That ass Whitmore even asked me about it after dinner.

"" I say," he says, taking a pinch of snuff, as if he needed any--nose
perpetually runningz even when we were at Eton together" --Hearing disturbing
news about your company, eh, what?  ""

Darcy's lips turned up slightly at the accuracy of his partner's imitation.

Charles shook his head rapidly.  "The man was born a hundred years too late.
Would have made an excellent country squire, you know.  Hunting and justice
of the peace and all that.  Anyway, I didn't reply, and thank heavens we
joined the ladies directly."

He gave Darcy a sidelong glance.  "You were conspicuously absent last night,
old man..  Lady Whitmore asked me especially where you were.  Put me in a bit
of stew, eh?  But we all assumed it had to be business, you being quite the
proper gentleman, what?"

Darcy smiled slightly.  It was, he knew, common enough knowledge that he
didn't frequent houses of pleasure or indulge in the more public vices of
drinking and gambling.

Charles shook his head.  "It's a mystery to me how Twitty Whitty managed to
capture a beauty like her, but I suppose having an income of a hundred
thousand pounds a year helps, eh?"

Darcy didn't respond.  Charles's words were close to the truth, but he didn't
like hearing Emmaline's situation put in such an unflattering way.
Emmaline's family were country gentry, but her marriage had placed her in the
upper echelons of society.  She wasn't the only one who gained, however,
because without her shrewd guidance, her poor fool of a husband would have
been impoverished years ago by his spendthrift ways.  With Emmaline secretly
at the helm, the Whitmore fortune had grown considerably.

Of Course, he realized, Charles had no idea she was Darcy mistress, or he
would never dare say such things.  "So, has that wily old Wu finally paid
up?"  Darcy cleared his throat.  "Yes."

"You don't look very pleased, Fitzroy."

"He didn't send it in silver."   "Oh?   Silk?"   "No."   ' "Tea?"   "No."
"Jade?"   "No."

"Well, what, for heaven's sake?"

"He sent ... a present, to me personally.  Something that can't be traded for
money."

                                      '

Charles salt, back in his chair.  "A present?  To you?"

"To me.   I 11 pay the debt from my own profit for this voyage."   There was
nothing else to do, although the thought of parting with a thousand pounds
was like losing a limb.

"Well, that's good of you, I'm sure, old man.  That'll make the bank very
happy."

"I want to go to the ship later and check the rest of the cargo.  Care to
come along?"

Charles stood up.  "No, thanks, old man.  Hate the smell of those boats,
don't you know?  Besides, I thought I'd run up to the bank and tell 'em our
ship's come in, eh?"

He laughed comfortably at his joke, which Darcy had heard every time one of
their ships arrived safely.

Darcy nodded.  "Fine.  I'll bring the manifest to the office later."  '

Charles got up to leave, then hesitated.  "I say, old man,

you're looking rather done for.  Feeling quite yourself?  " " I'm fine.  Just
tired.  "

"Oh, glad to hear it.  Till later, then, Fitzroy."

Charles hurried out the door, closing it behind him and letting out his
breath slowly.  Every time he was in Darcy's presence, he felt as nervous as
a schoolboy in front of the headmaster.

And every time he asked himself why he shOUld be intimidated by a man who had
come from nowhere, who had made his money in trade, who was his social
inferior in every way.  Why indeed.  except for the incontrovertible fact
that Darcy Fitzroy seemed to radiate raw power.

As Charles walked through the hall, he heard a rustle on the stairs above
him.  Turning quickly, he caught a flash of pink fabric and heard a door
close quietly.

Pink.  Mrs. MacTavish wouldn't wear pink.  The maids' uniforms were all black.

What was Fitzroy up to?  He already had Emmaline Whit-more for a mistress.
No wonder the man looked as if he hadn't slept a wink all night.  Probably
hadn't.

Perhaps he could find out from that little maid, the one who'd been so
extremely grateful for the job.  It was good business to know your partner,
and Charles knew everything there was to know about Darcy Fitzroy, or made it
a point to find out.

The not-so-honorable Charles Horton-Smythe smiled to himself.  Fortunately,
Fitzroy seemed unaware of that piece of practical wisdom.

Chapter Three

"I missed you last night."

The words were simple and innocent enough, but Em-ma line had long ago
learned how to infuse even the most innocuous statement with a wealth of
innuendo.  She considered it one of her major assets, along with a beautiful
face and a voluptuous figure that men had been noticing since she was eleven
years old.

Darcy, seated on a sofa in 'her well-appointed parlor, smiled.  His smiles
were rare, and so this one was a good sign.  Last night she had wondered if
she had somehow lost his affection.  Now she was sure she hadn't.

"I had some business to attend to.  China lady docked yesterday."

"Oh, Darcy, that's wonderful news."  Her lovely face bloomed into a smile.
She stood to 'gain considerably by China Lady's cargo.  "I was beginning to
think bales of cloth and casks of tea were more important than me."  She
pouted prettily.

He stood up and came toward her, the animal grace of his movements exciting
her.  He had always excited her, from the first day she had seen him in the
shipping office.

He had got up from his chair behind his desk, his eyes surveying her with
impertinent curiosity.  He didn't even have the courtesy to stop when he
realized she wasn't looking modestly away.  She had been fascinated by him
from that moment onward and had used every means, every enticement she knew
to get him into her bed, to see if the promise of his extremely masculine
physique was borne out by his lovemaking,

It was, more than she had even imagined.

Now he was properly attired in black frock coat and trousers, but it took
little imagination to remember him the last time she had seen him.  He had
been gloriously naked, the light of her bedside lamp flickering across the
muscled flesh of his broad shoulders, the tangled sheets wrapped around his
torso and hips leaving his long, strong legs exposed.  He had been like a
statue of a sleeping god.  Apollo or Zeus.

Darcy stopped a short distance from her, but tantalizingly close.  "I'm
sorry," he whispered, the intimacy of his voice deliciously delightful.  He
put a small box on the table near her, a box she recognized as being from a
well-known--and expensive--jeweler.  She turned to him with a beguiling smile.

If she could be sure when Frederick was coming home, she would invite Darcy
upstairs right now regardless of the servants.  But she didn't know when her
husband might return from his club, so she dare not.  A well-bred gentleman
might overlook some things, but finding another man in his own bed with his
wife was not one of them

"Well," she said after a moment, toying languidly with the leaf of a huge
fern and incidentally showing off her white, graceful hands, "I hope you
won't miss my next dinner party, on Tuesday week.  I shall be feeling rather
lonely, since Frederick has to go to Kinverton on Monday for a fortnight."

It never took much to persuade her husband to go to their country estate.
She was always terribly bored in the country, unless they were accompanied by
a large party of friends.  And if one of those friends was a man of intimate
acquaintance, a country visit could be quite titillating, what with the
invigorating possibilities of long, secluded rambles.

Darcy took her hand and raised it to his full lips.  Her limbs seemed to burn
with liquid fire, the tongues of flame darting outward from his touch.  "I
promise I won't miss it."

She would definitely have to invite Darcy to Kinverton soon.

A middle-aged maid bear inga large tea tray came to the doorway just as they
moved apart.  With her face a careful blank, she set out the tea things on a
low table in front of the sofa, then departed.

"Emmaline, I need a favor," Darcy said bluntly as she began to pour the tea.

"Anything," she replied softly.

He smiled slowly, his gaze raking her body in a way that made her heart pound
in anticipation.

"I need a house, someplace secluded."

"Really?"

He cleared his throatl "Some cargo that came last night ... I can't keep it
in a warehouse."

"Is it valuable?"  She handed him his teacup, letting her fingers brush his.

"Not particularlY," he said casually.  "But it's delicate."

"I see."   She knew he was lying about its worth, and her curiosity began to
grow.   "I do have a small house, not too far outside the city.   I was
planning to rent it this month."   "I'll pay whatever rent you were going to
ask."

She smiled and nodded.  "Very well.  I shall write you the address.  You can
use it right away, for as long as you like."

"Thank you."

As he finished his tea, she wrote the address down at her writing table, as
well as the amount of the rent.  He was sure she would inflate it, probably
to at least twice the amount she was going to ask someone else, but he
wouldn't quibble.

"There," she said, handing him the note.  Their fingers touched, until Darcy
withdrew his.

"I have some business to take care of now," he said, standing up.  Emmaline
rose gracefully, and he couldn't help being impressed by her beauty.  Her
hair, a Charming golden yellow, framed a face perfect of feature and
complexion, with pink cheeks and large, limpid brown eyes.  Her lips,
enticing and ruddy, seemed to be waiting for his kiss.  His glance strayed to
the swell of her bodice, the flesh of her breasts visible beneath the thin
fabric of her chemisette, then disappearing into the pink silk of her gown.
She moved toward him slowly, her full-skirted gown rustling as gently as
leaves in a breeze.  "I'm expecting some callers shortly, too."

He heard the regret in Emmaline's voice.  Normally he would hate the thought
of leaving her without making love, but today he had to get the matter of
Fragrant Blossom and her servant settled.  He wouldn't rest easy, in his
house or Emmaline's arms, until those two were hidden away somewhere.

"Until next time, then," Emmaline said softly, her delicate lips turning up
into a promising smile.  "Until next time."

Darcy spent the rest of the afternoon on China Lady, going through the
manifest and making sure every item listed was on board.  Captain Driscoll's
log read like a catalog of every disaster known to shipping, from storms and
damaged rigging to windless days and problems with port authorities.
Nevertheless, the cargo was relatively good.

The tea was past its peak, of course, but the cottons and silks were fine,
with only a few bolts ruined by water.  At least he would make a profit, and
all hands had returned safely.

There were a few awkward moments when Driscoll asked him about the "damn
women," but he had said only that they were taken care of.  Mercifully
Driscoll didn't press for more details.

His business concluded, Darcy headed down the gangplank toward the dock.  One
of the whores who frequented that area spotted him and sauntered slowly'
toward him he went to get a cab.  Her patched garments made her look like an
ambulating rag shop.

"Evenin', deary," she said, her smile exposing rotting teeth.

He muttered a coarse expletive.

"Humph!"  she snorted.  "You ain't no gentleman !"  Darcy got into a cab
quickly.  As he headed home, he.  tried to put the whore out of his mind.
Every time he saw one, he couldn't help remembering the fight with the whose
teeth had been bared like a rat's, his eyes in the dark.  Darcy closed his
eyes as a shudder of revulsion passed through him.  He told himself that it
was all long ago, and if he had to do it again, he would have done just the
same.

He forced himself to think about his business, thankful that the actual
accounting was in Charles's hands: He had no head for figures.

Soon he was home.  He jumped out and paid the cabbie as Powlett opened the
door for him.  The butler handed him a letter.  "From Mr. Jeremy, I believe,"
he said solemnly, but there was the hint of distraction in his manner.

Darcy took his younger brother's letter and went into the parlor.  Powlett
hovered near the door, anxious as always for news of Jeremy.

Well, and so it should be, thought Darcy.  His brother was happy and handsome
and well-liked by everyone who met him, just as Darcy had planned from the
day their mother died fifteen years ago.

Jeremy had been but three years old then and Darcy only lately returned from
a voyage to the West Indies.  That was the voyage that started Darcy's
fortune, although the impetus to gain wealth had been implanted even before
that.

The Fitzroys had once been wealthy country gentry, holding land since the
Middle' Ages.  Times had changed, though, and through no fault of his own,
Darcy's father had found himself with only a dismal, leaking house and a few
pitiful acres.  He had tried to make the farm pay, but he couldn't compete
with those who had larger holdings and the new machinery.  Little by little
what money they had left had trickled away, and when his father died, there
had been none left.

That had been when Darcy Was fifteen, and his mother expecting the birth of
his brother any day.  When the pains started, his mother knew that something
was wrong.  The midwife, too, had been worded and sent Darcy from the room
with a sharp reprimand.  Darcy had waited helplessly as the hours and the
pain dragged on and on, and listened as his mother's cries grew weaker and
weaker.  The midwife's daughter, wondering what was taking so long, arrived.
Darcy eavesdropped at the door, making out little except despair, and one
sentence, "Maybe she should have the doctor."

Darcy went at once to fetch the doctor, only to be told he was attending a
dinner at a nearby estate.  Through a driving rain, Darcy ran to the huge
mansion.  The footman, the butler and the housekeeper all tried to keep him
from going inside, but he dashed around them, running into the fine dining
room.  He halted, momentarily blinded and ienced by the shining lights, the
gleaming silver and the smell of food.

The finely dressed people stared at him.  Then he saw the doctor and hurried
to him, pleading with him to help.

The doctor looked down his fat, bulbous nose and said, "Go away, boy.  The
midwife will do for your mother."

It had taken four footmen to carry Darcy out of the house.

His brother arrived unharmed because the midwife was experienced and very
skilled.  His mother was not so fortunate.  She did not die, but from that
time on she was never the same.  It was as if, in giving Jeremy life, she had
pledged her own, bit by bit.

Later Darcy had realized the doctor would probably have done more harm than
good, but it never lessened his hatred of people like the doctor: He had
vowed that he Would be rich one day, too.  So rich that no one would ignore
his requests.

His mother hadn't had much chance to experience the comfort he had been able
to provide after a few successful voyages, but he had spared no expense in
his care of Jeremy.  He had hired the best nursemaids and tutors, then sent
him to the best schools, including Oxford, where he was now reading history.

Jeremy would be everything his older brother could not, and when his
education was finished, he would find a place waiting in Fitzroy Shipping.

Darcy opened the letter and read it as quickly as he could.  "He's coming for
a visit," he told Powlett, who almost smiled.  "He says he has something very
important to discuss with me."  He sniffed.  "He either needs more money or
another horse."

Although he tried to sound annoyed, he really couldn't be.  Jeremy was no
spendthrift, despite the all-too-apparent temptations of life at Oxford among
the moneyed class.  In fact, Darcy was vastly proud of his brother.

Powlett was still distracted, which immediately struck Darcy as unusual.  "Is
anything wrong, Powlett?"

As if in response, a voice shouted, "No!  No!  No.t" the words from upstairs
echoing through the hall.

"Apparently, sir," Powlett said mournfully.

Frowning darkly, Darcy hurried up the stairs.

"I not wear such things.  Never, never, never!"  he heard a female voice
shout, followed by a string of Chinese words that sounded suspiciously like
curses.

When he got to the governess's bedroom, he found it strewn with ladies'
garments like some sort of strange bazaar.  There were petticoats and shoes,
stockings and chemises, at least three dresses, two hats, a cloak and a muff.
In the midst of this pandemonium, he barely recognized Mrs. MacTavish, who
was more disheveled than he would have believed possible.  The Chinese
servant was standing in the corner of the room, grinning like a fool.  And in
the center of it all, wearing only pantalets and a chemise and gesturing
wildly with a corset, stood Fragrant Blossom.

When she saw him standing in the doorway, she quickly-kowtowed.

"What's going on?"  Darcy demanded, trying not to look at the nearly naked
girl, or, more precisely, her pert derriere.

"She won't dress properly," Mrs. MacTavish said, exasperation in every word.

"Get up," he said to Blossom.  She got to her feet, staring at the floor, the
corset imp in her hands.

"Why won't you do as Mrs. MacTavish says?"  he asked, wishing Wu Wing Toi at
the bottom of the China Sea.

Blossom knew she had no choice.  "If you wish me to have air squeezed from my
body until I die, then it must be so, honored lord," she said.  It was a
matter of face that she do whatever her master wished, even if it killed her.

Holding the disgusting body-binding thing, Blossom tried to subdue her
confusion and worry, and to understand the strange ways of these people.
Perhaps this instrument of torture was also intended to make her beautiful in
his eyes.  Whatever the reason, though, he would have to command it, not his
fan kow servant.

"Forget the corset, Mrs. MacTavish," he said with a sigh.  "I don't think she
needs it anyway."  Blossom stifled a sigh of relief.  "But Mr. Fitzroy..."

"Just get her dressed, for God's sake."

Darcy turned and stalked from the room, all his previous good humor gone as
if dashed by a wave.  He strode into his study and slammed the door.

The sooner Fragrant Blossom was out of his house, the better.

After several minutes and two stiff drinks of whiskey, he heard Mrs.
MacTavish knock on the door.

"What?"  he bellowed.  He wanted to be left in peace.

"I've got her dressed at last, Mr. Fitzroy," she said, opening the door.

Blossom stood on the threshold, wearing a gown of simple blue calico.  It had
a high neck, to please the conservative Mrs. MacTavish, no doubt.  The full
skirt hung from her narrow waist, petticoats making it as round as a bell.
The full sleeves ended at her wrists, emphasizing her slender hands.  Her
hair was parted and arranged simply in a low bun at the nape of her neck.

She began to kneel, but Darcy spoke sharply.  "Don't!"  Instead, she kept her
eyes lowered and stared at the floor.  Darcy stood up and went toward her as
Mrs. MacTavish gave her a gentle shove into the room.  "Much better," he
said, and then realized it was a lie.  To be sure she looked like a proper,
modest young lady, but it was not true that she looked much better than she
had in that transparent gown last night.

God help him, what kind of depraved animal was he becoming, that he could
have such carnal thoughts about some poor girl who'd undoubtedly led a
hellish existence as a prostitute?  And how could he so easily forget that
she was little better than that dockside dolly, and that he'd sworn never to
touch another whore?

He forced his mind back to the present and saw the hint of a frown at the
corners of her mouth.  "Don't you like the dress?"

She glanced up at him sharply, her blue eyes snapping.  "What evil barbarian
lord decree such thing, honored lord?  How can woman not fall when feet so
hidden?  How can woman sit?  How can slave kowtow to master These are
impossibles."

For the second time in as many days, Darcy felt the urge to laugh.  "Dame
Fashion decrees these things."

"Dame Fashion is not right in head," she said with conviction.

This time Darcy did laugh.  "You might have something there," he said.  He
glanced at Mrs. MacTavish.  "Please pack up the rest of the things you've
bought for her.  She'll be leaving tonight."

Blossom's eyes narrowed.  "I am to be leaving?"

Darcy went to his favorite chair by the hearth and sat down.  "Yes, to a
better place, in the country."

To his surprise, she turned deathly pale.  "You send me away?"

"You cannot stay here, deary.  It's not proper," Mrs. MacTavish chided.

"You send me away?"  Blossom repeated, staring at Darcy until he actually
began to feel guilty.

"Well, Mrs. MacTavish is right.  You can't stay here."

"You ... do not want me?"

The knowledge that he wanted her very much disturbed him profoundly.  "No,"
he said harshly.  "I don't wan you."  '

She gasped.  "I have no face!"  she whispered, then turned and fled from the
room, almost stumbling on her skirts in her haste.  They heard her run up the
stairs and a door close.

"Whatever did the girl mean by that, sir?  How can she have no face?"  Mrs.
MacTavish looked at him as if he'd suddenly become a cannibal.

"I'm not sure," Darcy said, then he paused.

He remembered one of his shipmates, an old China hand, talking about a
Chinese girl he'd lived with for a time.  When he'd shipped out, she had hung
herself.  "She thought I'd deserted her, you see.  They told me I'd taken
away her face," Johnson had said, shaking his head.  "Shame's worsen death to
the Chinese."

Apparently, he had just shamed Fragrant Blossom terribly.

Someone began an awful pounding, and he realized it was Ah Tup, banging on
the bedroom door and crying out in Chinese.

Trying not to imagine what Fragrant Blossom might be doing behind a locked
door, Darcy ran from the study and took the stairs two at a time.

Chapter Four

By the time Blossom reached the bedroom, her dismay had turned to a burning
anger Did the master think she was some stupid fan kow who would allow him to
take away her face?  Did he think he could send her away so easily, before
she had fulfilled her duty.  She slammed the door behind her, realizing
instantly that Ah Tup had not returned to the room.  Together they had
planned that Ah Tup should look secretly around this barbaric house to
discover entrances and exits, to find suitable hiding places for valuables
and people in times of trouble and to make spy holes to see into other rooms.

Blossom flung herself onto the bed.  She would find a way to stay here, even
though it was a strange, uncivilized place.  She owed much to Honorable Wu,
and she would not fail him.

At the same time she wanted to be back in Canton, where she knew what was
expected of her.  Even Precious Jade, her thin face contorted by anger, would
be a welcome sight.

The remembrance of Precious Jade turned her thoughts.  How Honorable Wu's tai
tai would smile if she learned of Blossom's failure!  That must never, never
be.

But how to stay?  She got off the bed, the gown dragging on her like a yoke
of oxen.

Clothing!  He could not send her away if she had nothing to wear!  Especially
here, where they seemed so concerned about proper garments.

She heard Ah Tup outside, banging on the door.  But she wouldn't open it.
Not yet.  She alone should bear the burden of the destruction she was about
to carry out.

Quickly she went to their trunk and found one of the cooking knives.  She
snatched it up and prepared to cut to pieces the detestable thing she wore.

At that moment, the door crashed open.  "Stop!"  the master shouted as he
rushed in and knocked the knife from her hand, sending her reeling against
the bed.

She stared at him.  He looked as if he were possessed by an evil spirit.

"What were you going to do?"  he demanded, his chest heaving.

"I..."  She didn't know what to say.  One look at his face was enough to tell
her that this was not the time to tell him that she was going to destroy his
property.  She had never seen a man so furious.  Quickly she kowtowed, hiding
her face from his glaring eyes, desperately trying to overcome her fear.  It
was clear she had severely displeased him and she didn't doubt he would beat
her.

"Were you going to kill Yourself?."  he asked, and she realized that he
sounded a little less angry.

Didn't he know that it was a terrible thing to kill yourself, because you
would be forever doomed to wander the earth as a ghost?  She didn't answer,
but risked looking at him.  Deep in his eyes, she saw that he, too, was
afraid.  Of her?  Ah, perhaps he was afraid that she would haunt him if she
killed herself.

Suddenly she felt not only a great sense of averted disaster, but even the
beginning of power over him.

And then another feeling came, one that surprised her.  She didn't want him
to fear her, not even her spirit.  She wanted him to like her.  She told
herself that his fear was a weapon in her hands that she shouldn't hesitate
to use.

Ah Tup hurried inside.  "Ayee, Little Mother!  What is going on here?  The
man ran up the stairs as if pursued"

Blossom signaled her to be silent.  She needed to be able to concentrate on
the man.  With reluctance, she lied to him.  "I could not live with my shame
if you send me away."

"I can't live with the embarrassment if people find out I have somebody like
you living in my house."

"So, one of us must die."  She bowed her head again and waited.

She heard the swish of skirt and knew Mrs. -MacTavish had come.  "Is she all
right, Mr. Fitzroy?"

"As you can see, yes."  The man's voice was cool and composed.

"What are you going to do?"  Mrs. MacTavish asked.  "I was going to send them
to stay in another house.,

Blossom pulled out the other weapon in her arsenal, the one Precious Jade
called her unyielding nature.

Blossom sat up and crossed her arms, stating at them both defiantly.  "No.  I
not go."  He would have to drag her away, which would at least make him lose
face before her and the other servants.

She glanced at Ah Tup, but Ah Tup looked at her as if she'd just offered to
cut off her own head.

The man suddenly reached out and took her by' the hand, pulling hard.  "Get
up," he barked, dragging her to her feet.

Ah Tup began to prom st but Blossom gave a quick shake of the head.  This was
between her and her master, and she wanted no one else to interfere, not even
Ah Tup.

"Mrs.  MacTavish, we'll be in the study.  I don't wish to be disturbed," he
said, tugging Blossom toward the door.

She let him pull her along the hall and down the stairs, knowing full well
she had little choice.

He took her into a dim room that stank of stale smoke.  The walls had many
shelves filled with strange objects.  The furniture was dark and old and very
shabby for a rich man's house.

"Sit down," he commanded, pointing to a chair.

It took Blossom a moment to maneuver the strange skins, but she managed it.

The man sat opposite her.  "What was that all about?"  he asked, his voice
hard and cold as the ice in the courtyard pond in winter.

"I not go."

"So you keep saying."  He leaned back in his chair, eyeing her speculatively.
"I thought you were supposed to do whatever I wanted."

Her eyes widened for an instant.  At least he seemed to understand something.
"Yes, honored lord.  I do whatever you Command, except leave you.  It is my
duty to stay, to pay debt."

She would have failed Honorable Wu and suffered all of Water Lily's teaching
and that awful journey for nothing.  "If I go, what happen to debt?"

"Forget the God,rotting debt.  You don't understand, do you?  A person can
not be a payment.  Not in England.  We don't have slaves."

"How debt to be paid then?"

"Wu will have to pay in silver.  He's owed me for years."

Honorable Wu didn't have enough silver to feed his family before she was
sold.  That money would be almost gone now.  Honorable Wu might be thrown
into the streets penniless, and that she couldn't bear.

She crossed her arms, determined to be strong.  "I not go."

The man's brows furrowed ominously, but she kept talking.  "I not go.  You
say I can choose.  I choose to stay here."

His mouth narrowed into an even tighter line.  "You can't.  It isn't right.
You have to go."

She decided it was time for the truth.  "I want to be payment."

She went and knelt at his feet, looking up into his dark, dark eyes.
"Honorable Wu has no money, honored lord.  He not make me do this.  I choose."

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable.  "You would sell yourself
to help a man who bought you as a slave?  Who beat you?  Who..."  He stopped.

She shook her head.  "Honorable Wu not beat me.  Tai tai--she hate me always.
Honorable Wu ... a kind man.  Like Father.  If you not want me in bed, I
work.  I cook.  Please, let me be payment."

Darcy Fitzroy was not a weak man, but it would have taken twice his strength
of character to resist the soft pleas of Blossom as she knelt at his feet;
begging to repay the debt of Wu Wing Toi.

When he spoke, his voice was gentler.  "you simply cannot stay in my house.
If people found out, it would ruin me.  No one would even speak to me."

"You would truly lose face?"  Blossom said, still not quite believing that a
wealthy man would be condemned for keeping a concubine.  "It is shame to keep
concubine?"

"You are not my concubine and you are never going to be, but even if I don't
touch a hair on your head, people would still assume that you are.  That is
completely unacceptable to me."

"You do not like women?"  "I never said that."  "You are eunuch?"  "God, no!"

"You keep your women elsewhere?  You go to special house or floating pleasure
boat?"

"Yes, some men do that."  Darcy began to blush, feeling as if he'd just
gotten lost in a maze of morality.  It was ridiculous that this young woman
could sit here discussing men and their vices.

"That not sense.  Why go far when concubine can be in same household?  Much
more easier."

"The only woman a man is supposed to live with is his wife'."

"Poor men keep only wives.  Rich man gain face by having concubines.  And he
will be more contented, too."

 "How.   is the wife supposed to feel?"

She looked dumbfounded.  "Feel?"  she asked after a moment of consideration.
"That does not matter.  She does her duty as wife."

"That hardly seems fair," he said, pleased to think he had won his
point--until Blossom spoke again, her delicate brows wrinkled with thought.
"If I were wife, I think I feel good.  Less duties if shared, heya?"

 "What about love?"   "Love?   What is this, love?"

"Love is ... the special feeling between a man and a woman.  How would you
feel if the man you loved brought home another woman?"

"I don't understand."

"Wouldn't you feel sorry that your husband, the man you chose to marry, the
man you cared for, wanted to be intimate with another woman right in your
house?"

"Ah!"  she said, and he thought she was beginning to see his point of view.
"You not understand.  Husband's family pick wife, her parents agree or not,
and she goes to live with husband's family.  It is no shame to her if he
takes a concubine.  He did not choose wife, and she did not choose husband.
Marriage is for the good of the family, not the ntnu mossom man.  The man
chooses concubine for pleasure.  Is it not this way here, too?"

Darcy was about to answer in the negative, until he realized that, for many
people, marriage was entered into for exactly the same reason: wealth and
family.  And many men had mistresses for their pleasure.

Even he himself had thought of marriage in such light, until this moment.
Startled, and feeling adrift in very treacherous waters, he decided to get
back to the reason this discussion had started.  "We were talking about the
necessity of you leaving this house.  Fragrant Blossom, you simply cannot
stay in my house.  In England, it isn't considered proper for a man to keep
unmarried women he isn't related to in the house without a chaperon."  He
moved toward the windowJ

"What is chaperon?"

"Another woman who protects her."

"Protects from who?  From you?"

He turned to her abruptly.  "No, for God's sake!"  "Ah Tup be chaperon."

"No.  It still wouldn't be proper.  I simply cannot have an unmarried woman
living in my house."

"The other servant, Mrs. MacTavish.  She is married?"

 "No.   That is, she was..."

"So she is unmarried woman living in household."  Why was it every time he
talked with her, he felt less and less 'in control of the situation?  "Will
you please get up off the floor," he growled, "and sit in a chair?"

Blossom complied, after another struggle with several layers of petticoats
and skirt.

"What do you remember about your life before Wu bought you?"

If he surprised her with his abrupt question, she hid it well, looking up at
him steadily with her big blue eyes.

"I was very small, honored lord.  I remember almost nothing."

"Tell me what you do remember."

"I was on ship.  Not so big as ship Ah Tup and I come on, with Father.  There
is trouble."  Her voice grew softer and softer.  "He is afraid and hides me.
There is fighting, I

am found and.  " She looked at the floor.

"Go on," he prompted, not unkindly.

"Father lies dead," she whispered.  "The men take me away."

"And sold you to Wu?"

She nodded.

He toyed with some papers on his desk.  "I see."  He came toward her.
"You're free now, Fragrant Blossom.  You're not a slave anymore.  You can go
where you choose with no loss of face."

As his dark eyes gazed into hers, she felt a stab of fear.  If he did not
want her and sent her away, what was to become of her?  Were she and Ah Tup
to fend for themselves in this strange country?

"I'll provide a house and food for you, and I'm going to try to find out
about your family.  Perhaps there's a relative who can take you."

"But Honorable Wu..."

"I'll forget about the debt."

If anybody ever heard him say that, Darcy thought ruefully, they would have
supposed he'd taken complete leave of his senses.

Perhaps he had, with her looking at him with that captivating mixture of
confusion and hope.

She came to him, reached forward and took his hand.  "Thank you," she
whispered, pressing her lips to it.  The sensation went directly to his
blood, sending it throbbing through his body.

"Don't do that!"  he ordered, snatching his hand away.

Ultna Blossom

"I tell Ah Tup we are to leave," she said, her voice filled with genuine
sorrow.

It suddenly occurred to him that it might be better to have her here, where
he could keep an eye on her.  If she wffs in another house, who knew what she
might say to one of the servants--maybe that she "belonged" to him.  What if
Emmaline, who was notoriously curious, happened to come by to check her
property?  What if she found Blossom there?  She'd never believe any
explanation, let alone the truth.  At least here the extremely trustworthy
and close-lipped Mrs. MacTavish and Powlett would be in charge.

He was due to make a trip to Liverpool to see about some business there.
This would be as good a time as any.  Before he left he'd come up with some
excuse to get Charles searching for information about English people who had
disappeared near China.  While he was gone he could come up with a better
plan to dispose of her, and in the meantime she would be with people whose
discretion he could mast.

"Perhaps," he said slowly, "perhaps it would be wiser to let you stay
hereemporarily."

Her eyes sparkled and her smile was lovely.  Too lovely, as if she had been
granted her dearest wish.

What the hell was he doing?  And whose wish was he really granting?

"Many thanks, honored lord.  I do all orders.  I swear it!"

He looked away.  "Well, see that you do.  Mrs. Mac Tavish can teach you what
you need to know."

She nodded eagerly.  "Everything, lord?"

He assented.  "Yes, everything.  Now go and ask Mrs. MacTavish to come here."

The gift smiled exultantly once more and went out.

He picked up a cheroot from the box on his desk and struck a match.

God, had he taken utter leave of his senses?  If anybody

Blossom found out about this, his hard-won social standing would crumble
like a'ship thrown against a reef.  Not even Charles's influence would help.
And Emmaline might destroy him.

The match burned his fingers, and he cursed as she dropped it on the carpet.
As he bent over to pick it up, he became aware of Mrs. MacTavish standing in
the doorway.  He motioned her inside.  "They're going to stay for a while,"
he said bluntly.  "At least until I can find out where they should be sent."

"Very well, Mr, Fitzroy," Mrs, MacTavish said after a short pause that seemed
to imply she was wondering what the hell he was doing, too.

"Tell the servants they're my guests."

Mrs.  MacTavish nodded and went out.

Darcy rubbed his hand where Fragrant Blossom's lips had touched it.  For a
moment he let himself think about touching her.  Kissing her.  Making love
with her.

Stop.  t he commanded himself.  He had already showed incredible weakness by
letting her remain under his roof.  If he was to give in to his baser
'instincts, who knew what she might expect then?

No.  He would avoid her like rats in a plague year.

"We are to stay!"  Blossom 'said triumphantly to a gaping-mouthed Ah Tup.

"Oh, Mother," she breathed, "I knew he would not be able to resist you!  Did
you cry?"

"Huh!"  Blossom said contemptuously.  "No.  Besides, he would not be moved by
tears.  I told him the truth, about Honorable Wu.  Water Lily said fan kow
have hearts of cotton, and I believe she was right."

"Well, that must have been the correct thing to do, since we are to stay.
And you are to be his concubine?"

Blossom sat on the bed.  "I don't know.  I'm not sure.  I

offered to cook, and I thought that was what he would prefer me to do, until
I was leaving.  He looked as if he might be thinking of bedding me, but"--
she gestured helplessly " mwho can tell with these foreign devils?
Apparently it is considered a great wrong to keep a concubine in the house.
And he talked about something called love.  " " What is that?  "

"I don't know, but it is a special feeling, he said, between a husband and
wife."

"Perhaps he meant respect, heya?"

Blossom frowned.  "Maybe."

"Could it be that he meant satisfying desires?"

"I don't know, but it seemed more than that, somehow."  A touch of regret
crept into her voice.  "I think it is something they set great 'store in.  I
want to find out more about it."

Ah Tup looked skeptical.  "It may be another stupid bar-bad an notion."

Blossom tried to tell herself that Ah Tup was probably right, but she
couldn't help rememberiig the softness that had come into the man's voice
when he talked of love.

"Do not despair, Mother.  Maybe he needs more time.  Or maybe, when we learn
more of their ways, we'll know better what to do."

Blossom nodded, realizing that for the first time in her life, she might not
be able to talk about something with her friend.  She couldn't explain that,
deep in her heart, she wanted to hear that softness in his voice every time
he spoke to her.  "Did you discover anything?"  she asked after a moment of
silence.

Ah Tup sniffed derisively.  "They have no secret passage of escape.  They
have no spying places into any of the rooms mat least that I could find.
There is another stairway that leads to the kitchen, though.  Above us, under
the roof,

t:tttna tttossom there is a place one could hide, I suppose.  To see the
street,

you must use the master's bedchamber.  "

"So little protection?"

Ah Tup shrugged.  "Everything here is so strange.  There are many servants:
cook, girls to clean, and the Crow Woman and Chief Eunuch.  But only the Crow
Woman and the Chief Eunuch live in the house."

Blossom's face reflected her puzzlement.  "Where do the others sleep?  There
is another building outside?"

Ah Tup shook her head.  "They come from far away, every day.  Outside there
is only a tangled mess that is meant for a garden."  Her mouth twisted with
disgust.  "It looks as if it has not been properly tended in ten years!"

"I hardly know what to do or think all the time," Blossom said.  "It is so
confusing and nothing seems to make sense.  At least we are to stay.  The man
seems compassionate, for all his proud ness and irritability."

"I would be irritable, too, surrounded by all this foolishness," Ah Tup said.
"Do you think we will work in the kitchen, then?"

Blossom smiled.  "I think perhaps not, if I have more time.  I would not wish
to go back to that."  They both nodded, remembering the long hours of hard
work and the ash of the willow rod if Precious Jade or the cook was
displeased.  "I will become his concubine and Honorable Wu's debt will be
paid."

Blossom didn't tell her that she was beginning to believe she would enjoy the
paying.

"Ah, Captain Driscol!!"  Charles Horton-Smythe pushed closer to his quarry in
the crowded pub.  It took all of his self-control not to let his disgust of
the place and the lower-class scum imbibing in it to show.  The stench of
stale beer, gin and unwashed bodies sickened him, reminding him of the times
he'd had to drag his worthless father from similar places.  The old sot and
Charles's equally worthless elder brother, who was clearly bent on following
in his pater's footsteps, couldn't even die so that Charles could come into
the family title, practically the only thing they had to bequeath him.

He reached the captain.  "Good to see you, old man," he drawled.  "Delighted!
Wonderful job, what, bringing the ship to port after all that trouble!  We'd
given you up for lost."

Driscoll, who'd been a seaman for nearly fifty years, barely nodded at
Charles as he made his way toward him.  The captain respected Darcy, as one
seaman to another, but he clearly had no use for Charles Horton-Smythe.

Charles put a smile on his face.  God, this place was almost as bad as the
stinking chaos on the docks nearby, the myriad odors ranging from spices to
tobacco to dry rot, and underneath it all the persistent stench of the river.
A man could hardly think for the shouts of the dockworkers in a variety of
tongues, not to mention the creaking of hawsers, the rattle of chains and the
thudding roll of casks.  But he was here to talk to Driscoll, and talk to him
he would.  "I say, Drisco!l, interesting cargo, eh?"

Driscoll nodded, staring down into his ale.

"I never thought that damned rascal Wu would pay up."  The captain shrugged
his shoulders.  Charles pressed his lips together.  The captain was obviously
not loquacious even when drinking.  "Must have been a hell of a voyage."

Driscoll snorted.  "I hate havin' women on board.  Bad luck, by God!"

"Women?  What women?"

"Didn't Darcy tell you?  That miserable Wu sent women to pay his debt."

Charles took a gulp of the terrible brew he held to cover his shock.  Women!
Wu Wing Toi had paid with women!

"Cursed creatures!  Makes the men nervous, too, and they spend too much time
dandifyin' themselves when they ought to be workin'.  Kept 'era in their
cabin, till Fitzroy took 'em off my hands."

Charles recovered sufficiently to speak.  "Oriental girls can be quite
fascinating, or so I'm told."

Driscoll looked at him sharply.  "I don't think Mr. Fitzroy took quite that
view on it, sir."

"No, I daresay he wouldn't."  It was well-known around the business community
that Darcy Fitzroy was notoriously upright, even to the point of prudery.
Nobody but Charles, and the married women involved, knew about Darcy's
liaisons.  Driscoll looked at his interlocutor.  "I suppose he didn't tell
you the rest of it then.  They both wasn't Chinese."

This time Charles didn't even try to hide his surprise while Driscoll
morosely gulped his ale.  "What was the other one?"

"Don't know.  Don't care to know.  But them blue eyes don't belong to an
Oriental."

"My, my, Captain.  How astonishing!  The things one encOUnters when doing
business in a foreign country, eh?"

"I tried to tell that fool Mitchell I wouldn't take 'em, but he wouldn't take
no for an answer.  Threatened to go to the government.  Threatened to have
Fitzroy take my command away.  God; the man thinks 'he's a bloody missionary

"Perhaps he felt sorry for them."

"Oh, he felt something' for the blue-eyed one, all right.  Stupid young ass.
Well, she's a pretty thing at that, but after years with the Chinese..."  He
left the rest of the sentence to Charles's very vivid imagination.  "I wonder
what Mr. Fitzroy aims to do with 'em."

"I really don't know, Captain, but I'm sure he won't do anything
ungentlemanly."

tltla lto$$om

Driscoll nodded his agreement as Charles set down his drink.  "I must be
going, Captain.  Life of a man of business, eh, what?  It's been a pleasure
having a chat with you.  Goodbye!"

Charles hurried out into the night air.  So Wu had paid his debt with two
women.  And to think they were sent to Fitzroy, who wanted so much to be a
gentleman that he'd probably send them to a home for orphans or some such
thing.

What a waste.  If they'd been sent to him, he would have known exactly what
to do with them, preferably both at the same time.

His pulse began to quicken.  Perhaps he would make a visit to the West End
tonight to see if Warton had any new girls.

In the morning, he would pay a surprise visit on Fitzroy and see if the
person in the pink garment had blue eyes.

Chapter Five

"This is a fork.  This is a spoon.  This is a knife," Mrs. MacTavish said,
pointing at each article on the table front of Blossom, who stared at the
array of eating utensils and tried to concentrate.  It was difficult with the
man at the other end of the table.  To be sure he was ignoring.  her, reading
some kind of paper thing covered in tiny ing, but she felt his presence
nonetheless.

"Now, we'll begin with the porridge."

Blossom balked at the horrible mess in the bowl placed before her.  "I to eat
this?"  she asked helplessly.

Mrs.  MacTavish was clearly offended.  "Of course you are.  It'll make you
good and strong.  It sticks to your ribs."

"That I believe," Blossom said, shaking her head.  She thought she heard a
noise and looked up at the man, but he was now holding the paper thing in
front of his face, she couldn't see him.  "This only for animals surely?"

"Animals?"  Mrs. MacTavish said, sitting down on Bios-, som's right.  "I
should say not.  Porridge is fit for the kings of Scotland."

Blossom gazed at the terrible gray lumpy food.  She didn't remember what
"king" meant, but it was probably t.  tltna to$$om some kind of farmer.  Such
a man might be expected to eat like one of his cows.

"Now, take your napkin and spread it on your lap."  Mrs. MacTavish
demonstrated, and Blossom followed suit very carefully, picking up the large
square cloth and placing it on her lap.

"You might like a little cream on your porridge."  Mrs. MacTavish lifted a
small pitcher and poured white liquid over top of the food in her bowl.

Blossom sighed and reached for the cream, pout inga liberal amount.

"Stop!  That's enough!  What are you trying to do?"

"Hide it," Blossom answered innocently.  She may have to eat it, but she
didn't have to look at it.

There was another sound at the far end of the table, and this time when she
looked at the man, she realized his shoulders were shaking.

"You laugh, honored lord?"

The man put down his paper thing and she could see that she had guessed
correctly.

"Now don't get upset or think you're losing face," he said, the smile
disappearing.  "I happen to agree with you."  Mrs. MacTavish gave him a
fierce look.

"Don't you get upset, Mrs. MacTavish," he said.  "Porridge may he the sacred
food of the Scots, but even you have to admit it's not a pretty dish."

Mrs.  MacTavish adjusted herself in her chair with an icy expression.

"Must I eat this, honored lord?"

"Well, you should try it.  I guarantee it tastes better than it looks.  And
you simply must stop calling me 'honored lord."  I'm not a lord, and several
people might even question my honor.  "

She found that incomprehensible.  Sitting there, he was like an emperor or a
general.  Surely no dishonorable man could sit so straight, so proudly, so
nobly, unless this was filled with crazy people.

She had to admit that might be so, judging by her impressions so far.

"You should call me " Mr. Fitzroy.  ""

"Very well, Mister Fizz-roy."

He smiled again, for a brief instant.  "That'll do for a start."  '

The Chief Eunuch appeared in the doorway.  "Sir, Mr. Horton-Smythe wishes to
see you.  I told him to wait in the drawing room."

"That's fortunate."  Mr. -Fitzroy stood up.  "I wanted to see him first
thing.  I've decided to go to Liverpool."

"I understand you've had some very unusual guests?"  Horton-Smythe smiled at
the nervous iiule maid.

"I'm not supposed to ay nothin' about that, sir," Sally said, shuffling her
feet.

"Come, come, now, Sally," he said persuasively,

inga little closer to her in the drawing room, "I know all about them, of
course.  I am Mr. Fitzroy's partner, after all."

 "

"Yes, sir," she said, clasping her hands over her store-.  ach.

"Did you see them?"

She looked at him with wide brown eyes.  "Oh, no, sir.  They stay upstairs
mostly."

Charles tried not to show his surprise.  He wouldn't have thought Darcy would
keep the "gift" here in his own house.  "Are they upstairs now?"

"The servant one, she's havin' her breakfast in kitchen.  Th'other one, she's
eatin' with Mr. Fitzroy in the morning room."

"Indeed?  I believe I'll join Mr. Fitzroy in the morning room," he said,
looking at the rather pretty young girl.

"Certainly, sir."  She smiled innocently at him.  "Thank you again for
getting' me this job, sir.  I'm very grateful--and Mama is, too."

"Think nothing of it," he said.  Her mother had been a servant of his family,
left without a job when Charles's father had swallowed most of the family
fortune in drink.  He'd gotten Mrs. MacTavish to hire the girl after telling
the kindhearted woman of the family's plight.  Naturally he had counted on
the girl's gratitude.  It was very convenient having such a person in his
partner's household, and already his idea was paying dividends.  "Give my
best to your good mother."

"Oh, I will, sir.  I'll be sure to, sir."  She curtsied.  "And I don't think
you need mention this conversation to anyone else.  They might miSConstrue my
attentions to you," he added with his most charming smile.

She blushed and for a moment he wondered just how grateful the pretty girl
might be.  However, at the moment he had more important matters to deal with.

"When will you be leaving?"  Mrs. MacTavish asked.  "This afternoon," Mr.
Fitzroy replied.

Blossom kept her gaze fastened on her uneaten porridge.

Mrs.  MacTavish got-up.  "Well, I'll have to get started with the packing."

"I did most of it this morning.  I'll be taking my own carriage."

The housekeeper bustled to the door nonetheless.  "I'll just make sure you've
got everything, then.  When should we expect you back?"

"In about a week."

Mrs.  MacTavish left the room.  Blossom had figured out that Mr. Fitzroy was
going on a journey, but she had no idea where or for quite how long.

She felt miserable.  She had truly failed.  A lump came into her throat just
as she realized Mr. Fitzroy was still standing by the door.  She blinked
rapidly, to subdue her tears, and looked at him.

The minute her gaze met his, he looked away.  "Don't worry.  Mrs. MacTavish
will take good care of you."  Blossom stood up slowly.

"A week's not long, only seven days."

She walked toward him.

"I'll tell Mrs. MacTavish to follow your wishes, so that you'll be
comfortable here."

She looked at his face, trying to see into the depths of his dark brown eyes.

"I'd better see What Charles wants and let him know of my plans," he said,
but he stood absolutely motionless until they both heard footsteps
approaching.

Mr.  Fitzroy darted from the room.  She heard him say, "Charles!  How
convenient of you to come this morning."

Left alone in the room, it was all Blossom could do to keep from shouting
with triumph.  She had not failed yet, not judging by the expression in his
eyes when he looked at her.

She heard the men go into the study.  Then she quickly went up the back
stairs.

She had a weekmwhat had he said?  --seven days.  In that time she could
surely learn much about him, including what manner of gratification he most
preferred in bed.

She went into the bedroom directly over the study, the first place Ah Tup had
made a spy hole, under the rug.  It had taken Ah Tup several minutes of
working with the slender knife to create it.  From above you could only see
the area directly in front of Mr. Fitzroy's huge desk, but you could hear
what was being said quite clearly.

She struggled with her skirt and petticoats until she could get down close to
the hole.

"Liverpool, eh?"  said a voice she didn't recognize.  "Yes," Mr. Fitzroy
replied nonchalantly.  "Oh, and

L'fitna tllossom there's something else I'd like your help with.  I'm trying
to locate an old friend, and I wonder if you know who I could contact.  "

"About your friend?"

"No, I meant someone to do the looking."

"Ah, detective or something, old man?"  the other man said.  "I might be able
to find such a person."

 "Good.   " The sooner the better.   "

" Not in any trouble, I trust?    "

"Oh, not at all.  Strictly a personal matter.  NoW, while I'm in Liverpool,
I'm going to see about a new design for sails..."

The other man came into view.  He was about the same age as Mr. Fitzroy but
dressed in a much more flamboyant manner.  His movements were graceful,
almost catlike.  In fact he resembled nothing so much as a cat eyeing the
fish in the marketplace as if wondering when it could grab one.

The conversation became too complicated for Blossom to follow; and seemed to
be all about ships and crews and provisions and goods.  Nevertheless, she
kept watching.  As she did, she began to wonder more and more why Mr. Fitzroy
dealt with this man.  She had never seen a face less indicative of an honest
nature.  He reminded her of Li Chang, one of Honorable Wu's supposed friends.
He had dined several times at Honorable Wu's house, praised his host's
intelligence as a merchant and complimented him on his food.  However, when
Wu had asked Li Chang for' help the man refused.

This man below was like that, smiling only with his lips, while his eyes .
his eyes made her feel as cold as a chunk of ice.

She would have to find out more about this Horton-Smythe.  It was her duty to
protect her master, as well as please him.

"What, may I ask, are you doing?"

Blossom scrambled to her knees, deftly pushing the rug back into place as she
turned toward Mrs. MacTavish.  "I ... in China, it is custom to..."

Mercifully she didn't have to come up with a plausible lie, because Mrs.
MacTavish interrupted.  "You'll get your dress dirty, whatever you did in
China.  Now get up.  You never finished your porridge."

Blossom obeyed at once, keeping her eyes respectfully downcast as they
returned to the morning room.

She tried a spoonful of the substance in her bowl and, to her surprise, found
it not unpalatable, although as thick as mud.  "Mrs.  MacTavish," she said,
"who is Horton-Smythe?"

"The Honorable Charles Horton-Smythe is Mr. Fitzroy's business parmer."

"What means that, bizz-nezz partner

"He works with Mr. Fitzroy and owns half of Fitzroy Shipping."

"Ah."  He would have to be studied most carefully, if he had a position of
trust.  She 'took another spoonful of porridge.  "Mr.  Fitzroy said you are
to teach me things."

"That's right, dear," the older woman said, eating her porridge with gusto.

"I wish to know what Mr. Fitzroy like."

"Oh, he's a fine man.  Not very talkative, but fair and kind, really,
underneath."

Blossom shook her head.  "No, I mean, what he like in bed?"

Mrs.  MacTavish's brow furrowed.  "Crisp, clean sheets.  But you're not to do
any such work, I've been told."

Blossom shook her head again, searching for the words she needed.  "I mean,
what he like to do in bed.  With women."

Mrs.  MacTavish spluttered.  "I'm sure I have no idea!"

Ltttna IJtOs$om she cried, wiping her chin.  "It's none of my business.  And
it's not yours either!  It's simply not discussed .... "

As the flabbergasted woman went on and on, Blossom stared down at the
porridge.  Clearly Mrs. MacTavish was not going to help her please Mr.
Fitzroy.

She would have to lind out these things for herself.

One week later, Darcy jumped from his carriage and hurried into his house.
He was in good spirits, for his trip to Liverpool had been quite successful.
He'd ordered two new ships at bargain prices and convinced one of the ftnest
merchant captains to take command of one of the vessels.  He'd also managed
to sell some of the silk from China Lady.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Fitzroy," Powlett said, his deep musical Welsh voice
betraying no emotion whatsoever when Darcy entered the house.

"Has Jeremy arrived yet?"  Darcy asked, handing his hat to the butler.

"No, sir."

"Show him into the study when he does."

"Very good, sir."

Darcy hesitated, wanting to ask Powlett how the last few days had passed, but
somehow Powlett's reticence forbade such a question.

Then Darcy realized something had changed while he was gone.  There was a
huge mirror--his bedroom mirror, unless he was terribly mistaken-on the
landing of the stairs.  He looked at Powlett.

"I understand, sir, it's to turn back harmful spirits or something of that
ilk."

"I see."  It didn't take a genius to know whose idea that must have been.  He
decided to ignore the mirror for now, and went to his study.

He halted on the threshold of his inner sanctum and stared in amazement.  His
room appeared to have been vandalized Many of the books were missing from the
shelves, replaced with a few personal items from his bedroom: a cigar box
Charles had given him, a small framed cameo of his mother, a shrunken head
he'd picked up in Borneo and right there, in the middle of the shelf behind
his desk, a small statue of a satyr with enlarged genitalia.  Emmaline had
given it to him, claiming that it reminded her of him.

There were even a few flower arrangements, if the twigs and single blooms
sticking out of vases could be called arrangements.  Another large mirror,
one he distinctly recalled banishing to the garret, now hung over the
fireplace.  And to top it all off, someone had tidied his desk.

"Mrs.  MacTavish!"  he bellowed, his anger surging like lava from a volcano.

His housekeeper appeared almost instantly.  "Yes, sir?"  She looked at the
room, and her mouth fell open.  Her expression would have been comical,
except that Darcy was in no mood for humor.

"What in heaven's name have you done?"

Mrs.  MacTavish moved her mouth, but nothing came out for a minute.  Then she
exploded.  "Those two!  I told them they were not to come into this room.  I
thought they understood the last time I caught them at the door!"

Now it was Darcy's turn to be surprised, and that lessened his anger
somewhat.  "You had nothing to do with this?"

"No, sir, and I'm very sorry that it happened.  I'll talk to them right away."

"Never mind just now, Mrs. MacTavish.  Come into the room for a moment, if
you please."

Frowning deeply, the housekeeper complied.

"What else have they done?"  he demanded.

"Except for this foolishness about some heathen notions of good and evil
spirits and sneaking into this room like thieves, nothing that I know of.  I
thought they were being most congenial.  And Blossommthat's what we call her,
sirmher English is considerably improved."

He knew Mrs. MacTavish was scrupulously honest, but her answer did little to
diminish his frustration.  He felt as if his whole world had turned upside
down since Wu's "payment" had arrived.  Even in Liverpool, he couldn't stop
thinking about Fragrant Blossom, and his dreams had been filled with images
of her.  "Send her to me."

"Yes, sir."  Mrs. MacTavish took a deep breath.  "But first may I ask how
much longer they are to stay here?"

"I don't have any idea, but the sooner I can get rid of them both, the
better."

 "

"I must say, then, sir, that I think they should go to church."

Darcy glared at his housekeeper.  Was everyone in his household going to
start giving orders or complaining?  "Why?"

"Because they're heathens.  And some of the things she asks ... I think
church would do them both good."

"Mrs.  MacTavish, if it keeps them out of my study and my mirrors in their
proper places, I don't care if you take them to Timbuktu.  Now get her?"

"At once, sir."

Darcy paced in his violated room and threw himself into his favorite chair.
This was intolerable, really intolerable.  He'd send them away tonight, to
that house of Emmaline's if need be.  Anything was better than having his
household disrupted this way.

He picked up a cheroot and it it.  Besides, Jeremy was due to arrive soon.
He couldn't have his little brother finding two stranger very stranger women
in the house.

Yes, it was time he got them out of his house and out of his life.

When the housekeeper summoned her, Blossom suddenly felt overcome with
nervousness.  She had worked very hard since Mr. Fitzroy had gone, learning
everything the Crow Woman and the Chief Eunuch could teach her.  Of course,
compared to Water Lily's teachings, theirs had been easy, but tiring
nonetheless.

They had made a big fuss about her desire to move the mirrors, but she
supposed that couldn't be helped.  It was too bad they didn't know about the
chi and sha, but that didn't mean the evil sha would keep away.  She had
persisted and would have kept at it for days, as they finally realized.

The worst had been getting into Mr. Fitzroy's study.  She and Ah Tup had had
to sneak downstairs in the middle of the night to make it ready for him.
They had removed several dusty, dirty writings from the shelves and added
what she assumed were personal mementos.  These would make the beneficent chi
linger in the room, and the mirror would keep it from leaving by the chimney.

Blossom hurried down the stairs and through the hall, not stopping to catch
her breath.  Surely Mr. Fitzroy would be happy with her now that she had made
his room much more comfortable.

"Mr.  Fitzroy, we so happy you have come home!"  she cried, smiling brightly
as she rushed through the door, her

English the worse for her excite mere

Mr.  Fitzroy didn't smile back.

Of course!  She had forgotten to curtsy.  It had taken her two days to master
that.  When he still didn't smile, she feared her effort was a failure.

Barely glancing at her, he gestured toward a chair opposite his imposing
desk.  She sat down, wondering what she had forgotten to do.

"Nobody but myself and Mrs. MacTavish comes into this room.  Do you
understand?"  he said, his voice cold and his eyes unreadable.

She fought the tears that came into her eyes.  Obviously her efforts to
please him had had the opposite effect.

"I'm sorry you are not pleased, Mr. Fitzroy," she said, her careful choice of
words and attempt to speak properly making her talk slowly.

Darcy suddenly felt like the worst dunderheaded fool on the face of the
earth.  He knew she was trying not to cry.  He had acted like an overbearing
brute.  It wasn't reasonable to expect her to understand English ways after
all those years in China.  When he spoke, his voice was considerably calmer
and gentler.  "I realize you're only doing what you think is right, but I
prefer this room as it was."

She nodded, and a single tear began to roll down her smooth, pale cheek.
Quickly she wiped it away, but it had already burned his heart as if it had
been acid.  "Perhaps it is best that Ah Tup and I leave soon."

"That will be as soon as I can arrange it."  "Is it my big feet?"  "Hell, no!"

Another tear rolled down her cheek.  He discovered that he hated being the
cause of her sorrow, so he said something that he thought would make her feel
better.  "Mrs:.  MacTavish has been pleased."

She nodded, but she kept her gaze on the carpet.  He found himself staring at
her slender hands.  Her fingers were intertwined and clasped together tightly.

"Mrs.  MacTavish also thinks you should go to church."

She lifted her eyes and looked at him with a sad, bewildered expression.
"What is church?"

"It's a place, a building, where we worship God."

 "It is a temple?"   "Something like that."

"I cannot go to such a place."

Now he was bewildered.  "Why not?"

"I make a promise to my father not to go into temples."

"I thought you said he was dead."

"Yes, Mr. Fitzroy.  But I made a promise and I must keep it."

He heard her unyielding determination and decided it was best to drop the
subject for the moment.  "As you wish," he said.  His idea that she might be
the daughter of missionaries must be wrong.  No missionary would make his
daughter promise-not to go to church.

"I go now, please, Mr. Fitzroy," she said quietly.  The sadness in her voice
smote him as completely as a sword through his heart.  She stood up and
turned toward the door.  "Blossom..."

She turned slightly toward him and he approached her.  "Please try and
understand."

"I understand," she said softly.  "I understand that everything I do here is
wrong.  That I can never please you.  That you do not want me.  That I have
failed."

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so that she faced him.  "It
has to be this way, for both our sakes."

She looked at him, her luminous blue eyes filled with unshed tears, her
cheeks pale and her lips trembling.  Without thinking, he pulled her closer
and kissed her, lightly at first, then more deeply as she pressed against him.

It was like no other kiss in his entire life, at once somehow innocent and
experienced.  As if she'd never been kissed before but still knew exactly how
to respond, moving her lips and body so that his passion ignited like
lightning.

Of course, his mind shouted, she's been taught to be a whore!

He drew back as if she'd slapped him, horrified at the force of his response.
She smiled at him, and it seemed a triumphant one.

"Please go," he said harshly, turning his back to her.  If she cried, he
didn't want to see her.

Blossom obeyed, hurrying upstairs and throwing herself on her bed.  Ah Tup
bent over her, speaking soothingly, trying to find out what had happened.
After the first storm of weeping had passed, Blossom became aware of her
friend's presence and sat up slowly.  "We must leave here.  I can never,
never please him.  Everything I do is wrong, even to a kiss."

Chapter Six

Darcy kicked the side of the fireplace and cursed himself for a weak-willed
fool.

I must never forget what she is, he commanded himself.  It didn't matter that
she looked as innocent as an angel That was undoubtedly a ruse.

Unfortunately, despite his efforts, in his heart he knew that he was
weakening and might not be able to resist temptation much longer.

"Mr.  Jeremy has arrived," Powlett intoned from the threshold of the study.
"Shall I send him here or to the drawing room, sir?"

"Here," Darcy replied.  He lit another cheroot to calm his nerves and
wondered again what Jeremy wanted that was worth a trip to London.

He managed to smile as his brother strode into the room, an easy, affable
expression on his face.

"How are you, Darcy?"  Jeremy said, the refinement in his voice as pleasing
as the casual air with which he his finely tailored clothing.

"Fine," Darcy replied, offering Jeremy a cheroot.

"No, thank you."  Jeremy looked around the tidy room.  "My word, what's
happened here?"

Lntnatltossom

Darcy scowled.  "New maid," he lied.  He sat on the chair behind his desk and
motioned for Jeremy to sit, too.

"Now, what brings you to the city before the end of term?"

 "I would like you to give me something."

Darcy was rather surprised by the blunt nature of his brother's statement.
"Anything--within reason, of course."

"Good.  I want your blessing."

"For what?"

"I'm going to get married."

Darcy slowly got to his feet and walked toward the fireplace.

Jeremy smiled.  "She's a lovely girl, Darcy.  You'll like her.  I would say
you'd love her, too, but I reserve that right for myself."

"Who is she?"  Darcy asked without turning around "Her name's Elizabeth
Hazelmore.  Her father's a minister at the most channing little church in a
village just outside of London.  I met her brother at school.  They're as
poor as the proverbial church mice, but Elizabeth is rich in goodness and
beauty .... "

Darcy, his face a mask of suppressed rage, slowly turned and looked at
Jeremy.  One hand rested on the mantelpiece; the other, truer to his
emotional state, was bunched in a fist in the pocket of his trousers.  He
kept it there because he was very tempted to use it on Jeremy.  "After all
I've done for you," he said coldly, "all the money I've spent on you, this is
how you repay me?  By marrying some penniless parson's daughter?"

Jeremy stared at Darcy incredulously.  "It doesn't matter that Elizabeth
isn't wealthy."

"That's because you've never had to think about money.  Or work for it,
either."

"Whose fault is that?  I never asked you to spend money on me.  I never asked
you for anything!"

L'hma Blossom

"Damn right you didn't--because I've been looking after you since you could
barely walk."

Jeremy got to his feet, thrusting back his chair so hard it hit the nearby
table.  "Look, Darcy, I appreciate what you've done for me.  I'll say thank
you as much as you'd like, but you're not going to tell me who I can or cannot

"And how far do you think you'll get without me running your life?  What do
you know about the world?  All you know is the soft life you've been living
at Oxford, thanks to my money and my hard work!"

Jeremy took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.  By now he should be used
to Darcy's easily aroused ire.  "MaYbe I don't know business," he said, his
voice softer although no less determined, "but I can find myself a job.  I
can earn enough to keep Elizabeth and myself."

Darcy's expression became mocking.  "Perhaps you should ask this Elizabeth
how she'll feel iliving on what only you can provide."

Jeremy fought the anger build!  ng inside him at the sneer in Darcy's voice.
"Love is more important than money, Darcy, as you'll probably find out some
day.  And we don't have quite your social ambitions."

It was a low blow in this fight of words, since Jeremy knew precisely how
important his brother's social ambitions were, but he felt driven to say it,
to hurt Darcy as much as Darcy was hurting him.  All he wanted to do was
marry sweet, gentle Elizabeth, whom his brother was accusing of being
mercenary.

"It's a damn good thing you don't, then, if you're bent on marry inga
penniless gift.  She'll ruin you."

"You've never even met her!"  Jeremy said angrily.  "She's all I want out of
life, Darcy.  We're going to be very happy together.  You'll see."

"No, I won't see."  Darcy's fingers tightened on his cheroot until it broke
in two pieces.  "If you marry this girl, I'!1 never see you again."

Jeremy's eyes widened.  "You mean it, don't you?"  Darcy didn't say anything.
He didn't have to.

"I won't even try to reason with you now.  I would be wasting my time.  I
hope you're willing to change your mind about this, Darcy, because I'm not
going to change my mind about marrying the girl I love."

With a look that was the image of Darcy's own stubborn expression, Jeremy
turned and stalked out of the room.

Blossom and Ah Tup gently rolled back the carpet in the bedroom over the
study.  They had heard the muffled sounds of angry voices when Blossom had
stopped weeping.  Wondering what could be happening, they had come to listen.

They crept back to their bedroom and looked at each other.

"The master was very angry, wasn't he?  Even more than we have seen yet
seen," Ah Tup whispered, as if they might be overheard as easily as they had
listened to the quarrel in the study.

"So that is Younger Brother," Blossom said softly.  "He is very like Mr.
Fitzroy."

"The Chief Eunuch said he was to come today, but I don't think the Chief
Eunuch expected the master to be angry.  He almost smiled when he spoke of
Younger Brother in the kitchen."

"Yet there must be trouble between them, since Younger Brother doesn't live
here."

Ah Tup nodded her agreement.  "I think you must be right, Mother.  Unless it
is just another unusual custom, like the servants who live someplace else."

"Perhaps that is the custom here, that each lives in a separate place,
brothers, sisters, wives and concubines?  Perhaps it is a sign of great
wealth to own many houses."

Blossom smiled.  "It could be that I even gain face by living in a different
place than Mr. Fitzroy!"

Ah Tup's face showed her admiration.  "Ayeel You are so clever!  We should
have guessed that before!"

"Now if only I Could be certain that I do not displease him," she said
thoughtfully.  "I seem to anger him even when I..."  She hesitated, for some
reason not willing to discuss the kiss with her friend.

"Maybe it is his nature to be always finding fault, like Precious Jade, who
would find fault with the gods themselves if they were ever so crazy as to
appear to her.  If the master is quick to anger, that might explain why
Younger Brother lives elsewhere, too, and why they fought."

Ah Tup began making tea, real tea, not the strange foreign brew.  "Could you
understand why the master was angry at Younger Brother?"

Blossom began undoing the back of her dress, wanting to get out of it.  "It
was about marriage."

"He doesn't like the master's choice for his wife?"

Blossom wriggled out of the' gown and sighed deeply.  "No, it seems Younger
Brother has made his own choice."

Ah Tup stopped in the middle of pouring boiling water.  "What?  His own
choice?  No wonder the master was furious."

"I think that was the reaSOn."  Blossom drew on a robe and took the tea from
Ah Tup.  As she sat sipping it, she remembered that Younger Brother had
talked of this thing "love" again.  It puzzled her, because she couldn't
decide what they meant by it.  After several minutes, she gave up trying.

"I think we must find out more about this Elizabeth Ha-zelmore," she said.
"It is my duty to protect Mr. Fitzroy and his family, and if this girl is not
suitable for Younger Brother, the marriage must be stopped."

"Younger Brother was most lacking in proper respect, was he not?  And
Elizabeth--what an impossible name!"

"It is the way of brothers, I suppose, to lack respect."

"Do you think Mr. Fitzroy is annoyed because he wishes to marry before
Younger Brother?"

Blossom set down her cup slowly.  Mr. Fitzroy takin ga wife!  Another woman
being kissed by him, being in bed with him, experiencing the zenith with him.
She would feel like a beggar forced to only look at a rich man's feast.

After a long pause she said, "It will be hard to obey his tai tai after so
much freedom."

Ah Tup got a conspiratoriai expression on her face.  "If you were to bear the
first son, you would be in a position of great power in the household,
despite a wife."

Blossom frowned.  "To do that, he must take me into his

Ah Tup looked at her.  "You have been trained by Water Lily!  Sooner or
later-depending on these strange fan kow customs--he will."

Blossom knew that she wanted that very much, and it had little to do now with
pay inga debt.  She wanted him because her heart beat with the fury of
thunder when he stood near her.  Her blood throbbed with desire when he
looked at her.  The house had seemed as empty as a tomb without him.  The
mere sight of him filled her with happiness.  And the thought of him taking
another woman filled her with agony.

"He will," she said with renewed determination.

Darcy sighed and leaned back into the tub of water until his back rested
against the metal.  There was nothing like a hot soak after a long
journey--and a heated argument.  He closed his eyes, letting his muscles
relax.

He could fall asleep, if he could stop thinking about Jeremy and Blossom.
He'd go to Emmaline's dinner party tonight and remind her again about renting
that house.  Then he'd be partly rid of one of his problems.  Charles would
probably be there, so he could find out if Charles had hired anyone to find
information about the girl's origim

He relaxed a little more and sank deeper into the tub.  As for Jeremy, maybe
it was a youthful infatuation that would end naturally.  He really shouldn't
have gotten so angry.

He heard a sound and opened his eyes lazily--then sat up abruptly, sloshing
water over the edge of the tub and onto his bedroom carpet.

Blossom, wearing only her thin silk robe and an enticing smile, stood at the
foot of the tub.

"What the hell!"

She let her robe slip to the floor.  "I come to wash."  He thought she was
about to step into the tub, but instead she picked up the soap and a cloth,
letting it trail in the water as she walked toward the head of the tub.

"This isn't proper," he protested.  He wanted to get up out of the tub, but
his robe was just out of his reach.  God, he was trapped!

She knelt beside the tub and' leaned forward, her naked breasts almost
touching the water as she rubbed the soap into the cloth.

"Put some clothes on," he said, trying to sound angry.  Unfortunately, he
only succeeded in sounding hoarse.

"Water would not be good for robe," she said, beginning to rub the cloth
lightly over his chest.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to feel one moment of pure sensual
pleasure before he reached out and grabbed her wrist.  "Stop it.  Right now."

"I wish only to please you," she whispered, leaning closer.

"I said..."

He never finished, because her lips touched his.  Gently.  Softly.
Compelling him to respond.

L'htna Blossom

It was as if the rest of the world and its rules and prohibitions ceased to
exist.  Suddenly nothing mattered except her.  Her lips.  Her tongue.  Her
breasts.  Her body.

His mouth captured hers, sending dizzying waves of desire coursing through
his body.  Without breaking the fiery kiss, he twisted, put his hands under
her arms and lifted her into the warm, soapy water.  His hands caressed her
slender body, cupping her breasts as she moaned with pleasure and longing,
awaken inga passion that was primitive and powerful.  Slowly she inched her
body upward so that he could kiss her silken flesh.

Her movement overbalanced the tub, It tipped sideways, Spilling them and
several gallons of water, onto the floor.

Panting, Darcy stood up and helped Blossom to her feet.  They stood looking
at each other's face, and in her eyes he saw the same blatant, primal desire
that he felt,

He heard footsteps on the stairs.  Quickly he turned and reached for her
robe, tossing it to her before getting his own and hurrying into it.  ,

"Get out of here before Mrs. MacTavish comes!"  he ordered.

She obeyed as he picked up a towel and began mopping up the floor.

Blossom ran down the hall and closed the door just as she heard Mrs.
MacTavish asking what had happened.  She heard Mr. Fitzroy say something
about falling asleep Leaning back against the closed door, she let her breath
out slowly.

"Well?"  Ah Tup asked, taking note of Blossom's damp garment.

"Almost," Blossom replied, smiling triumphantly.

A few hours later, Darcy sat in his carriage on the way to Emmaline's large
house in Mayfair.  His nerves were still in what Mrs. MacTavish would call "a
state," between his anger at Jeremy, the upheaval in his house and the
lustful episode in his bedroom.

He scowled as he looked out of the window of the car-dage, seeing little
beyond the sooty fog that coated the city.

He vowed not the think about Blossom anymore tonight.  Tonight he would
concentrate on Emmaline.  Perhaps that was what he needed: a night with his
sensual, experienced mistress, a woman who could have had any number of
lovers and had chosen him.  She wasn't ordered to make love to him or trained
to be a whore.  Emmaline took lovers because she wanted them as much as they
wanted her.  Besides, she would make sure there was no scandal attached to
their liaison, whereas if word got out that he was keep inga concubine in his
house, all hell would break loose.

But 'he wasn't going to think about Blossom tonight.  He wouldn't think about
Jeremy, either.  He still couldn,t believe that his younger brother would do
such a thing to him--would disregard his advice.  and wisdom, and marry the
daughter of a poor country parson without connections or fortune to recommend
her.

Love wouldn't do them any good when it came to food or lodgings.  Love
wouldn't get Jeremy a position as fine as the one that awaited him at Fitzroy
Shipping, provided he saw the error of his ways,

He had raised Jeremy with but one objective: to become a successful man.  And
to be a successful man meant acceptance into the highest level of society.

He had done his best to achieve such acceptance self, but even as he
alighted.  from his carriage at Lord Whit, more's palatial mansion, he knew
he was only the upper-class people he would find there because investing in
his shipping company had made some of them even richer, and because Lady
Whitmore invited him.  No doubt some wondered if her interest in him was more
than finan, ciai, but no one would dare say so in public,

BlOSSOm

He handed his hat to the stiff butler at the door and went into the drawing
room.

The spacious area was filled to capacity.  The bright gowns of the ladies
were as colorful as a market garden and highlighted the creamy complexion of
their faces and shoulders.  Around the edges of the room, in black coats and
trousers, stood the most influential men in London.

Darcy's mood lightened.  He was standing in the midst' of the elite.  Whether
they accepted him or not, he was here.

Emmaline, beautiful in a gown of rose-colored silk trimmed with intricate
lace, crossed the room toward him.  Her lips smiled graciously.

For the first time since he'd met her, Darcy realized that Emmaline's eyes
never smiled.  They had never reflected any genuine joy in all the time he
had known her.  The realization made him think of other eyes, blue eyes that
seemed to communicate their possessor's feelings better than any words.

But he wasn't going to think about Blossom tonight.  He smiled at Emmaline.

"Mr.  Fitzroy!  I'm so happy to see you" she said, meaning it in her own
special way.

He had always admired the way she could make a crowded room feel as intimate
as a boudoir.  "The pleasure is all mine," he replied.

"Mr.  Horton-Smythe is here already, with someone he told me you would be
very interested in meeting.  His name is Edward Thresham.  His father is a
very wealthy and-owner.  I also understand that his mother's quite an
intellectual, although you'd never know it to judge by Mr. Thresham.  He's
very amusing."  She took Darcy's arm and steered him toward' the
conservatory.  "In fact, he's a bit of a wasttel, I think.  He's been all
over the word and tells the most fascinating stories.  You and he should have
quite a lot in common."

"As one seafaring man to another?"

She squeezed his arm.  "As one man to another--and I'll expect you to tell me
all his best stories."

Darcy grinned.  Emmaline's taste in stories was decidedly unladylike, but
their effect on her performance in bed more than made up for any reluctance
he might have had recounting ribald tales to a woman.

"Charles wouldn't tell me why he brought Mr. Thresh-am here," she said
offhandedly, again making her gracious, shallow smile.  Nevertheless Darcy
knew she was definitely not pleased that Charles hadn't told her more.

When they reached the conservatory, he saw Charles standing with another man
beside a very large, no doubt rare and costly palm tree.

"Here he is," Emmaline said to Charles.

"Ah, Fitzroy, old man.  Glad to see you.  I'd like you to meet Edward
Threshamf'

Charles turned to the man beside him.  His back was half to Emmaline.  She
frowned, and Darcy realized Charles had just blundered.  No one turned even a
part of his back to Lady Emmaline Whitmore,

Thresham made a slight bow and grinned.  "Pleased to meet you," he said, his
voice cultured and with a hint of laughter.  "Charmed again, Lady Whitmore."
.

As Emmaline smiled at Thresham and Darcy wished the man had never been born,
Charles leaned closerl "I've got

' ' ' ' ' n"

a man looking into that lit He matter of a ms smg per so ,

he whispered.

Darcy nodded.  He was pleased, of course that somehow /1111 he might solve
the riddle of Blossom s identity, so that he could find some relative to
relieve him of her.  He was disturbed, he told himself, because Thresham was
too handsome, too charming and altogether too well-bred.  Now Em-ma line
wouldn't leave unless a disaster---or a spoiled dinner--threatened, and he
couldn't ask Thresham t.  nma otossom questions he wanted to, at least not
without arousing suspicion.

"Knows lots about the Chinese, he tells me.  Customs, trade, all that sort of
thing," Charles said.

"Mr.  Horton-Smythe says you're very interested in the Orient, Mr. Fitzroy."
Thresham flashed a brilliant smile as much at Emmaline as Darcy.

Darcy felt a rush of jealousy but knew he wanted Thres-ham's knowledge of the
Chinese, even if he wasn't going to think about Blossom tonight.  "As a
matter of fact, I am.  We do quite a bit of trade in Canton, so I'm always
looking out for helpful information.  The Chinese are rather close-lipped
about their customs, aren't they?"

Thresham laughed.  Even the man's laugh was attractive, damn him.  "That's
one way to put it.  Actually, they're xenophobic."

"I'm afraid you'll have to explain that to me," Emma-line said, somewhat to
Darcy's relief, since he didn't have any idea what the word meant, either.

"They don't like foreigners, whom they consider barbarians.  You see, they
believe that they are the inhabitants of the only truly civilized country
between heaven and earth.  That's why they call China the Middle Kingdom.
And they don't want their country polluted by outsiders."

"Surely they can't mean the British?"  Charles asked incredulously.

Thresham smiled at Emmaline before responding.  "Oh,

but they do.  Any and all foreigners, I'm afraid.  "

" That's utter rot!   "

"Not to them, Mr. Horton-Smythe.  After all, they were making beautiful works
of art when Europe was no more than a collection of warring savages."

"But the things we've heard.  Eating dogs, killing babies, binding the
women's feet.  I hardly call that civilized!"

"They can't understand how we can keep dogs for pets,

either.  And I must say," Thresham smiled at Emmaline again, " that some
people would consider corsets no less terrible than foot binding.  "

Darcy couldn't help remembering Blossom waving the corset like a flag Of
battle.  A smile sprang to his lips until he realized Emmaline was looking at
him.

The butler appeared.  "The dinner is ready, Lady Whit-more."

"Oh, thank you, James," she said.  "Mr.  Fitzroy, will you be so kind as to
escort me inside?"

"I'd be honored," he said, meaning it.  To escort Lady Whitmore in the
absence of her husband was an honor, especially when so many men at the party
outranked him socially.

He turned to Thresham, who was obviously also invited to stay to dinner.
"I'd like to ask you some questions.  After dinner?"

"Delighted to be of service."

Darcy took Emmaline's arm.  Thresham and Charles followed behind.

I should have been asked to ake her in, Charles thought bitterly.  He was
much closer in rank to Lady Whitmore than that sailor Fitzroy.

Well, no matter now.  He'd show them all for fools soon enough.

Darcy had never spent a more restless and boring time at one of Emmaline's
dinner parties.  He should have been flattered to be placed so near her as
she presided at the head of the table, but he resented being so far from
Thres-ham, who was entertaining those around him with stories of his
far-flung travels.  A few times he heard "China" and it was all he could do
to keep still and try to look interested in the interminable rambling of the
old man sitting beside him.

Across from Darcy sat Lady Gloriana Shrewtonbury, who was batting her cow
like eyes at him with great vigor and smiling insjpidly every time he glanced
her way.  There had been a time not too long ago when he'd actually
considered marrying her, despite her distinct lack of physical charms,
because she was the eldest daughter of a very old, very wealthy family.  Now,
though, he thought he must have been temporarily insane to even contemplate
such a step.

As he drank his wine it occurred to him that he really should be flattered to
be the object of Lady Gloriana's flirtatious attention.  It just went to show
that money could force people to accept you or at least pretend to.

An idea struck him as forcibly as a rock.  If they could accept him, perhaps
they could accept a beautiful gift who had been raised in a foreign country.
He scanned the table, taking note of several noble bachelors.  Perhaps
someone might even marry her if her dowry was sufficiently large.  That would
take Blossom off his hands completely!

He should have been very pleased with his brilliant idea, but for some reason
he wasn't.  He glanced at Lord Blun-derbast sitting beside him, who'd been
droning on for the past several minutes.  Probably his companion's babbling
kept him from feel inga sense of relief.

Darcy sighed and tried to look as if he were paying attention to the elderly
man, who had been quite the dandy and rake in his youth forty years ago.  But
forty years had rendered him more Pathetic than dashing.  Darcy couldn't help
wondering if he'd seen anything quite like the man beside him with his
powdered face, dyed hair, too-tight breeches and waistcoat, and blustery
manner of speech that resembled a barrage of cannons firing haphazardly.

"I tell you," Lord Blunderbast went on, "it's nothing more than a demmed lure
to foreigners and rogues of every description!  A waste of money, too.  A
wretched monstrosity sitting smack in Hyde Park!  Crystal Palace, indeed!
The whole city's full of foreigners already."  Darcy noted the man said
"foreigners" as if each and every one carried bubonic plague and were thieves
into the bargain.  "And if it weren't for Prince Albert being so dashed set
on it, the smart men in the city would have put a stop to it long ago!"

"But surely, your lordship, the exhibition will show the world the many
accomplishments of the modem age, to the native born as well as to those
visiting from foreign countries?"  Emmaline said.  with her charming smile
and slightly befuddled expression, as if she, only a poor woman, was having
trouble comprehending the manly greatness represented by his lordship,
demonstrating once again the shrewdness that had gained her the reputation as
the finest hostess in London.

"A good point, madam, but I think this demmed government ought to make some
restrictions, exhibition or not," Lord Blunderbast replied condescendingly.
"You gels are bloody--beg pardon--ignorant of the mischief these people can
get up to.  And the whole blasted city seems too dashed like a child at.  a
market fair to be paying attention

Blossom would make a fine hostess, too, even if all she did was sit and
listen with that look of intelligent interest in her beautiful eyes.  And if
she chose to speak, it would never be "Yes, my dear" or "No, my love" or "You
know best, my darling."  If she talked to Darcy, who was supposed to be her
honored lord, the' way she did, she wouldn't hesitate to tell her husband her
opinions.  A wife like that would certainly never be dull.

But he was not going to think about Blossom tonight.  Fortunately, dessert
was concluded before Lord Blun?  derbast had an apoplectic fit which, judging
by the increasing redness of his already florid complexion, was not
unreasonable worry.  Emmaline rose gracefully.  "Ladies?

All the other women got up and followed her to the drawing room while the
men, led by Lord Blunderbast, headed for the billiards room and the comfort
of a cheroot and brandy.

Since Lord Blunderbast had commandeered the brandy bottle, Darcy was forced
to listen to more harangues against the foolery represented by the Crystal
Palace.  At last, though, he' got his drink and moved away, closer to
Thres-ham, who was surrounded by several men apparently hanging on his every
word.

"Now, as for the women" -- Thresham paused and looked at the other men
"--they're quite" -- the men all leaned a little closer ma zing

The men's eyes widened with fascination.  Even Darcy couldn't help being
caught up by Thresham's manner, his easy familiarity and charm.  Lord
Blunderbast left the brandy bottle to come a little closer.

"Oriental women are generally quite small, but they have the most interesting
techniques."

"Foreigners!"  Lord Blunderbast snorted, but without nearly the vehemence
he'd displayed at dinner.

"Well, they are different.  For instance, a Chinese man cares more about the
size of a woman's feet than any other portion of her anatomy."

The men looked incredulous.

"That's why they bind them, so that when the woman's fully grown, her feet
are only about three inches long."

"Barbaric!"   Lord Blunderbast interjected weakly.   Darcy noted that
Charles seemed quite fascinated.   "The women suffer great pain for many
years, and eventually some of their toes fall completely off.   All in the
name of beauty."

"Isn't it true they sell their daughters?"  one of the other gentlemen asked.

Thresham, leaning against the mantelpiece, nodded.  "As servants or
concubines or to whorehouses."

"The poor creatures," Charles said solemnly.  "It's as if they're something
you can buy and sell like trade goods."  Darcy glanced at Charles quickly,
but Charles didn't look anything other than curious.

Thresham shrugged his shoulders.  "Girls aren't of much value in China, I'm
afraid.  Many times, duringa famine or a financial disaster of some sort,
they get sold or traded.  Of course, some of the more beautiful concubines
manage to live fairly comfortably, and if a girl is sold to provide money to
help her family, she's even regarded as a particularly dutiful daughter."

"Really?"  Lord Blunderbast seemed to have forgotten to condemn foreigners
out of hand.

"I've heard some people talk about something they call 'face."  What is it,
exactly?  " Darcy asked, trying to look as if this were merely a quaint
notion he'd heard of once.

Thresham grinned.  "That's quite a complicated thing, face.  It's all wrapped
up in their version of society and doing what they perceive as the correct
thing.

"Basically, it's about respect.  Face can be determined by your actions, by
acting correctly.  If you act incorrectly, you lose face--much as we expect a
gentleman to act like a gentleman and if he doesn't, we expect him to be
ashamed of himself.

"But it's also based on your social standing.  It's not enough to be wealthy
or powerful, though.  To have face, you have to have, well, a certain
noblesse oblige.  In that, they're not so different from anybody else."

"What if you lose face?  Would it be so terrible a person might kill
themselves?"

Thresham seemed rather surprised by Darcy's question, and Dare,y, resolved to
be a little more circumspect in his probing.  Well, it is disastrous to l se
face, but suicide in China is rather rare.  They believe that if you do that,
your

Uluna Blossom spirit is doomed to be a restless ghost.  That's something to
be avoided at all costs.

"Of course, there are exceptions.  For instance, if a woman is raped, they
think it shows a proper sense of shame for her to kill herself.  Or if a girl
has a particularly nasty mother-in-law, she sometimes kills herself hoping
her spirit will haunt the other woman."

"Tempting idea, eh?  Might have considered haunting my wife's
mother--terrible old battle-ax," Lord Blunderbast muttered.  Apparently
realizing he had just approved some blasted foreigner's idea, he cleared his
throat loudly and moved back toward the brandy bottle.

Darcy needed another drink.  It seemed he had been deluding himself like a
besotted youth.  To Blossom, making love was really nothing more than paying
Wu's debt, just as her threat to kill herself was a lie.  The desire in her
eyes had no doubt been a lie, too.  It was galling to think that he had been
so easily duped by pity and a pretty face.

He tossed back his brandy.  Tonight he would forget Blossom and show Emmaline
just how much he regretted neglecting her.

Blossom fed another piece of coal into the bedroom grate.  Afterward she
went to the window and looked out onto the dark, damp street.  It would not
be long before the first faint light of dawn appeared in the eastern sky.

Perhaps Mr. Fitzroy had slept at the place called "club."  Ah Tup had.
overheard the Chief Eunuch and the Crow Woman say he might, although neither
Blossom nor Ah Tup had any idea what they meant by such a place.

Nevertheless, she would wait until he returned home, or the servants began
their daily work.  She knew it-would not be good to be discovered here in Mr.
Fitzroy's bedchamber.

With a deep sigh, she adjusted her ornately embroidered gown and settled into
a chair beside the fireplace.  She glanced at the spot where the mirror used
to hang.  It was good that she had moved it, even if it might have prevented
chi from disappearing up the chimney, because it had faced Mr. Fitzroy's
large bed.  Everybody knew that a sleeper's soul might take fright at seeing
the body's reflection and possibly flee.  She had also been wise to move the
screen from its place in the corner to a position in front of the door.  This
way the chi would stay in the room longer.  As she settled deeper into the
chair, she let her mind tna ttossom rove back to China, where she knew what
was expected of her.  Only a few days ago it would have been the
Grave-Sweeping Festival, when Honorable Wu and all his family would tend to
the graves of their ancestors, cleaning them and leaving offerings for the
spirits.  It was important that the spirits of the ancestors not be offended,
and that they knew they were still remembered and revered by their
descendents.

Of course, she had never been allowed to take part but had worked 'hard in
the kitchen to prepare the food offerings.  It had stung her to know that she
had no graves to tend and that the spirits of her ancestors might be
wandering the earth tormented.  She knew exactly how they felt, for she, too,
had wandered far and knew little contentment.

At least she should be happy that Mr. Fitzroy didn't beat her or make her
work hard all day long as Precious Jade had.  Many times Mr: Fitzroy seemed
more frustrated than annoyed.  Perhaps, in time, she could find ways to
please him, starting tonight.

What if she never pleased him?  Would he send her away?  He had told her she
was free, but what did that mean?  If she was free to go, where would she
live?  How would she keep herself and Ah Tup?  She knew only the life of a
kitchen slave or a concubine.

To be the toy of a man was better than the drudge of a cook, but did she want
to belong to any man but Mr. Fitzroy?

He was generous, providing her With clothes, detestable though they were.
His servants seemed very loyal, despite his bad temper, so he must not be a
bad master generally.  He had even been most sympathetic in the matter of the
terrible porridge.

She thought of the rare times she had seen him laugh and the way his eyes
softened so wonderfully.  She wanted to be near him, to watch for those
precious moments.

She could not imagine another man caressing her.  It thrilled her to know
that she could find ways to break down the wall of his barbarian reserve.  He
was strong and powerful, but with her he was gentle and kind.  Surely that
meant she had touched his heart, just as surely as she knew she wanted to
please Mr. Fitzroy and to be safe in his arms.

At that moment, Blossom made a decision.  If he would not touch her, she
would still stay and be his servant.  It would be better to be a servant in
his house than another man's concubine.

Of all things, thOUgh, the best would be to become Mr. Fitzroy's concubine.
She let herself remember Mr. Fitzroy's naked body as he lay in the tub of
water, the sensation of his lips on hers, the fire in his eyes when he looked
at her.

The door opened.  Half-asleep, Blossom automatically kowtowed.

"What do you think you're doing here?"

She stood up and smiled at Mr. Fitzroy.  "I prepare your bed for sleeping,"
she said, poking at the coals until they grew brighter.  She then proceeded
to turn back the bedclothes while he stood motionless and watched.  The room
ready, she turned to him.  "I gO now."

"Blossom, I've decided you should learn more about English customs."

"As you wish, Mr. Fitzroy."

"I'll see about getting someone to teach you.  Mrs.

MacTavish doesn't have the time to spare.  "

She nodded.

"Good night, then."

"Good night, Mr. Fitzroy," She walked past him with great dignity, hoping he
would look at her.  When she was beside him, however, she detected a subtle
odor that made her steps falter.

A woman's delicate scent.

She said nothing but continued out the door, closing it behind her.  She
realized from the pale light falling on the carpet that it was nearly
morning.  He had been gone all night and returned smelling of a woman's
perfume.

A pang of disappointment hit her as she turned and looked at his closed door.
Then a new feeling coursed through her body.  If she had to do battle with
another woman for him instead of some stupid barbarian notion of proper
behavior, that she could understand.

That she could win.

She turned on her heel and marched back into the bedroom.  Mr. Fitzroy spun
around, his shirt in his hand.

The sight of his bare chest, the unmistakable ripple of strong muscles, the
sudden seeming !  iquification of her own, made her speechless for a moment.
Then, on his neck, she saw something that told her she had not guessed
wrongly.  It was a small, red mark, a thing Water Lily had described.  It
came from lips pulling gently on the skin.  He tugged on his shirt.  "What do
you want now?"

"Am I ugly?"   she demanded.   "Am I disgusting?"   "This is hardly the time
or place to discuss your merits."

Blossom ignored him, went toward the bed and began to disrobe.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"You have been with a woman tonight.  Now you be with me."

Mr.  Fitzroy folded his arms across his broad chest.  "I prefer to choose
with whom I go to bed," he said with a wry grin.

The knowledge that he found her amusing only made her more determined.  "You
cannot perform two times in same night?"

The grin disappeared and a frown took its place.  "I mean I'm not going to go
to bed with you."

"We don't have to go into bed.  We can enjoy each other anywhere you like."

By now "Blossom had reached the last layer of silk.  " I will have to kill
myself if you do not take me.  I could not live with the shame of knowing you
find another more pleasing than me.  "

To her shock, Mr. Fitzroy smiled.  "Fine."

She stared at him.  "You want me to kill myself?."  "I'll risk being haunted."

He knew.  Somehow he had found out why she dare not kill herself.  She had
made a terrible mistake thinking she could control him with a threat.  Water
Lily would have heaped' stinging curses on her head.

"No one forces me to do anything, especially not make love," Mr. Fitzroy said
quietly.  "And I can certainly do it more than once a night--if I want to."

There it was again, this thing called love.  "What do you mean, make love?  I
thought you said it was a feeling.  You make a feeling?"

Mr.  Fitzroy didn't answer.  Suddenly she understood.

"Ah!  This make love!  It is man and woman..."

"Yes," Mr. Fitzroy said quickly.  "Now go."

But Blossom was not to be dissuaded; This love, after all, was no great
mystery.  She had been taught all about it.  "This fan kow woman you have
been with, she pleases you, heya?"

"That's none of your business."

"Making love is my business, as you say.  How can I please you if you always
send me away?  How can I learn what to do?  What you like?"

"You don't have to please me.  I thought I made it clear that I'm going to
forget Wu's debt."

"I cannot live in your house and do nothing," she pleaded.  She went close to
him.

"Get out."

Ufitna!  :llossom

"No," she whispered.  "I only wish to please you, honored lord.  I wish to
know how to do so.  Please, teach me."  Then she stood up on her tiptoes and
kissed him.

At least, that was what she had thought she was doing.  But the moment her
lips touched his, a feeling of overpowering need and passion consumed her
thoughts and sent them scattering like ashes.  Instinctively her mouth
pressed closer, harder, seeking his in union.

He pulled away, looking at her strangely, straggling with something inside
himself.  "Please..."  she whispered.

Darcy gave up fighting.  He wanted her desperately, passionately, more than
he'd ever wanted a woman: Could it be so wrong, when she pleaded so
sincerely?  She didn't think it was wrong.

He took her in his arms with sure strength, pulling her tighter.  Her hands
moved up his chest to his shoulders, pushing the shirt off him.

His mouth trailed across hers, moving slowly down the tender satin of her
throat, the excitement of the motion making her moan softly and clutch
tighter.  Lifting her easily, he took her in his arms and carried her to his
bed, setting her down and lying beside her in one swift motion.

She looked up at him, seeing the naked need and blatant longing in his eyes.
He loomed above her, so large, so powerful.

At that moment, she understood Water Lily's gleaming eyes when she explained
the nature of the union between a man and a woman.  The memory and.
knowledge, coupled with the burning, liquid feeling coursing through her own
body, frightened her with its strength.

Suddenly his expression changed.  Hardened.  Grew cold.  He moved away and
stood up.  "Get out," he said, his tone harsh and distant.

"Please, I..."

"Get out!"  It was a shout, an order, an exclamation.

"As you wish," she murmured, wondering what had happened.  Had she done
something wrong again?

She heard the man's ragged gasp as he turned away.  With slow steps she
walked past him.  "Good night, honored lord," she whipered.

He said nothing.  He never looked at her.

Slowly she closed the door behind her.

Darcy went to the pitcher and poured the water into his basin.  He splashed
his face and hair over and over again until he couldn't feel the throbbing of
the blood in his veins anymore.  Until he couldn't feel her kiss on his lips
anymore.  Until he could control his breathing, and his thoughts.

Then he went to the chair beside the grate and slumped down, running his hand
through his damp hair.

"If she's not a virgin, I'm the Duke of Wellington," he muttered.  How else
could he explain the look in her eyes as she lay on his bed?  Not
experienced.  Not sure of herself.  But frightened.  Simply frightened.

Darcy stared at the glowing coals.  If he hadn't seen it, he wouldn't have
stopped.  He would have taken her as surely as he sat there, like the worst
undisciplined, lustful libertine in all of England, even though he had made
love with Emmaline only two hours before.

What was happening to him, a man who had known the precise moment to stop
before he crippled that pimp for life?  Who could control a ship as if it
were a toy boat in a pond.  Who could tame a rough crew with a glance.

He had only been fooling himself when he thought her desire made it
acceptable to make love with her.  She knew only what she'd been taught as a
slave.  She couldn't understand free choice, or that she had the right to
refuse him.

He couldn't go on like this, either, that was certain.  He made his decision.
He would abide by the plan he'd come up with at Emmaline's party: to have
Blossom instructed

Ltttna tilossom in English social customs, then introduce her into society as
his guest.  Hopefully some young man would propose, she'd accept and he'd be
rid of her forever, free to find himself a wealthy, socially prominent wife .
who would probably bore him to distraction.

He shook his head.  God, something was definitely happening to his ability to
think clearly.  The sooner he put his plan into action, the sooner it would
be accomplished and the sooner he'd be free.

The next day Darcy went to Emmaline's the minute it was acceptable.

Emmaline was surprised to see him.  It had only been a few hours since she
had lost herself in his arms.  Of all her lovers, Darcy Fitzroy was by far
the most impressive and imaginative.  Even here, in her drawing room, her
pulse quickened at the sight of him.

He seemed distracted and she wondered if something was wrong when, without
any polite preamble, he launched into his reason for coming to see her.
"Emmaline, I need a chaperon."

She smiled, holding her delicate hand for his kiss.  "I hardly think so," she
replied, sitting down on a plush velvet sofa.

"Not for me, of course.  A man who invests quite heavily in my ships wants to
send his daughter to London for the season.  He's got business in the West
Indies he needs to attend to personally, and he's asked me if the girl could
stay.  at my house."

Emmaline nodded, but inwardly she was trying to decide just how much of
Darcy's story was a lie.  It was all too obvious that much of it was a
falsehood.

"I don't want to refuse, but as you know, I can't have a young, unchaperoned
woman under my roof without causinga few comments."

"The girl's father isn't concerned?"

"Of course he is.  In his letter he said that naturally her staying would be
conditional on find inga suitable chaperon.  He's very rich, so I don't want
to say no."

Emmaline had never heard such a complete fabrication in her life.  No father
would trust a man to find a chaperon.

Nevertheless, she was intrigued.  Who was this girl who would be staying with
Darcy?  He couldn't have any personal interest in her or he would hardly come
to his mistress to ask for help in find inga chaperon.  The whole thing was a
mystery, and her life had become so boring lately a little mystery would be a
welcome diversion.

"I do happen to know somebody who might be suitable," she said after a short
pause.  He looked at her with an eagerness that was almost boyish.  So
different from the man in her bed last night, when his eagerness had been of
an entirely different nature.  "I do have a female relation who might be
acceptable.  Mrs. Dulcibella Ditchett.  She is a second cousin a few times
removed, I think.  She's not very well-off, although of course Frederick
provides her with a living.  I'm sure she'd welcome the chance."

Darcy smiled gratefully.  "Thank you, Emmaline."

"She lives in Brighton, but I expect she could be here quite soon."

"That would be excellent."

She regarded Darcy thoughtfully, then decided.  "Would you be able to spend
the next fortnight at Kinverton, Darcy?"  she asked softly.

His eyes glowed as he looked at her.  "Are you inviting me?"

"Yes."  She knew it was pushing her powers in social circles to admit Darcy
Fitzroy as a member of a house party, but she enjoyed seeing the influence
she wielded.  Darcy would never be fully accepted by the upper class,

but she liked to watch them maneuver around him when she was so obviously his
sponsor, if not more.

"I'll come."

"Good.  It will be my last visit there before the season begins, I hope to
enjoy the tranquility."  There could be no doubt in Darcy's mind how she
hoped to enjoy herself, and with whom.

Darcy didn't linger.  He did, after all, have a business to oversee, even
with Charles's assistance, and if he was going to go to Kinverton, he had
several things to put in order.

The minute Charles observed Darcy bounding up the steps to their offices, he
began cracking his knuckles With consternation.  It was obvious, even
supposing one didn't know Darcy personally, to recognize that the man had
recently had some good news.

"Never saw a luckier blackguard in my life!"  Charles muttered to himselfi

Outside, where the clerks worked, he could hear Darcy greeting them by name.
Would the man never learn how to address one's inferiors?  All the social
varnish in the world could never hide what Darcy Fitzroy really was, low-born
and lower-class.  Not like him, who deserved to be treated with the deference
due to one of his rank.

Despite his thoughts, Charles opened the door of his office and entered
Darcy's larger one with his face wreathed in charming smiles.

"Marvelous day, Charles, isn't it?"  Darcy said, throwing his hat on a nearby
chair and taking his seat behind the desk.

Charles began to crack a knuckle, then stopped himself.  "Certainly," he
said, while wishing Darcy and the day to perdition.

"I've been invited to Kinverton for a fortnight," Darcy said.

Smug bastard was the more gentle of the epithets Charles heaped on Darcy in
his mind.  To think that this upstart, this merchant, was being invited to
the country home of Lord and Lady Whitmore, while he, the Honorable Charles
Horton-Smythe, slaved in this building like, like some coolie.  But he smiled
and said, "Delightful."

"Is there anything here that needs my immediate attention?"

"There are some papers that need to be signed.  I've already put them on your
desk."

Darcy glanced at them.  "And have you had any news on that investigative
matter?"

"None, but the fellow's looking into missionary ventures to China."

Darcy nodded thoughtfully.  "Ask him what he can find out about anybody else
who might have had dealings with the Chinese."

Charles raised an eyebrow.  "Rather like looking for a needle in the
proverbial haystack, isn't it?"

Darcy shrugged his broad shoulders.  "Perhaps, but ask him anyway."

The tone!  As if he were the man's lackey!  "Is that all?"

Darcy nodded and looked down at the papers awaiting his attention on his
desk.  "Yes."

"Anything else you'd like me to take care of particularly?"  he asked,
wondering if Darcy would finally mention

Wu's tantalizing gift.

"No, nothing."

So, he was dismissed.

Charles went back to his own little office and closed the door.  He sat at
his desk, staring for a moment at the wall between his office and Darcy's.

The arrogant bastard.  Money had made him, but money could break him.  The
thought made Charles smile as he reached into the secret compartment in his
desk and drew out his ledger.  His private ledger for Fitzroy Shipping.  The
one that showed that Darcy Fitzroy was siphoning off funds for his own
personal use.

The discovery would cause quite a scandal, of course.  No doubt Fitzroy
Shipping would be closed down.  Fortunately, Charles's uncle, old Phineas
Horton-Smythe, would die in Madeira, leaving his money to his nephew.  Of
course, his nephew had been the one secretly depositing money in his uncle's
name in a foreign bank, but no one need know that, just as no one need know
that Phineas Horton-Smythe was nothing more than a convenient creation.

Charles chuckled softly and rubbed his hands together over the bogus ledger.
In the dim light filtering through the high, narrow windows of his office, he
looked like an evil genie plotting disaster.

And he most certainly was.

Chapter Eight

Oh, my dear, you wouldn't believe the trouble I had with the cabdriver!
Quite the highwayman, I do think.  And such jolting and knocking about!  It's
a mercy I wasn't killed.  "

Mrs.  MacTavish and Powlett did their best not to stare at the woman standing
on the threshold.  Mr. Fitzroy had said little about Mrs. Dulcibella
Ditchett, but they had been anticipatinga soft-spoken, plainly dressed
gentlewoman in reduced circumstances.

They had in no way expected the species of outlandish plump middle-aged
girlhood stumbling through the door that very moment.

Neither had Blossom or Ah Tup, who were crouched at the top of the stairs
watching.  They had been told to stay upstairs until called for, but the
moment they heard a carriage stop outside, they had hurried to see.

The two looked at each other in astonishment.  This was a woman of good
character, suitable companion for proper young women?  This apparition
covered with bits of lace, fur, flowers, raffles, flounces and jewelry all
wafting about her stout form as if they were about to fall off at any moment?

Blossom pressed her lips together tightly.  Dismayed by Mr. Fitzroy's abrupt
change of mood the other night, she had decided to learn all she could about
English ways.  Then she might understand what was preventing Mr. Fitzroy from
making love with her.

Powlett's ann shot out to assist Mrs. Ditchett.

"Oh, thank you, my good man.  Be so good as to bring up my bags, please.  And
mind the small one--it's got breakables.  And the middle-sized brown
onemhats."

Powlett deposited her beside Mrs. MacTavish, who had recovered her usual
demeanor.  "Good day, ma'am."

"I do hope I'm not too late for tea!  Abominable cab-dfiveruite ignored my
pleas to hurry.  And the language ... oh, my dear, quite unacceptable!  But
have I missed tea?  I'm quite done for."

Mrs.  Ditcherr paused for breath and Mrs. MacTavish stepped into the breach.
"I'll ring for tea at once.  Would you care to walk into the drawing room, or
would you prefer to go straight up to your room?"

"Oh, the drawing room will be lovely, I'm sure.  I'm so tired I can barely
speak.  Tea will be quite reviving, I'm sure.  And if there's a bit of brandy
... my doctor recommends it for fatigue and really it's quite amazing the
effect it has..."  The woman rustled off into the drawing room, followed by
Mrs. MacTavish, whose expression was such a mixture of deference and
incredulity that Blossom had to cover her mouth so she wouldn't laugh out
loud.

Blossom went back to her room, followed by Ah Tup waddling in imitation of
the woman.

Ah Tup stifled a snort of laughter.  "Did you ever see anything like Crow
Woman's face?"

Blossom shook her head, smiling broadly.  "Still" -- her expression grew
somber "--this woman may be able to show me what I have done wrong."

"It is impossible to imagine her with a man, heya?"

Blossom couldn't suppress a giggle.  "He would hardly be able to find her
precious valley under all those ornaments and clothes!"  Together they shared
a companionable chuckle.  Blossom smiled at her friend.  "Ah Tup, I would be
so miserable if you weren't here to make me laugh."

"Well, Mother, I would rather laugh than be sad.  After all, have we not
survived that terrible fan kow boat?  And do we not knoTM everything about
this 'house, more than even the other servants?  Are you not beautiful and
desirable to our master, despite this strange custom of one wife to satisfy a
man?  Surely we have more to be happy about than sad, especially now that you
have a new teacher."

There was a timid knock at the door, and Sally stuck her head into the room.
"If you please, you're wanted in the drawing room."

Blossom glanced at Ah Tup, adjusted her gown and went downstairs.

Mrs.  Ditchett's hand, hold inga pastry, stopped halfway to her mouth when
she saw Blossom.  Her eyes narrowed and she surveyed the girl slowly,
starting at her head and working her way down.  Instantly Blossom realized
that, whatever first impression this woman made, she was no fool.

"Well, my dear, I believe you'll do very well for yourself," the woman said.
"Looks, bearingreyes, we should be able to find you a suitable husband with n
trouble at all."

"Husband?"  For a moment Blossom's heart soared with the hope that Mr.
Fitzroy was going to wed her.  Such a thing was not unheard of and would not
only please her greatly but give her vast face.

The pastry found its mark, but a full mouth didn't deter Mrs. Ditchett from
talking.  "Why, yes, my dear.  I quite believe we may have to fight the
yoting men off."

Blossom stood as straight as a column of stone.  Mr. Fitzroy was going to
give her in marriage to another man!

Such a thing would still increase her face, since it was better to be a wife
than a concubine.  But not for her.  Not if it meant marriage to another man.
She spoke firmly.  "I am not to marry."

The older woman s/ared at her as if she did not understand the language, then
waved her hand dismissively until it lit on another pastry.  "Oh, that's what
many young girls say, but wait until a few balls, a few dances, some young
man whispering flattering comments out in a garden in the moonlight..."  She
sighed.  "I assure you, you'll change your mind.  And why else would your
father want you to spend the season in London?"

"My father?"  Blossom was now completely puzzled.  "My father ism"

"An old friend of mine," Mr. Fitzroy said, stepping into the room quickly.
"You must be Mrs. Ditchett.  I'm Darcy Fitzroy."

"Charmed to make your acquaintance, sir," Mrs. Ditch ett said, half rising
from her chair.

"I see you've met my ward."

Blossom stared at him, but he turned so that only She could see his face.  He
glared at her.  It wasn't hard to tell that he wanted her to be quiet.

"I must say this air of charming confusioq.  is most becoming, my dear.  Most
becoming."  Mrs. Ditchett reached for her tea.  "I understand you've made
quite a fortune in the shipping business, Mr. Fitzroy?"

"I've made some money, yes."

"My dear Emmaline--oh, I suppose I should call her Lady Whitmore although we
were quite close when she was growing up and even as a child quite the
loveliest thing you ever saw--told me about your dilemma."

"I am not worthy to be married."

Mrs.  Ditchett stopped chewing and looked at Blossom, who was keeping her
gaze on Mr. Fitzroy.

He strode over to the fireplace and leaned an arm on the mantel.  "Your
modesty is most becoming, Miss Flowers.  Isn't it,.  Mrs. Ditchett?"

"Yes indeed.  It should quite captivate the young men---' '

Mr.  Fitzroy interrupted.  "I'm happy you were able to come on such short
notice.  I leave for Kinverton tomorrow morning."

"A most charming estate.  Emmaline--Lady Whit-more--was very fortunate in her
choice of husband, I hope we can do the same for Miss Flowers."

Mrs.  Ditchett looked at Mr. Fitzroy significantly By now she had consumed
everything on the tray and her Second cup of tea.  "If you'll excuse me, Mr.
Fitzroy and Miss Flowers, I'm quite exhausted from the journey.  A good rest
tonight and we can begin in earnest tomorrow.  I think, yes, I think the
proper use of a fan would be the best place to begin."  She rose to her feet.
"If your housekeeper could show me to my room?"

Mr.  Fitzroy tugged the bell pull and Mrs. MacTavish quickly appeared at the
doorway.  She looked at the empty tray and frowned slightly as Mrs. Ditchett
rustled toward her.  Together they went up the stairs,

As soon they disappeared from sight, Blossom spoke, "My father is dead and I
am not worthy to marry."

Mr.  Fitzroy didn't look at her.  "I'm sorry you had to find out about our
ruse that way, but I had to come up with some story to explain your presence
here."

"Ah.  You tell a lie."

He glanced at her and she saw a hint of a smile.  "You seem to be learning
English well enough."

"I am not worthy to be married."

He began pacing the room and she watched his every

Ltttna tttossom move.  "I'm afraid there isn't much else for a young woman to
do in England, except work long hours at horrible tasks, or get married."

"I can he your servant."

"No, you can't."  His tone was final, and it went to her heart like a knife.

"I do not wish to be a wife.  I wish to be your concubine."

"For the last time, you will never be my mistress.  Mrs. Ditchett is here to
teach you how to behave in English society.  I've told people that you're the
daughter of a man I do business with, and that you're staying with me for the
season.  Whether or not you find a husband is up to the young men, but most
people will assume, rightly or not, that the intention of your visit is to
get you a husband."  He cleared his throat.  "Besides, I can't afford to keep
you and it would cause a scandal if people found out about you.  I've already
explained all that."

She heard the finality in his tone and thought of something else, something
that increased her dismay.  "Is that why you stopped last night, so that I
stay a virgin and you will be able to give less money to husband's family?"

He didn't answer right away, and when he did, he stared out the window.
"Yes."

She had no choice but to believe that he meant her to become the wife of
another man.  Her eyes burned with tears and she tried to tell herself that
she should be feeling honored that Mr. Fitzroy wished to provide a marriage
for her.

No, no, no!  her heart protested.  Do you give up so easily?  Blossom felt
the fire of determination flare up.  She would not surrender.  Not yet.

Unfortunately, Water Lily had never told her what to do if she wanted a man
and he appeared reluctant.

She had told Blossom what to do if there was a rival woman in the house.  She
should find a Way to make herself unavailable to the man, since it was
well-known that men desire most what they cannot have.

"I will do as you wish," she said softly.

"You choose your own husband, you know.  I'm sure many young men will..."  He
turned to look at her and she saw that he had not expected her to agree so
easily.

"This is a wonderful barbarian custom, I think, choosing."

"Yes, yes, it is."

"Will there be many men for me to pick from?"

 "I assume so."   "Will they be rich?"

"Probably," he muttered, turning back to stare out the window.

"I am honored you ange a marriage for me."

 "Fine.   Good night, Blossom."   "Good night, Mr. Fitzroy."

As she left the room, Blossom glanced covertly at Mr. Fitzroy.  She would not
give up as long as she was still in his house.

"No!  No!  No!  That will never do!  You must move all in one motion,
gracefully, like a willow bending in the breeze!"

Blossom watched again as Mrs. Ditcbett demonstrated a curtsy, one hand hold
inga fan fluttering in from of her face.

Blossom sighed and gripped the fan in her right hand tightly.  This woman was
worse than Precious Jade, Water Lily and Mrs. MacTavish combined.

"Better, better--no, dip, dip!  Not bend!  From the knees, my dear!  Once
more!"

Blossom had never spent a more horrible time in her life.  Every morning the
lessons began, sometimes even before breakfast, then continued all day and
into the night until she crawled wearily into bed.  Who would have thought
Englishwomen had to know so much!  Things like how to move as if all those
cumbersome skirts were so much air and how to sit and how to eat and how to
speak and what a certain motion of a fan meant .  on and on and on, until she
was exhausted.

"I quite despair of your ever understanding, I must say," Mrs. Ditchett said
with another long, mournful sigh.  Blossom had come.  to despise those sighs,
almost wishing for a beating instead of that tone of utter defeat.  "But
enough of the curtsy.  Let's discuss.  general deportment."

"What is this 'deportment'?"

"How one behaves in society, generally, my dear."

"Well, sit down, and' I'll begin."

Blossom complied, glad of the chance to sit down.

"Now, it's absolutely vital, my dear, that you never look a gentleman quite
in the eye."

Blossom shuddered.  "Why would anyone except a doctor wish to look inside a
man's eye?"  she wondered out loud.

Mrs.  Ditchett shook her head.  "Really, my dear, you have such a literal
mind!  You must make an effort to curb these rather startling speeches!

"I mean, you mustn't ever look at a man while he's looking at you.  Such a
thing would be considered very bold.  Very bold, indeed!"

"Where, then, am I to look?"

"Well, I believe the best place is the floor, so that your eyes are suitably
downcast."  Mrs. Ditchett smiled conspiratorially.  "It also shows one's
eyelashes off to great effect."

That was so like something Water Lily had told her that Blossom almost smiled.

"I begin to see we understand each other, my dear.  Now,

can you flutter your eyelids, like this re Mrs. Ditchett proceeded to
demonstrate.

Blossom stared in fascination.  The woman's eyelids twitched as if she had
something embedded in each eye, and her mouth looked as if she had just
bitten into something sour but was trying to smile nonetheless.

"I assure you men find this sort of modest expression absolutely
irresistible," Mrs. Ditcbett said when she finally stopped.  "Try it."

Blossom did her best to comply.

"Well, my dear, it needs a little work.  Let's try something else.

"Oh, I know.  When a man asks you a question, especially if it's a man you
particularly fancy, you should act pleasantly ruffled."

"I am to wear more srt?"

"No, no.  Like this."  Mrs. Ditchett fluttered her fan rapidly, panted like a
servant who had just carried in two large jugs' of water and looked at
Blossom while turning her head to one side.  "Oh, my!  I don't know ... I may
be engaged... but I think not!"  She instantly became her normal self.  "Men
find confusion so captivating!"

Blossom stifled a yawn and hoped Mrs. MacTavish would soon arrive to order
her to retire.  Ever since Mrs. Ditcbett's arrival, Blossom had seen little
of Mrs. Ma -Tavish, who seemed to have taken an instant dislike to the other
woman, as was all too evident in the next moment,

when Mrs. MacTavish walked into the room.

"It's ten o'clock" she announced.

"She'll have to get used to late hours if she's going to be attending balls
and parties," Mrs. Ditcbett complained, barely glancing at Mrs. MacTavish.

"She's not at a ball tonight.  She should go to her bed."

"Oh, very well, since you're so persistent, although I'm sure Mr. Fitzroy
would agree with me."  Mrs. Ditchett gave the housekeeper a sour look.  "Good
night, Mrs. Mac-Tavish."

Mrs.  Ditchett didn't watch to see if Mrs. MacTavish left or not, clearly
determined to assume she had the last word, and instead turned to Blossom.
"Let's see you do what I've told you," she said.

Blossom waited until Mrs. MacTavish was closing the door.  Then, trying to
imitate the fluttering movements of Mrs. Ditchett, she said, "Oh, my.  I
don't think so ... I really don't know..."

"Perfect!  You're so perfectly c Y!  The men will be standing in line to
dance with you."

Blossom gasped.  "I am to dance?"

"Why" my dear, certainly.  "

"I am not trained!"  It took years of study to become a dancer even in one of
the lowliest pleasure houses.

"I've engaged a dancing master.  He's coming tomorrow.  ' '

"I ... there is not time!"

Mrs.  Ditchett smiled condescendingly.  "As long as you don't step directly
on a gentleman's feet, I don't think it matters too much, in your particular
case."

"I am to dance with a man?"

"My dear, it's clear to me you've led a very sheltered life.  It's been quite
acceptable for several years now."

Blossom tried not to cringe at the thought of learning how to dance with her
big feet, and then having to dance with a man.  She would surely be clumsy.

"You'd best go upstairs to bed now," Mrs. Ditchett said, not unkindly,
"before that horrible woman who doesn't know her place comes back."

Blossom got up, curtsiedmMrs.  Ditchett eyed her performance critically but
didn't say anything--and went up to her room.  Ah Tup was waiting, as always,
but Blossom was too tired to say much.

Ah Tup was full of her usual gossip and good spirits, talking of the Chief
Eunuch and his attempts to tell Ah Tup what to do.  He never seemed to learn
that under her benign smiling face, Ah Tup had a mind as sharp as a needle
and an unshakable belief that any Chinese person, even a kitchen slave, was
vastly superior to any fan kow--just as Ah Tup couldn't seem to understand
that Powlett had equal faith in the supremacy of the Welsh.  However, Ah Tup
soon realized that Blossom wanted to go to sleep.  Once she had helped her
mistress undress, she lay down on the floor beside the door and fell asleep.

Slipping into a delightfully soft silk robe, Blossom sighed.  She was so
tired of having to learn new things all the time.  It would be nice to simply
spend a day walking out in the garden or sewing with Ah Tup.

Then, as she had done every night of her life for as long as she' could
remember, she made sure Ah Tup was asleep, knelt at the side of her bed,
pressed her palms together and whispered, "My father, who is in heaven,
haloed be your name..."

Downstairs in the kitchen, Mrs. MacTavish frowned at Powlett.  "I'm going to
speak to Mr. Fitzroy."

Powlett's face betrayed slight disapproval.  "It was he who engaged the
services of Mrs. Ditchett, who was recommended, let us not forget, by Lady
Whitmore."

"I don't care if she was sent by the queen herself, she's not teaching the
poor wee thing properly."

Powlett sipped his nightly brandy and water.  "How do you mean, Mrs.
MacTavish?"

"I mean, sir, she's teaching her to ... to..."

"To what, madam?"

"It's improper, that's all."  Mrs. MacTavish's teacup rattled against the
saucer as an external sign of her inward agitation.

Lntna tossom

"I believe you will have to be more explicit with Mr. Fitzroy.  She's not
condoning wanton behavior, I trust?"

"Not that.  But teaching her all kinds of affectations and coyness.  It's
terrible!"

"Perhaps we should let Mr. Fitzroy judge for himself."  Mrs. MacTavish stared
down at her teacup as if trying to decipher the tea leaves for guidance.  "I
suppose you're right, Mr. Powlett.  There's nothing I can say she's doing
wrong exactly."  The last word conveyed a host of meaning.

"Then I suggest we await Mr. Fitzroy's return.  It will only be another week."

"Very wei!."  The silence grew for a few moments, then Mrs, MacTavish spoke
again.  "Has she said anything to you about Ah Tup?"

Powlett's face remained as impassive as ever, and Mrs. MacTavish didn't see
the slight tip of his glass that threatened to spill some of the contents
onto the spotless table.  "No, Mrs. MacTavish."

"We!!"  it's my opinion that she wants to send the poor girl off.  "

"Off where?"

Mrs.  MacTavish frowned darkly, reminding Powlett of a performance he had
once seen of Macbeth--the witches particularly.  "I don't know.  But she said
to me that she wondered if the Oriental servant, as she called her, was an
appropriate one."

"What do you think she meant by that?"

Mrs.  MacTavish, whose feelings toward the two girls now bordered on
maternal, frowned.  "Why, man, I think she means to send her back to China
and get a maid of her own choosing."  For an instant Mrs. MacTavish thought
Powlett paled, but put it down to the flickering light.  "I'd like to see her
try it!"  she said emphatically.

Powlett nodded solemnly.  "I don't think Mr. Fitzroy would approve."

Mrs.  MacTavish leaned closer still, and this time Powlett inclined slightly
toward her.  "We'd best keep our eyes open and our ears, too.  It's my
opinion that Mrs. Ditchett's going to bring nothing but trouble!"

Powlett, his face still impassive despite his now rapidly beating heart,
signified his agreement.

Darcy, standing beside the hearth in the drawing room of Kinverton, could
barely suppress a scowl.

In one co ruer two middle-aged women and two middle-aged men played whist.
In another, a small knot of well-dressed men discussed the state of hunting
this spring.

Over by the piano, a subdued group listened as the insipid, skinny Lady
Gloriana Shrewtonbury and equally insipid, but stout, Lord Neville Northrop
played what Darcy assumed was a duet.  The notes were so tentative and light
it was hard to tell what they thought they were doing.  Certainly it couldn't
be flirting.  If that young man called his pathetic attempts flirting, the
English nobility was in direct danger of dying out.

Not that Darcy proposed to et an example of how to attract a woman's
attention.  There wasn't one woman here worth even the slightest' bother,
although judging from some of the sly looks the other men had given him, it
was clear they expected him to act like some kind of rabid stud.

Two or three females had looked at him a few times as if they might find him
dangerously tempting, but he gave them absolutely no encouragement.

In fact, he hadn't even gone near Emmaline for the past week.  He might have,
but the moment he had arrived, he had realized that something had gone wrong.
Or rather, was not going the way he had planned.

She had acted aloof, distant, paying most attention to her doit of a husband.
Then the carriages containing the other guests arrived and he had discovered
why.

Ltttna !  lossom

He was the only man there who wasn't titled.  Apparently even Emmaline's
ability to flout convention had a limit, and inviting him had come perilously
close to it.  Rather than pass that boundary, she had retreated behind safer
lines.

Well, he couldn't blame her.  Her influence had already enabled him to reach
far above his "deserved" social station; he couldn't fault her for wanting to
protect her own achievements.

But it had been a hellish week.  The men had deftly ignored him after the
dinners, except for smirks whenever he happened to say anything to a female.
Occasionally one would make some reference to their club or school, and
seemed to be shocked to have to be reminded that Darcy didn't belong or
hadn't attended.  Their ploy to remind him that he wasn't of their class of
society had all the subtlety of a boom in the face.

They also contrived to exclude him from any activities in the day.  He
supposed if he'd wanted to, he could have forced them to include him, but he
doubted 'it was worth the effort.

So he'd spent much of the time riding alone when weather permitted and
brooding indoors when it didn't.

He walked to the tall windows and looked out over the elaborate garden.
Emmaline's estate was tended by more than twenty gardeners, and the results
were certainly impressive, as they were meant to be.

A paved walk led the way down from the house through artistically designed
flower beds toward a huge lawn.  On one side of the house there was a
shrubbery with charming little rustic seats, all the way from Italy, for
weak-limbed females to rest upon.  A brook ran along the other side, seeming
to promise a hint of unhindered nature, but he had heard Emmaline describing
the building of the waterway,

 m including the exact placement of rocks to get the best babbling sound.

He had a sudden urge to see some wild shoreline ravaged by wind and wave,
untouched by humanity.

Lady Gioriana made an insipid little exclamation.  He glanced toward the
piano.

"Oh, good gracious, Lord Northrup!  I'm so clumsy!  Forgive my fingers."  She
must have touched his hand, but she was actin gas if she'd touched something
rather more private.

"It is I who should be asking your forgiveness, dear Lady Gloriana!  Although
how could my fingers not help but wander, drawn like a bee to the sweet honey
of your tinge nips !"

God, how pathetic!

The girl glanced at Darcy with her watery, vapid eyes.  He smiled back, a
slowS Smile that made the skinny girl blush.  Lord Northrup, also blushing
but not from embarrassment, stared at him stonily.

Darcy casually walked toward the piano.  "Perhaps you would favor us with
some more music, Lady Gloriana?"  he asked, knowing that Lord Northrup was
probably wishing him halfway around the world.

Lady Gloriana blushed again and glanced at her mother, who was playing whist.
However her mother had just won a rather tricky rubber and was too busy
commenting on her cleverness to take immediate notice.

"Please, Lady Gloriana?"  Darcy said, transfixing her' with his gaze.

"I say..."  Lord Northrup stammered.

"What does the lady say?"  Darcy interrupted.

After lookingagain at her preoccupied mother, Lady Gloriana began to play.

Lord Northrup withdrew to the other part of the room where the talk was now
of fishing.  Darcy, tired of his little game, gradually wandered away from
the piano and out into the garden.

From old habit he surveyed the night sky, seeking first the North Star and
then the other constellations.  At the same time, he was taking note of the
scent of the air, realizing it would rain before morning.  Damn.  Another day
shut up vith this collection of tiresome, arrogant imbeciles.

And to think he had once thought of something like this as the pinnacle of
life!  God, he couldn't have been more wrong if he'd supposed mud was gold.

"I say, there, sir!"

He turned to find a red-faced Lord Northrup glaring at him like a little boy
in a fit of temper.  "Yes?"  he said coolly.

"I say, there!  I must ask you to keep your attentions to yourself!"

"Oh?"

"I say, the young lady in question doesn't want 'em!"  "No?"

"No, sir.  Not a bit.  And if you don't leave her alone, I'll..."

Darcy smiled.  This threat was sure to be fascinating.  "Yes?"

"IllI'll ... that is, you'll be sorry!"

Darcy advanced toward the stout young man whose excess of emotion was making
him puff and pant like a steam engine about to blow.  "You'll make me sorry?"

Lord Northrup would have turned pale if he wasn't already beet red.  "I say,
that is, well..."

Darcy kept advancing.  "How will you make me sorry?"  "II'll..."

By now Lord Northrup was actually quaking.  Darcy decided to be merciful.
"Very well.  I won't speak to her again."

Lord Northrup stared a moment, panted some more, then drew himself up so that
his large stomach fiattenedma little.  "Well, see that you don't!"  he said
majestically, then turned and went back into the drawing room.

Darcy watched him as he walked toward Lady Gloriana with the air of a
Conquering hero.

"That wasn't very nice, Darcy."

He turned as Emmaline came out of a nearby doorway.  He shrugged his
shoulders.  "That boy's an idiot."

"That boy comes into two hundred thousand pounds a year in a few months."

Darcy shrugged again.  The past few minutes' amusement might have cost him an
investor, but there were plenty of others.

"I've missed you," Emmaline said.

Perhaps it was the general atmosphere of his stay at Kin-ver ton but for once
Emmaline's soft, suggestive voice failed to move him.

"I know I haven't been very attentive," she said, coming closer.

Darcy discovered that he really didn't care one way or the other.  He wanted
to go home, back to his own house and his own business, where he made the
rules.  He didn't acknowledge, even to himself, that it might also be
pleasant to be welcomed by a beautiful girl who seemed delighted to see him.

"I'm leaving," he said, the decision made in that instant.  "Tomorrow."

Emmaline looked disconcerted.  "But..."  Then she seemed to think better of
protesting.  "As you'd like."

 "First thing."   She nodded.

He went a little nearer, but still far from close.  "Thank you for inviting
me, Emmaline."

She smiled her charming, empty smile.  "You're welcome, Darcy."

He knew that she realized their liaison was at an end.

Chapter Nine

The great City of London lay on the horizon like a huge monster waiting for
its meal of human beings.  They would disappear into its maw, to poverty,
disease and a thousand other fates.  Perhaps one in a hundred might have the
ambition and skills to become successful, but for 'the other ninety-nine
there awaited only a slow, lingering death of heartache and despair, of mud
and filth, of sickness and starvation.

All along the road into the swelling metropolis, Darcy passed the hopeful in
his carriage.  Some called out to him for mercy as he went by, ignoring the
clumps of dirt stirred up by the horses' churning hooves.  Some glared with
undisguised hatred and envy at the fine carriage going past.

The hate he could understand better than the begging.  He, too, had been such
a one long ago, determined to pro-vi demand provide well--for his mother and
brother.

Darcy attributed much of his success to luck.  To find inga ship willing to
take an untrained youth.  To having the strength to survive his first voyages
and the quick intelligence to learn everything the older seamen could teach.
And the fact that he had never been on a ship that had gone down.

What Darcy Fitzroy didn't see was that whatever part luck played in his
success, there was a still larger part due to his intelligence, his ambition
and his single-minded perseverance, which had kept him from the many easy
distractions that might have led him astray.  It was also due to his fierce
willingness to fight for himself.  He knew he had survived many a brawl, but
he didn't know how many more rogues and villains had decided it wasn't worth
the risk to accost a man like him.

The carriage stopped at an inn, and Darcy went inside to eat a brief meal
while the horses were fed and rested.  Coming outside in the dim light of
early evening to smoke, he saw a young girl with brilliant red hair, her face
pinched with starvation, staring at him from the shelter of the stable.  Her
clothes were a collection of rags.  BeSide her on the ground sat an equally
dirty and ragged old woman, whom the girl spoke to quietly before turning her
eyes back to him.  The old woman, leaning against her, seemed to draw on the
girl's quiet strength.

He couldn't help watching her and the play of emotion in her eyes.  She was
unsure and frightened, eyeing the stamping horses and men milling about the
courtyard as if she had come from someplace faraway and vastly different.

He wondered if they were headed for the city and what their fate would be
once they arrived.

Darcy began to wonder what would have happened if he'd been born a girl, He
would have had little hope beyond the most menial of employment.  Perhaps, if
he'd been desperate enough, hungry enough and cold enough, alone and
unprotected, he might even have sold his body.

Quickly he stubbed out his cheroot and strode toward the stable.  The
red-haired girl, who appeared to be about fourteen, looked at him warily,
trying hard to mask her fear when she saw that he was coming toward her.  Her
slender hand grasped the old woman's tightly.

Did Blossom look like that when she was all alone in a foreign land?  Only
she had been completely alone, without mother, brother or friend.  Would he
have had the strength to survive that?

Blossom had not only lived, she had kept some part of her pride.  In that,
she was as strong as any man he had ever met.  Perhaps stronger.  Now he
could understand how Wu Wing Toi might have taken pity on her and had no
other thought than to protect her from a terrible fate at the hands of other
men.

Without saying anything Darcy handed the girl a few coins, although he had
never before given anything to a beggar.

The girl said nothing, but for a moment he thought she was going to give him
back his money until the old woman muttered something.  The girl turned away
and showed the coins to the woman before turning back' once more to him.
"Thank you, sir," she said softly, her voice surprisingly melodious.

He smiled briefly.

A groom appeared.  "Your horses are ready, Mr. Fitzroy," he said.  Darcy
nodded and went to get inside his waiting vehicle.

Soon the noise and the myriad odors that assaulted his nostrils told him he
had entered London.  As he got closer to home, the SOunds and smells grew
less and less noticeable from inside the carriage, and soon the carriage
rattled over the cobblestones near his house.

Different indeed the city from the leafy lawns of Kin-ver ton It was the only
thing Darcy missed about his recent sojourn in the country.

When he arrived at his house, he quickly got out of the carriage and hurried
inside--narrowly avoid inga collision with Powlett.  "This is an unexpected
pleasure, sir," the implacable man intoned.

"The country, Powlett, may be pretty, but it's a damn bore," Darcy said,
feeling rather lighthearted.  Perhaps it was hunger.

"Indeed, sir?"

Darcy threw open the doors to the drawing room.  It was empty.  "Where's
Blossom?"  He hadn't meant to ask that question.  It had just .  popped out.

"Upstairs with Mrs. Ditchett, sir."

Darcy nodded.  "Send her to me.  And bring me something to eat.  Tea, too."

Powlett hesitated for a fraction of a second.  "Whom do you wish to see, sir?"

Now it was Darcy's turn to hesitate.  After a long moment, he decided to
pursue the wiser course.  "Mrs.  Ditch-ett, please."

"Very good, sir."

Darcy walked around he drawing room.  More things were different now, he
noticed.  Although Mrs. MacTavish had always kept everything spotless, the
tables and woodwork seemed to gleam as if they had been covered with glass.
Vases filled with flowers sat in every possible space, their fragrance subtly
permeating the air.  It could, of course, be Mrs. Ditchett's influence, but
somehow he doubted it.  Just as he sat down, the rustling of skirts made him
get to his feet.

"Ah, Mr. Fitzroy, I trust!  Home so soon?  How delightful.t"

Darcy tried not to frown at the woman charging into his drawing room like a
train with a full head of steam.  Her round face was not unlike the front end
of an engine, and she was puffing and panting like one, too.  However, her
clothes, a miracle of ruffles, flounces, lace and ribbon could only belong to
a female.

"Pray tell me, how is Emmaline--my dear Lady Whit-more, I should say?"  The
plump' woman simpered, smiling at him in what he supposed was intended to
pass for coyness.

"Very we!!," he said coolly.  "I trust everything has been satisfactory in my
absence?"

"Delightful!  Charming--once we, got the little matter of the coal
straightened out."

"Coal?"  Darcy gestured at a chair.  Mrs. Ditchett sat down.

"Yes, Mr. Fitzroy.  I must say," her voice dropped to a whisper, "that I wish
I had been forewarned about your housekeeper."

"Mrs.  MacTavish?"

"An excellent woman in her way, I'm sure.  But stingy, like all the Scotch.
She told me I wasn't to use more than one scuttleful a day.  I told her that
I was sure that that might be the rule for servants, but certainly not for
guests!"

 "That is the general rule of the house, ma'am."

Mrs.  Ditchett had the grace to blush.  "Oh, dear, well, of course, if those
are your wishes."

Darcy really didn't want to hear about domestic matters.  "How are you
getting along with Miss Flowers?"

"A charming young lady, I must say.  And very quick to lea mo

"Ready to go out in society?"

"Well" --- Mrs. Ditchett hesitated "--perhaps in another week or so, as was,
I believe, the original idea.  She has not the least idea about dancing.
That's what comes of being abroad all one's life, I suppose.  Really, Mr,
Fitzroy, I wonder at her parents, I must say.  Some of the things she says!"

It was a struggle to sound nonchalant, but he managed it.  "For example, Mrs.
Ditchett?"

"Well, she might as well have been living in a barn for all she understands
of society."

That was all.  He stifled a sigh of relief.  "I see."

Mrs.  Ditchett leaned a little closer.  "I must also tell you,

sir, that I consider her servant rather .  inappropriate.  "

" How so?   "

"The way they chatter on in that abominable language!

I'm sure it's impeding Miss Flowers' progress.  "

"What do you suggest?

"I think the Oriental should be discharged at once."  "I see."

"Yes, and replaced with a proper English maid.  I'm sure the tight sort of
girl would be a great help to me.  It's very troublesome to have to repeat my
instructions or wait for Miss Flowers to tell the girl in that infernal
tongue.  And of course the servant knows nothing about the proper care of
garments or hairdressing."

"I understand, Mrs. Ditchett," Darcy said, keeping his tone noncommittal.

It appeared that Mrs. Ditchett considered her point won, judging by the
rather smug smile that crossed her plump face.  "I must say, Mr. Fitzroy,
that I think you'll be quite pleased with Miss Flowers' progress.  I'm sure
she'll be ready for the start of the season."  Mrs. Ditchett cleared her
throat.  "Pardon.  my boldness, Mr. Fitzroy, but may I take the liberty of
suggest inga ball here to introduce Miss Flowers to society?"

Darcy frowned.  He could think of nothing more guaranteed to disrupt his
peace than a ball, but he had to defer to Mrs. Ditchett's superior knowledge
of what was done in the upper levels of society.  The realization that he was
at the mercy of this overweight, overbearing bundle of middle-aged coyness
was galling, but he could do little about it.  "I think a ball will be
suitable," he said.  "I assume I may leave all the details to your capable
hands?"

Mrs.  Ditchett beamed.  "Indeed you may, Mr..  Fitzroy And I believe you may
expect an invitation to EmmalineLady Whitmore's--costume ball.  It's sure to
be one of the events of the season."

"I'd like to see Miss Flowers now."

"Just one more thing, Mr. Fitzroy.  She'll need some more gowns, sir."

Darcy frowned.  "Very well--but nothing extravagant."

"I assume her father has provided for her in that way.  May I ask which shop
we should patronize?"

Darcy could have groaned at his own stupidity.  If he was to continue the
ruse of acting for a loving father gone on business, he would have to provide
yet more money for clothes and God knows what else.  "I don't think it
matters," he said, trying not to sound annoyed.

"Ah, sir, well, I'm sure I know just the dressmaker we'll need.  If it's Mr.
Flowers' intention to get his daughter married off this season, we must take
every measure at our disposal, and Madame Stitsokova's taste and fit are not
to be equaled.  She makes all of Lady Whitmore's gowns and mine, too."  She
looked at him coyly, clearly expect inga compliment.

"Lovely," Darcy said, but inwardly he was getting more and more upset.
Emmaline's gowns cost a small fortune!

He reached out and gave the bell pull a strong tug.  Sally ap at the door.

"Would you mind asking B!...Miss Flowers to join us?"

The maid curtsied nervously and disappeared behind the door instantly.

"I am pleased to see you, Mr. Fitzroy.  I am pleased to see you, Mr.
Fitzroy."  Blossom recited the words over and over again as Ah Tup finished
arranging her hair.

Instead of an elaborate Oriental coiffure, or the simple bun of the past
days, her hair was parted in the center with long ringlets down each side.
Her back hair was in a high bun.  Mrs. Ditchett had insisted on having Ah Tup
master

L'tttna ilossom this particular mode of hairdressing, even if Ah Tup had
almost burned both Blossom and herself with the curling tongs, and despite
Blossom's belief that the whole style looked absolutely ridiculous.

"I am pleased to see you, Mr. Fitzroy."

"It is perfect, Mother!  The words are like those of Mrs. Dish herself!"

"Do you really think so?"  Blossom bit her lower lip in consternation and
adjusted the sleeves of her dress once more.  This pale green gown was more
fancy than the blue one, with lace at the tight cuffs that seemed to be
forever in the way.

"Yes, I do.  Besides, he will.  not care how you tallc" Blossom nodded,
wondering if Ah Tup was correct.  She felt as nervous as that night on the
ship when she had first seen Mr. Fitzroy, only this time she must be certain
to make no errors, for Mrs. Ditch6tt would be watching with her all-seeing
eyes.  She hoped he would think her improved!

"Stop twitching!  I will make a mistake," Ah Tup commanded.

Blossom sighed and sat perfectly still so that Ah Tup could finish.

Sa!  iy's head popped around the doorway after a brief knock.  "Mr.  Fitzroy
sent me to fetch you," she said softly.  "I am finished," Ah Tup said.

Takinga deep breath, Blossom stood up and went down the stairs.  Toward the
bottom she could' hear the voice of Mrs. Ditchett and the blunt answers of
Mr, Fitzroy.

At the sound of his voice, her heart leapt and her blood began to throb in
her veins, sending heat through her body and surely reddening her face.  She
hesitated a moment, trying to "compose herself" as Mrs. Ditchett had told her
to do.  But she couldn't rid her mind of the memory of his warm flesh under
her fingers, his soft moan of pleasure or the taste of his firm, sure lips on
her own.

With a determined shake of her head that set her ringlets bouncing, she
entered the drawing room, making certain she walked slowly with her eyes
downcast, the way Mrs. Ditchett had shown her.

"Hello," Mr. Fitzroy said.

She raised her eyes for a brief glance.  He was looking directly at her, and
she caught a look in his face that puzzled her.

She curtsied.  "I am pleased to see you, Mr. Fitzroy,"

she said softly, still keeping her gaze on the carpet.  Darcy didn't know
quite what to think.

What had happened?  Where was the flash of determined fire in her eyes, the
proud lift of her delicate chin, the air of unconquerable will he had noticed
the first moment he had looked into her face?

He tried to tell himself that her meek demeanor was much better.  She seemed
like every other well-brought-up young Englishwoman, which was why he had
engaged the services of Mrs. Ditchett.  With a manner like this, Blossom was
much more suitable to his plan to get her married.  So why was he not much
more pleased?

At that moment Mrs. MacTavish arrived, and behind her came Sally, bear inga
large tea tray.  "Good evening, sir," his housekeeper said, her eyes
narrowing at the sight of Mrs. Ditchett.  It didn't take much perception to
realize that there was no love lost between the two women.

Mrs.  Ditchett gestured for Blossom to sit down.  She complied, sitting
barely perched on the edge of the chair with her back rigidly straight.

"How have you been, Miss Flowers?"  he asked after an awkward silence.

"I have been very we!!"  sir," she said quietly, her words pronounced
accurately, but with all the enthusiasm of a quartermaster listing ship's
stores.

"Learning many things, I trust?"

"Ah, la!  She's very quick to learn, Mr. Fitzroy."  Blossom saw his feet move
slightly, betraying his impatience.  So far she was unsure if she had pleased
him or not, so he was not the only impatient one.

Mrs.  MacTavish and Sally, having deposited the tea things, left the room.
By her expression, Mrs. Ditchett felt triumphant for having taken over the
responsibility of pouring from Mrs. MacTavish.

Mrs.  Ditchett began to hand around the tea.  "We were not expecting you for
another week, sir."

"No, I decided to come home early."

Blossom heard something in his tone that made her risk another glance at his
face.  He had not been happy at this country place.  Mrs. Ditchett had made
it very clear that it was an honor for Mr. Fitzroy to go to Lady Whiting's,
and Blossom had realized that Mrs. Ditchett wasn,t quite sure' if Mr. Fitzroy
was deserving of such an invitation.  Perhaps he had been as out of place
there as she was in London.

She knew she shouldn't feel happy if his journey had not been pleasant.  She
told herself she was merely glad he had returned.

"I've been telling Mr. Fitzroy, my dear, that you've been making excellent
pr6gress."

Blossom nodded.  Mr. Fitzroy sat beside Mrs. Ditchett and reached for some
tea.

She watched his strong, masculine hands that were capable of arousing so much
pleasure.  She had missed his presence very much.  It was as if the house
were asleep when he was not there.

Mrs.  Ditchett cleared her throat loudly.  Blossom started and almost dropped
her teacup.

"Mr.  Fitzroy is amenable to having a ball, my dear."

"Thank you, Mr. Fitzroy," Blossom said, noting his c'ntna tttossom scowling
face.   He no more wanted this ball thing than she did!

She began to hope that he no longer wished her to marry someone else.
Perhaps all her efforts with Mrs. Ditchett had made a difference already.

"I trust you will try to keep down expenses, Mrs. Ditch-ett," he said coldly.
"It isn't necessary to spend a fortune to introduce Miss Flowers to society."

"As you wish," Mrs. Ditchett said with a frown.  "I shall do my best."  She
brightened.  "After all, I'm sure Miss Flowers will be the greatest
attraction.  The young men will simply flock around her."

"I'm sure they will, which is, as you so correctly surmised, the purpose of
this enterprise."

Blossom wanted to run, to hide, to get away from him.  He was so cold and
distant, and his last words left little doubt that anything she saw that made
her think his feelings toward her were changing were only in her own
imagination.  However, she sat motionless, blocking out the rest of their
words as they talked of the ball.

She imagined herself back in Honorable Wu's kitchen, late at night when the
rest of the household slept.  She remembered how she and Ah Tup would
complain and laugh and talk of what they would do if they were rich.  She had
been happy then, and the two of them had made their own little world apart
from Precious Jade and the other servants.

It was useless to pretend that she could make another world, with another
person who could understand her the way Ah Tup did.

Then Powlett appeared.  "The Honorable Horton-Smythe," he said, standing back
to allow that gentleman to enter.

"Fitzroy!"  the man exclaimed, coming inside.  "What a pleasure this is!"

Blossom's gaze darted to Mr. Fitzroy.  He was not feeling pleasure, of that
she was certain.

With sudden unease, she realized the other man was staring at her in a way
that reminded her of those other men in the marketplace when she was a little
girl.

Mr.  Fitzroy spoke.  "Miss Flowers, allow me to present the Honorable Charles
Horton-Smythe, my business partner."

Remembering what Mrs. Ditchett had told her, Blossom held out a hand.
Horton-Smythe took it and pressed it to his lips.

Try as she might, Blossom could not help feeling sickened by the touch of his
lips on her skin.  She knew that here to touch another's flesh in such a
manner was not grossly improper, but she remembered how this man had
scrutinized Mr. Fitzroy.  Blossom glanced upward, wondering if Ah Tup was
watcfiing now.

"And this is Mrs. Ditchett," Mr. Fitzroy said.  "Charmed, I must say."

"Really, sir, thank you, but it is I who ought to be charmed to meet a friend
of Mr. Fitzroy's, I'm sure," Mrs. Ditchett oozed.

"Is there something I can do for you?"  Mr. Fitzroy asked.

"Well, old man, I came to drop off some papers.  Nothing vital, but I thought
to save you some time when you returned next week.  Quite a shock to have
Powlett tell me you were back, don't you know?"

"Yes, well, I had enough of the coufitry."

"Did you?"

Blossom had the distinct feel inga snake might sound like this other man, his
words winding around his tongue.

Mr.  Fitzroy nodded toward the door.  "Let's go to my study, shall we7 Excuse
us, ladies."

Mr.  Horton-Smythe turned to Mrs. Ditchett and bowed slightly.  "Delighted to
make your acquaintance, ma'am."  He bowed toward Blossom and smiled.
"Charmed, I'm sure."

The girl didn't acknowledge his words, but nodded with an inscrutable
expression.

As he followed Darcy out of the room, Charles tried not to smile too broadly.
He knew the moment he had seen the girl that he had at last met Wu Wing
Toi's "payment."

She was without doubt one of the loveliest girls he had ever seen, and he had
seen several in his pursuit of pleasure.  There was a certain air of
submission about her, but no truly submissive female had so proud a carriage,
or eyes that looked at him in quite that enigmatic way.

In short, she was fascinating.

It was also fascinating watching Darcy Fitz rOy practically squirming like a
mouse in a trap.  He was going to find Darcy's explanation of this girl's
presence entertaining.

"A dashed charming young lady, Darcy," Charles began the moment they were in
the study.  "Who is she?"

Darcy, obviously trying not to scowl, turned toward him.

"She's the daughter of an old friend."

"Really?"

"Yes, she's staying here while her father's in the West Indies.  He's asked
me to look after her and introduce her into society."

"Well, she's an astoundingly beautiful creature."  Darcy glanced at him, and
Charles realized he might have sounded much too interested.  "Here's the
papers I was leaving.  Nothing important.  How was the charming Lady
Whitmore?"

"Charming, as always."

"And her ass of a husband?"   Darcy smiled.   "An ass, as always."   His
partner chuckled companionably.   "I'm thinking of having a ball, Charles."

"Now that's surprising news, old man.  Is this in honor of the lovely Miss
Flowers?"

Darcy sat down, looking discomfited.  "Mrs.  Ditchett tells me that's the
fight way to launch Miss Flowers."

God, the man made the girl sound like a ship about to get christened.
Charles 'had never seen a figure less like a boaCs--although there were
certain figureheads, of the mermaid type, that she might resemble.  Minus
some articles of clothing, of course.

Charles forced himself to concentrate on Darcy.  "Wonderful idea."

It suddenly occurred to Charles that if the beautiful, inscrutable "gift" was
going to mingle in society, it was very possible that he could become quite
friendly with her.  Intimate, even, especially if Darcy wanted nothing to do
with her.  Obviously he didn't, or he would-have kept her presence a secret.

Instead it seemed Darcy was going to try to pass her off as some kind of
ward.  With what goal?

What other goal did a guardian have when he introduced a ward into society
other than marriage?  Of course.  The ever-upright Darcy Fitzroy would try to
pass her off as honorable marriage material.  The girl was so lovely the man
might even succeed.

Unless, of course, it happened to get about that Darcy's apparently innocent
ward was really a whore.

Chapter Ten

In a few short days Darcy wished Mrs. Ditchett had shot him after he agreed
to the ball for Blossom.  That would have been the merciful thing to do.

Leavingall the arrangements and invitations to her was proving to be one of
the major mistakes of his life.  For instance, he would have done well to
inquire of Mrs. Ditch-ett what exactly she meant by a "small number" of
guests.  He had assumed ten at the most; Mrs. Ditchett seemed to be thinking
of at least fifty.  She had apparently consulted with Emmaline, with the
result that even that detestable little toad Lord Northrup had been invited.
Worse, the toad had replied that he would attend.  Darcy thought he detected
Emmaline's influence in that response, for which he supposed he should feel
grateful.  After all, the toad was going to be very rich.

Even Mrs. MacTavish seemed to be conspiring against his peace, although she
maintained a belligerent attitude toward Mrs. Ditchett.  Mrs. MacTavish had
announced that if he didn't want to be ashamed in front of his guests, he'd
need new wallpaper in the drawing and dining rooms and new linens on the
table.  Reluctantly he had given in, to find scaffolding all over the lower
floor when he returned from the office the next day.  He felt like an
intruder in his own house, less important than food and clothing.

A new cook, engaged from only God and Mrs. Mac-Tavish knew where, had arrived
and was always demanding to show him menus, as if he gave a damn what they
ate.

Some fop of a Frenchman was coming every day to teach Blossom how to dance,
the music repeating and repeating until Darcy thought he'd go mad.

And there was the sudden flurry of bills from dressmakers, milliners, boot
makers jewelers .  which he had to pay, since he was apparently acting for
Blossom's father.

For all he saw of Blossom, however, she might have been a figment of his
dreams.  Mrs. Ditchett was obviously drilling the poor gift as thoroughly as
any sergeant major.  They even ate upstairs so he wouldn't be disturbed by
the "corrections."

Several times he wondered if it wouldn't have been wiser, not to mention
cheaper, to send Blossom back on the first ship bound for the Orient.

As for Blossom, she was beginning to feel as if her life in China, despite
the beatings, had been infinitely more pleasant than her life under Mrs.
Ditchett's tutelage.  Indeed, if it wasn't for the strong memo fides of Mr.
Fitzroy's arms about her and Ah Tup's constant pleasantness, she might have
been very tempted to run away: As it was she was cons tandy being told what
to do, how to do it, and what was wrong with the way she had just done it.

In vain she looked for evidence that Mr. Fitzroy had even the smallest
concern for her.  The few times she saw him, he looked as if he suffered from
indigestion, and con sid-edng the vast quantity of food barbarians consumed
daily, that would not have surprised her.  She found herself won-dedng if
Water Lily had been wrong about making a man jealous.  Perhaps that worked in
Canton, but not with Englishmen Perhaps he no longer wanted her at all.
Rather than give in to the despair such thoughts provoked, Blossom decided to
concentrate on all she had to learn for the ball.  That was not easy, for
simply thinking about Mr. Fitzroy usually made her make more mistakes than
ever.

She was vastly relieved when the night of the ball arrived at last.

"You tremble, Little Mother!"  Ah Tup said, holding out a petticoat for
Blossom to step into.

Blossom tried to smile.  "I have so much to remember and I am afraid of all
those barbarians!"

"Afraid?  You are never afraid!"

"I fear I might lose face, by doing something wrong or saying the wrong
thing."

Ah Tup nodded understandingly.  "Ayee, so much to think about!  I am glad to
stay upstairs.  But I do not think you will make a mistake.  The Dish woman
has taught you well; of that I am certain."

Blossom sighed and tugged gently on her chemise as she stood up.  "I wish I
were as certain of it as you are."

She glanced at the pink ball gown she was to wear and couldn't help frowning.
Mrs. Ditchett had wanted her to wear a white dress, but Blossom had refused.
She would not wear the color of mourning.  She had wanted a red dress, since
that was the color of good fortune, but Mrs. Ditchett had said Blossom would
look like a "trollop" in it, whatever that was.  At last they had agreed on
pink.

The gown was the same strange shape as all the dresses the barbarian women
wore, with a skirt even larger than any Blossom had yet seen.  Mrs. Ditchett
had personally supervised its making, so it had several rows of flounces and
tucks around the bottom of the skirt and an abundance of lace at the low-cut
bodice.

Involuntarily her hand went to her neck.  She still couldn't understand the.
appeal of the naked skin on arms and chest or why a man would find a woman
attractive if she wore a dress that looked in danger of slipping off.  How
much better to wear the soft caress of silk, which fit to one's body like a
second skin yet flowed as smoothly as water in a placid stream.

Sighing, she let Ah Tup help her into the dress, guiding it carefully over
the petticoat.  "You look beautiful," she said approvingly.

Blossom drew on one of the long white gloves she was to wear.  The fabric was
so fine and delicate she was afraid they would tear.  "You will be watching?"

Ah Tup's eyes were as sharp as a fox's, and Blossom knew she would see and
remember things while her mistress was too busy trying not to lose face.  "Of
course.  I want to see how the barbarians do this, men and women dancing
together."

"You watched me and the monsieur."

Ah Tup sniffed.  "Now that man I am certain is a eunuch!  Or perhaps a woman
pretending to be a man.  I wish to see the master at this dancing with you."

Blossom felt her face flush hotly.  "He may not dance.  Not once has he come
into the room while I learned, and I know Mrs. Ditchett asked him to.
Perhaps, Since he wishes to find a husband for me, he wants me to dance only
with other men."

Ah Tup wasn't fooled by her excuses for a moment.  "Come, Mother!  Even
though their dances are strange, you are as graceful as a willow in the wind!
" Besides, didn't the Dish woman say he would ask you for the first one
since he holds this ball for you?  "

"Yes, but..."

The servant girl sniffed scornfully.  "Mother, all this barbarian nonsense
has disturbed your harmony and addled your brain.  You are beautiful.  You
are graceful.  You have been trained by the best, most famous concubine in
all of Canton.  There is no man who could resist you, especially tnaBlossom
not such a virile man as the master.  It seems to be their way to play love
games.  But I promise you, he will find you irresistible tonight."

Blossom put on her other glove.  "I hope you are right, Ah Tup.  I begin to
think that perhaps I will be wed to another man after all."

"Huh!  Convince yourself first, and then perhaps you will be able to convince
me."

Blossom said nothing, but pulled her bodice as far up as it would go.

Mrs.  Ditchett pounded on her door.  "Are you ready, my dear?  It's time to
go down."

Ah Tup smiled and spoke quickly.  "Go now, and I will watch from upstairs.
Remember what I said.  You are irresistible."

Blossom smiled back nervously and went to the door.  Mrs. Ditchett, wearing
an elaborate gown of bright blue with several flounces and ruffles, an
enormous lace bertha over the bodice, several ostrich feathers in her hair
and gloves so tight they seemed in danger of splitting asunder at any moment,
was 'waiting impatiently "That's enough of that Chinese chattering for
tonight," she said rather harshly.

Blossom nodded, biting back an angry word.  She must try to be on her best
behavior tonight.

As they went toward the drawing room where they would receive their guests,
Blossom saw Mr. Fitzroy pacing the hall the way Honorable Wu had when he was
beset by many problems.  From above she noted the formfitting perfection of
his black coat with the things called tails down the back and his long,
black-trousered legs.  Then he turned around.

She tried to remember everything Mrs. Ditchett had said about not looking
directly at a man, but all the woman's admonitions might have been chaff in
the wind.  Blossom

 m could no more withdraw her gaze from Mr. Fitzroy's face than she could
command the house to rise into the air.

He did not smile.  Instead, his eyes narrowed and he looked at her with an
expression that was scornful at full of aversion at worst.  What little
confidence she had vanished instantly, and she had to blink to hold back
tears.

With desperation she reminded herself that she was Fra-grant blossom of the
Middle Kingdom, raised in civilizations; rained by Water Lily.  She was
irresistible.

She was miserable.

"Ah, Mr. Fitzroy, I'm so glad we're all ready on time."  Blossom started.
She had actually forgotten that Mrs. Ditchett even existed, let alone stood
just behind her.  For once she was glad to have the woman there, since she
could turn to her and ignore the face of Mr. Fitzroy.

"It's the height of impropriety to be late.  Ido hope the cook has got the
supper well in hand.  You can never trust these hired people,-as I told the
housekeeper.  And I'm happy to see that the orchestra is here, although I
suppose a violin, cello and piano hardly constitute an orchestra, but they
should do very nicely for his."

Mr.  Fitzroy held out his hand to Blossom.  She placed hers on his arm, her
fingers barely touching the fabric of his coat.

Together they went into the drawing room, Mrs. Ditchett chattering along
behind them.

Darcy glanced absently around the draw lag room, now almost empty of
furniture except for SOme chairs along the wall and the places for the
orchestra at the far end.  They took up their places to receive their guests.
His mind, however, was not on the altered state of the room but on the
altered state of his thoughts.

If someone had asked him what he had expected when he was waiting for Blossom
at the bottom of the stairs, he probably couldn't have put it into words.
But it wouldn't have been this .  this puppet in an overelaborate gown with
her hair in a ridiculous style that resembled string beans hanging off her
head.  She moved as stiffly as a wooden doll and seemed about as vivacious.

Good God, what had that Ditchett woman done to her?

Darcy was still scowling when Charles Horton-Smythe arrived.

Charles realized at once that SOmething was amiss.  Darcy looked like a man
who was forced to stand next to his worst enemy, and the girl seemed
petrified with fear.

How interesting, he thought, greeting them and moving into the drawing room.

Next to arrive were several business associates and their families, but
Charles paid scant attention to them.  However, when Lord and Lady Whitmore
appeared, he maneuvered closer to the door, watching carefully.

"Lord and Lady Whitmore, may I present Miss Flow-ersT' Mr. Fitzroy said, his
face cool and expressionless.

BlosSOm found herself on the receiving end of two very different types of
scrutiny.  The man, Lord Whitmore, held a round glass thing in front of his
eye and smiled blandly, as if she were no more than a gown on a stick.  His
wife'sgaze, however, was quite another matter.

As Blossom curtsied toward the woman in the lovely blue silk gown and the
handSOme, rather stupid looking man, she caught the faint scent of the
woman's perfume.  It was the same one she remembered from the night in Mr.
Fitzroy's bedroom, when she had known he had been with another woman.
Blossom deliberately returned Lady Whit-more's slow scrutiny.

Mr.  Fitzroy took Lady Whitmore's hand politely and kissed it in a chaste,
gentlemanly fashion.

Lady Whitmore smiled.  "I do hope you're planning to attend my costume ball,
Darcy, to commemorate the open could no more withdraw her gaze from Mr.
Fitzroy's face than she could command the house to rise into the air.

He did not smile.  Instead, his eyes narrowed and he looked at her with an
expression that was scornful at he full of aversion at worst.  What little
confidence she had vanished instantly, and she had to blink to hold back
tears.

With desperation she reminded herself that she was Fragrant Blossom of the
Middle Kingdom, raised in civilizations; tX rained by Water Lily.  She was
irresistible.

She was miserable.

"Ah, Mr. Fitzroy, I'm so glad we're all ready on time."  Blossom started.
She had actually forgotten that Mrs. Ditchett even existed, let alone stood
just behind her.  For once she was glad to have the woman there, since she
could turn to her and ignore the face of Mr. Fitzroy.

"It's the height of impropriety to be late.  Ido hope the cook has got the
suppei' well in hand.  You can never trust these hired people, as I told the
housekeeper.  And I'm happy to see that the orchestra is here, although I
suppose a violin, cello and piano hardly constitute an orchestra, but they
should do very nicely for this."

Mr.  Fitzroy held out his hand to Blossom.  She placed hers on his arm, her
fingers barely touching the fabric of his coat.

Together they went into the drawing room, Mrs. Ditcherr chattering along
behind them.

Darcy glanced absently around the drawing room, now almost empty of furniture
except for SOme chairs along the wall and the places for the orchestra at the
far end.  They took up their places to receive their guests.  His mind,
however, was not on the altered state of the room but on the altered state of
his thoughts.

If someone had asked him what he had expected when he was waiting for Blossom
at the bottom of the stairs, he probably couldn't have put it into words.
But it wouldn't have been this .  this puppet in an overelaborate gown with
her hair in a ridiculous style that resembled string beans hanging off her
head.  She moved as stiffly as a wooden doll and seemed about as vivacious.

Good God, what had that Ditchett woman done to her?

Darcy was still scowling when Charles Horton-Smythe arrived.

Charles realized at once that SOmething was amiss.  Darcy looked like a man
who was forced to stand next to his worst enemy, and the girl seemed
petrified with fear

How interesting, he thought, greeting them and moving into the drawing room.

Next to arrive were several business associates and their families, but
Charles paid scant attention to them.  However, when Lord and Lady Whitmore
appeared, he maneuvered closer to the door, watching carefully.

"Lord and Lady Whitmore, may I present Miss Flow-ersT' Mr. Fitzroy said, his
face cool and expressionless.

BlosSOm found herself on the receiving end of two very different types of
scrutiny.  The man, Lord Whitmore, held a round glass thing in front of his
eye and smiled blandly, as if she were no more than a gown on a stick.  His
wife's gaze, however, was quite another matter.

As BlosSOm curtsied toward the woman in the lovely blue silk' gown and the
handSOme, rather stupid looking man, she caught the faint scent of the
woman's perfume.  It was the same one she remembered from the night in Mr.
Fitzroy's bedroom, when she had known he had been with another woman.
Blossom deliberately returned Lady Whit-more's slow scrutiny.

Mr.  Fitzroy took Lady Whitmore's hand politely and kissed it in a chaste,
gentlemanly fashion.

Lady Whirmore smiled.  "I do hope you're planning to attend my costume ball,
Darcy, to commemorate the opening of the Crystal Palace.  With your charming
guest, of course."  '

Mr.  Fitzroy nodded.  "We'll be delighted."

As the golden-haired Lady Whitmore went into the room, Blossom watched her
covertly.  To think a woman would have the audacity to appear in public at
the home of her lover!  Of course her husband, who appeared to have the
intelligence of a carp, must have no knowledge of her adultery.

Despite her revulsion at the woman's moral laxity, Blossom couldn't help
comparing herself to the woman.  Lady Whitmore's gown, simple yet of very
fine silk, was infinitely better than the garment Blossom wore, and Lady
Whitmore moved as if she'd been born wearing such a dress.  It could be that
Englishmen preferred that strange yellow-colored hair, too.  Suddenly Blossom
felt hopelessly ugly and clumsy.

Then Lady Whitmore glanced back.

It might have been the look in the woman's eyes or the hint of a frown in the
woman's full lips, but at once Blossom knew that this woman feared her.
Clutching Mr. Fitzroy's arm a little tighter, she lifted her chin and smiled'
at the next couple who entered the room.

"She's a pretty little thing, eh, my love?  Lord Whir-more said to his
beautiful and graceful wife.

"Yes, very pretty," Emmaline replied.  She had measured the girl quickly
against her own criteria, based on experience and hard-won skill.  She had
seen a very lovely girl who had the face of a madonna, but whose eyes were
far from innocent.  Miss Flowers was somehow old for her years, despite the
bloom on her cheeks, and her eyes had been shrewd and discerning.  Standing
next to Darcy, she had seemed right at home.  A quick survey of the gentlemen
in the room revealed that most of the men were quite cap-rivated by Mr.
Fitzroy's guest.

As she glanced back, Emmaline realized she had just met a girl who could
blossom into the most dangerous rival she had ever.  known.

Charles watched Lady Whitmore glide into the drawing room.  He was mildly
surprised by the almost bored greeting she had exchanged with Darcy.  Had
something happened between the two lovebirds?  Was that why Darcy had come
back from Kinverton early?  Charles had been puzzling over that for days,
almost tasting the curiosity to know what would compel Darcy to leave what
should have been a glowing scene of social triumph.

Lady Whitmore moved toward Mrs. Ditchett; the chaperon, -and it was
immediately clear that they were old acquaintances.

That would seem to prove that Darcy had indeed kept away from the channing
little Miss Flowers, or whatever her real name was.  Surely no woman would
send a relative to chaperon a usurper to a lover's bed.  Or would she?  Em-ma
line Whirmore was a very clever woman, and perhaps she knew more about the
girl than be guessed.  It could be that Lady Whitmore had sent Mrs. Ditchett
with the sole purpose of insuring that she had no rival for Darcy's
affections.

If so, Lady Whitmore's plan was working.  It was obvious to anyone who knew
Darcy that he was upset about something, and having a girl like that in the
house without being able to touch her would certainly upset any full-blooded
male.

His gaze moved to Miss Flowers.  Despite the hideous gown and even more
hideous hairstyle, there was no denying that she was beautiful.  Her bodice
left ample creamy skin showing, and her figure was virtually perfect.

Of course, Darcy could be a sanctimonious bastard, as Charles recalled from
the first and only time he suggested that Darcy accompany him to a well-known
brothel.  Darcy had looked at him as if he'd just suggested castrating
himself with a dinner knife.

No explanation.  Darcy never explained anything.  But Charles never invited
him again.  For a brief period of time, he had wondered if Darcy was merely a
typical middle-class righteous idiot, or perhaps something a little more
unusual, but then he found out about Darcy's liaisons with various married
women.  It seemed his scruples allowed for adultery but not prostitution.

Jeremy Fitzroy, a younger, softer vexsion of his brother, entered the drawing
room with a delicate young woman holding on to his arm demurely.  Charles
surveyed the girl slowly--pale, pretty in delicate way, but nothing to get a
man's blood stirring--and noted the way hex grip tightened on Jeremy's arm
when he presented her to his brother.

The two men glared at each other like two knights about to joust.  Sidling
casually closer, he caught the blond girl's name: Elizabeth Hazelmore.
Unfamiliar.  She must not be anybody special.

He saw Jeremy look down at her with great tenderness' as they were presented
to Miss Flowers.

So, that was the way the wind was blowing, eh ?  Charles wanted to laugh out
loud.  Darcy had made no secret of his grandiose plans for his brother, as if
education and money could make up for lack of social standing, not to mention
how Darcy planned to push Charles aside and hand his place to Jeremy, even if
Darcy had never said it out loud.

And now here stood Jeremy, the delight of his broth ex eyes, with a girl from
God knows where on his ann.  Jeremy looked at her as if she were some kind of
angel.  No wonder Darcy looked like he could do murder.

As the musicians began taking their places at one end of the room, there was
a commotion by the door.  Moving closer, Charles realized Darcy had refused
to take the first dance with Miss Flowers.

Of course.  Darcy never danced.

Charles grinned and quickened his step.  Here was an opportunity much too
good to miss.

Chapter Eleven

Mrs.  Ditchett spoke quickly, panic in her voice.  "We assumed you would lead
the first dance, Mr. Fitzroy.  It's only proper."

Mr.  Fitzroy glared at Mrs. Ditchett, then at Blossom.  "I don't dance," he
repeated brusquely.

Out of the comer of her eye Blossom saw Lady Whit-more smile with what looked
like triumph.  One of the other female guests, with the impossible name of
Shrew-some-thing who was clutching the arm of the plump lord named Northrup,
giggled shrilly.  It seemed as if everyone else was frozen motionless,
staring at her.  There was only one exception, and that was the girl with
Younger Brotherd Her expression was friendly, but in her eyes Blossom saw
Inty.

Instantly Blossom forgot her fear and embarrassment.  She straightened her
bare shoulders and held her head high as Mr. Horton-Smythe appeared beside
Mr. Fitzroy.  "Will you allow me the honor, Darcy?"  he said, smiling.

Blossom thought he looked more like a snake than ever and would dearly have
loved to refuse him, but she stepped forward.  "I would be delighted," she
said, not worrying about how the words sounded.

Mrs.  Ditchctt eyed Mr. Fitzroy with still-shocked disapproval.  "Well,
someone had better take the first dance."

Blossom allowed Mr. Horton-Smythe to escort her to the center of the room
while other couples formed behind them.

The music began and she started to dance, finding it surprisingly easy now
that she knew she could not he interrupted and berated for clumsiness.  Only
the urge to see Mr. Fitzroy disturbed her pleasant surprise, but he never
seemed to be looking at her at all.

"Enjoying yourself, m'dear?"

She glanced at Mr. Horton-Smythe and tried 'not to show her distaste as he
leaned closer.

He smiled knowingly.  "Making some conquests already, I think."

She turned away, but she could still feel his hot breath on her bare shoulder.

"Darcy will be pleased.  He should make a pretty penny with your marriage
settlement."

They circled and turned, and Blossom said nothing.  The evil man spoke again.
"You don't understand, do you?  Let me explain, my dear.  When you marry,
the man will make a marriage settlement upon you.  That's when Darcy plans to
get back the money Wu owes him."

Another turn as the music grew louder and the room grew hotter.  "Mr.
Fitzroy honors me by arranginga marriage."

Mr.  Horton-Smythe's pale hazel eyes gleamed.  "Is that what he told you?
Hate to enlighten you, my dear, but I assure you the only person Darcy's
thinking about is himself.  He's selling you, my dear.  Right now you're on
display and then, when he gets the best offer, he'll sell you."

She opened her mouth to call him a liar, but the words stuck in her throat.
It might be so, and it would explain why Mr. Fitzroy was spending so much
money.  And yet she understood this man.  Had, indeed, from the first time
she had seen him.  He was the kind of man who would do anything, say
anything, to further his own ambitions.  She need not trust a word he said.

As the dance finished, Mr. Horton-Smythe moved uncomfortably close.  "I would
be delighted to offer you my protection."

The thought of being near this man another moment longer chilled her.  She
said nothing, curtsied and tried to walk away, but he took her hand in a grip
of iron, placed it on his arm and began moving toward Darcy.

"You're a charming dancer, Miss Flowers," he said softly, "although I
understand that's not really yqur name."  Blossom looked at him sharply.

"It's a pity Darcy doesn't appreciate you and all your many talents."

"You must forgive my ignorance," she said quietly.  "I am not sure what you
mean, but I think you are mistaken.  Mr. Fitzroy appreciates me, and my
skills, very much."

She had little concern about lying to such a man as this, and was pleased to
see his surprised expression.

"Darcy is a very lucky man," Mr. Horton-Smythe said slowly, drawing her back
out onto the dance floor.

"I wish to rest," she protested, but he ignored her.  She wondered where Mr.
Fitzroy was, then spotted him over in the corner, talking--or arguing, to
judge by his expression with Younger Brother.

"Does he treat you well?"

She looked at Mr. Horton-Smythe and tried not to frown.  "Yes, very."

"If anything should ever go amiss, my dear, please remember that you can
always come to me."

Blossom would sooner slit her own throat.  She could easily guess how this
man would treat a woman.  "Thank you," she said softly.

Mercifully Mr. Horton-Smythe said no more, and when the dance ended, she
hurried over to Mrs. Ditchett before he could monopolize her again.

"A most unusual man, my dear," Mrs. Ditchett said, nodding toward Mr.
Fitzroy.  "I quite wonder at your father leaving him in charge.  He barely
takes an interest in the proceedings.  Why, I recall when dear Emmaline-Lady
Whirmore--had her first ball, her father was a perfect menace making sure
everything was done properly.  Well, I suppose it's different, since Mr.
Fitzroy isn't your father."

"No, he is not," Blossom replied, watching his back as he spoke to his
brother and the pale, pale girl he had brought with him.  She glanced up at
the ceiling and saw the spot from which Ah Tup was watching.  She hoped Ah
Tup could hear everything.

The short, plump Lord Northrup waddled up to her.  "I say, Miss Flowers, may
I have the honor of a dance?"

Blossom nodded, for she had no excuse to refuse, and took his arm.

As they began to dance, the young man stepped heavily on her foot.  "Oh, I
say, I'm terribly sorry, Miss Flowers!  How clumsy!"

She muttered something--she wasn't sure quite what--as she watched Mr.
Horton-Smythe walk toward Mr. Fitzroy.

"Miss Flowers, I understand you're in London for the season?"  '

Blossom, intent On Mr. Fitzroy, smiled absently at her dancing parmer.

And quite unknowingly captured the affection of Lord Neville Northrup, future
heir to two hundred thousand pounds.

"Darcy, this is Elizabeth."

Darcy didn't bother to hide a scowl as he looked down at the girl holding on
to his brother's arm like a barnacle.

He couldn't deny there was a certain pale, helpless attractiveness to her, if
you liked that sort of female.  Jeremy would.  When he was a boy he was
always bringing injured animals home and nursing them better.

"What are you doing here?"  Darcy asked bluntly, ig-noting the girl.

"I was invited," Jeremy replied.

"What?"

Jeremy turned an exasperated face to him after glancing at the crowded room.
"Please, Darcy, not here."

Darcy kept his feet firmly in place.  "Here's as good a place as any for
anything you have to say to me."

Jeremy looked at Elizabeth, but she only tightened her hand on his arm.

"all right," Jeremy said, his mouth becominga hard line that matched his
brothefts.  "Elizabeth and I are getting married."

Darcy laughed harshly.  "And what are you planning to live on, air?"

A flickering expression of pain passed over Jeremy's features, and for a
moment Darcy's heart softened.  For a moment.

"We aren't going to ask you for anything, if that's what you're afraid of.
We won't get married until I have a suitable income.  I ... I wanted you to
meet her, Darcy."

"So now I have.  Please leave me to do my duties as host."  Whatever the hell
they are, he finished in his thoughts, with another frown.

"All right, Darcy.  If that's the way you want it."  Jeremy, with Elizabeth
beside him, walked across the room to where an old business friend sat with
his elderly mother.

Darcy looked for Blossom.  She wasn't hard to find, dancing in the center of
the room with that idiot Northrup.  The imbecilic nobleman was staring at her
like a lovesick puppy and she was smiling at him.

He turned away quickly and came face-to-face with Charles.  "Lovely girl,
Darcy."

"Yes."  He watched her dance.  "But I'il b glad when the season's over."

"Ah.  She goes back to her dear papa then?"

"Or gets married."

"Quite a charming little thing.  Might be tempted myself."

DarCy glanced at Charles to see if the man was in earnest, but Charles had
moved off toward Lord Whitmore.

Darcy strode down the side of the room, heading for the garden.  The house
had suddenly become unbearably warm.

Mrs.  Ditchett sighed rapturously, "You were quite a success, my dear.
Really quite a success.  I'm certain Lord Northrup was absolutely captivated!"

Blossom tried not to trip on the stairs as they proceeded upstairs.  All the
guests had gone, Mrs. MacTavish was downstairs directing the.  servants who
were cleaning up from the supper, Powlett was supervising the kitchen staff,
and Mr. Fitzroy had disappeared into his stUdy after saying he needed a drink.

Blossom was utterly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to bed and
sleep.  She had eaten almost nothing at the dinner, her appetite for English
food not' noticeably developed.  The dancing, however, had made her rather
thirsty, and the drink called champagne had been very good.  She had finished
five or six glasses.

Mrs.  Ditehett followed Blossom inside her bedroom.

"Your dear papa would have been so proud if he'd seen you here!"

"Yes," Blossom said, wondering why the floor seemed to be on a curious angle.
Perhaps the dancing had made the house tilt.

Ah Tup, waiting to help her disrobe, smiled broadly.  "Ayee, Little Mother!
What a night!"

Mrs.  Ditcbett's eyes narrowed suspiciously.  "Please be so good, Miss
Flowers, as to remind your servant that no one has addressed her yet."

Blossom nodded and, keeping her back to Mrs. Ditchett, who had collapsed into
the nearest chair, spoke to Ah Tup in Cantonese.  "Ah Tup, please.  We'll
talk later, when we can be alone."  The tone was severe, but Ah Tup saw
Blossom attempt a conspiratorial wink--and not quite succeed.

"You have had too much rice wine!"  Ah Tup said, trying not to giggle.  She
looked at Mrs. Ditchett and feigned to be ashamed.  Then she moved away,
until she stood behind Mrs. Ditchett's chair.

"Just think of it, my dear!"  The rapid movement of Mrs. Ditchett's 'fan
betrayed her excitement.  "Lord Neville Northrup!  His fortune's immenSe, my
dear.  Simply astounding-and his parents are both dead, so there's no one to
interfere ... that is, come between two young people."

Blossom tried to look serious, but it was very difficult.  Ah Tup was making
faces, imitating Mrs. Ditchett behind her back.  Finally Blossom found a
chair and sat down dizzily.

"I saw at once, of course, that that horrid Gloriana Shrewtonbury had her
heart set on catching Northrup.  Those Shrewtonburys were always like
that--an eye out for the best catch.  Huh!  The women in that family all look
more like horses than most horses!  Such noses--really, they're almost an
embarrassment to the human race!  It was her mother who even tried to lure my
first husband away from me--without success, need I add.  And now the
daughter's set her cap for Neville Northrup!"  By this time Mrs. Ditchett was
talking mainly to herself.  Blossom swayed in her chair as if she were back
on board ship.  "We'll see about that.  But I see you're fatigued, my dear.
I'll leave you.  Tomorrow we must be ready to receive callers, and I'm
certain Lord Neville Northrup will be one of the first!"

Blossom nodded as Mrs. Ditchett left the room.  The minute she was gone, she
spoke eagerly.  "Ah Tup, who was the girl with Younger Brother?"

"She is the girl he wishes to marry."

 "Mr.   Fitzroy does not agree?"   "No, he does not.,

"Ah," Blossom nodded.  "And yet I saw no harm in her.  Of course, if Mr.
Fitzroy says it is not to be, it will not

Ah TuP shook her head.  "They have no sense' of filial duty, these
barbarians.  They argued.  I think Younger Brother will ma her anyway.  And
as for the girl--she looks sickly, don't you think?"

Blossom shrugged.  "I caught a glimpse of her feet.  They are enormous.  But
if Younger Brother wants her, I think Mr. Fitzroy should consider it."  She
remembered how the girl had looked at her across the room.  "She smiled at me
in a most friendly way.  I like her."

"You may be right."  Ah Tup grinned broadly.  "Now, Mother, about this
dancing Although We know that barbarians are shamefully ignorant and
uncivilized, I think perhaps their idea of dancing is not so foolish after
all."

Blossom remembered the tight clasp of Mr. Horton-Smythe around her waist and
the heavy tread of Lord Northrup on her toes.  "It is very tiring."

"With the wrong man perhaps.  But with the right one ... it looks almost as
good as reaching the zenith, with not nearly so much effort."

"Maybe," Blossom said slowly, thinking once more of Mr. Fitzroy's embrace.
It would be quite wonderful to dance with him.

"Well it must be, or why else would the master look at you with such jealous
eyes as you danced with other men?"

Blossom glanced at Ah Tup sharply, the effects of the champagne momentarily
vanishing.  "He did?"

"Ayee!  If ever I saw a jealous man, it was him!  Why,

he looked as if he would kill them all!  "

"He never danced with me."

"No," Ah Tup admitted slowly.  "Maybe he doesn't know how?"

That idea had never occurred to Blossom, but it did make sense.  "Mr.
Fitzroymhe was really jealous, do you think?"

 "Have I not eyes?   Am I a fool?"

Her words made Blossom feel even more giddy.  "Perhaps I should go downstairs
and thank him for the ball?"  she asked softly.

Ah Tup nodded sagely.

Without another word, Blossom went out, tiptoeing to the top of the stairs.

"That will do for tonight, girls," she heard Mrs. MacTavish say, and then
Powlett spoke from outside the study.

"Mr.  Fitzroy," he said, "will you need anything else tonight?"

She didn't hear Mr. Fitzroy's reply, but hurriedly ducked into the first
bedroom where she waited until she heard the housekeeper and the butler pass
by.

She continued downstairs.  When she reached the study, she took a deep
breath, almost fell over, recovered herbal ance and knocked softly.

"What?"

She opened the door.  Mr. Fitzroy's jacket had been slung over a chair, and
he stood beside the mantel, his necktie hanging undone and his shirt partly
unbuttoned.  He held a glass of brandy in his hand and straightened when she
en Blossom closed the door and turned toward him, suddenly very aware of the
naked skin that the gown did not cover and the heat coursing through every
particle of her body.

She moved nearer, drawn by the expression of desire in his face as if she
were a moth and he a flame.

Without a word he set down his drink, strode across the room and pulled her
into his arms.  His lips found hers as surely as if they had touched a
hundred times.  Her desire swept everything away except sensation as his lean
strong hands caressed the bare flesh of her back.  There was no art in her
response, no remembrance of what she had been taught.  She acted on the most
basic human instinctsmand that was more than enough.

His lips moved slowly across her cheek to the throbbing pulse of her neck,
making her moan and arch against him.

She tugged at his shirt, wanting to feel his heated skin, to bring it closer.
Her lips followed their own path, touching the tender skin of his ear.  She
heard him groan and the sound thrilled her, making her even more desirous to
fulfill the needs of their bodies.

His hands found the soft swell of her breasts, plunging inside the gown as
she gasped with shock and delight She pulled away for an instant, letting his
hands move where he willed, enjoying the pleaSure he aroused in her until she
could stand still no longer.  She Pressed forward, pulling his shirt open and
letting her tongue tease his niPPles.

She felt her bodice loosening, his fingers hurriedly undoing the constraining
garment.  "yes, oh, yes, honored lord!"  she whispered, her hands pushing the
shirt from his body.

He stopped.  Bewildered and filled with' hot desire, she looked at him.  and
tried to read the strange expression on his face, "Why did you come to this
room?"  he asked, his voice quiet but hard at the same time.

"I ... I came to thank you for the ball."

He stepped back, and she spoke quickly.  "It was lovely, and I know it cost
much money..."  She stopped, halted by the expression of loathing in his eyes.

"And this" -- he gestured at her partly-unlaced bodice "--is how you intended
to thank me?  I thought you said you were not a whore."

His words stung, as full of poison as a serpent's fang.  Her face flushed
with anger and shame and pride.  "I have never been a whore."  Her hands
balled into fists.  "It is you who wish to sell me."

"What the hell are you talking about he demanded, but his face burned red.

"You think I do not know about 'marriage settlement?  You think I am some
lowly, foolish servant you can cast out?  I have done my bet to please you,
but now I learn that you have lied to me.  You will get your money by selling
me in marriage."

She angrily wiped away the tear that fell on her cheek.  "Perhaps I am stupid
fool after all, when I dared to think I could make you care for me."

Mr.  Fitzroy took a step closer.  "Blossom, I'm" --- "You think to make me a
whore?"  She turned her back to him and in one swift movement tugged down her
garment so that he could see the scars on her back.  "Look and know that no
one can make me do a thing against my will!"

She turned back, clutching her bodice over her breasts, her chest heaving
with anger, her eyes blazing.  "But if I have no other choice than to be a
whore in this awful, terrible place, I will go to the richest man I can find.
And I will never, never, let you touch me again!"

He heard her sob as she ran from the room.

Darcy picked up his drink and threw the glass into the fireplace, where it
shattered into tiny pieces.

Chapter Twelve

Dear Mr. Fitzroy:

Pray excuse the haste and untidiness of this letter, but I have little time
before the ship sails for England, and I wish to inform you of the
infounation I have been able to attain regarding the young lady recently
arrived (I trust) in London.  You will know of whom I speak.

I have made several inquiries among the English community here in Canton and
am delighted to tell you that I believe I have solved part of the mystery.  I
have been told by an elderly gentleman that there was once, in a nearby
missionary post, a Yorkshireman who lived there with his family.  He was an
Anglican minister and was awaiting the chance to go into the interior.

Before that could be accomplished, his wife took ill and died, leaving him
the sole parent of a little girl, then aged five years.  There was some talk
at the time of sending her back to his parents in England, but the father
refused until he himself suffered a near-fatal illness three years later.  He
then realized that the child would be better off in her native land, and the
father decided to accompany her on the journey.  They set off from Canton in
the spring nearly eleven years ago, and neither they, nor anyone else on the
ship, were ever seen again.

I believe, sir, that you will agree that the date of departure, as well as
the age of the little girl who had, I was told, dark hair, make it highly
likely that she must be the unfortunate daughter of this man, the Reverend
Saul Cooper.  I hope this information allows you to find the young lady's
family, and I trust she is safe in your care.

If you would be so good as to inf6I'm me of the arrival of the young lady and
her present state of health, I would be eternally grateful.

Yours very sincerely, Elias Mitchell

Charles Horton-Smythe frowned as he refoided the letter addressed to his
parmer.  "Mitchell is an enterprising, zealous young man," he muttered,
tapping the letter on his chin.  "He should remain in China indefinitely."

He put the letter in the secret compartment of his desk.  Perhaps later he
would pass it on to Darcy, but for now it suited his purposes if the girl's
identity remained a mystery.

Someone entered the outer office.  Charles peered out the door and saw that
it was only a clerk arriving, not Darcy.  Since the evening of the ball
nearly a for might ago, Darcy had grown increasingly haggard in appearance,
and increasingly tardy in his arrival at the office.

It was also Charles's opinion that Darcy was drinking rather too much wine.
With a girl like Miss Flowers in the house, who couldn't be touched whether
because of Darcy own stupid' morality or the presence of Mrs. Ditchett, it
was no wonder a man had to find refuge someplace.

Charles closed the door, momentarily thinking of the lit tie dark-haired
whore he'd found in his favorite brothel, the one who looked so much like
Miss Flowers.

But there was business to be done.  Scooping up a handful of documents,
Charles headed for Darcy's office.

Before he got there, however, someone else came in, this time the
soon-to-be-wealthy Lord Neville Northrup, who was accompanied by Lady
Emmaline Whitmore.  Charles approached them at once.

"How wonderful of you to grace our humble offices!"  he said to Lady
Whitmore.  "This is truly an unexpected pleasure!"

"Is Mr. Fitzroy in?"  Lady Whitmore asked, arching her exquisite eyebrows
questioningly.

"Not just at present," Charles replied.  "Perhaps if you care to step into my
office, I may be of assistance?"

Lady Whitmore inclined her head and followed.  Lord Northrup, looking around
with the fascinated gaze of a man in a curio shop, came after---once he'd
realized they were walking away without him.

Inside his office, Charles held a chair for Lady Whitmore and gestured toward
another for Lord Northrnp.

"Now, how may I be of assistance?"  he asked, siring down behind his desk and
looking studiously at Lady Whit-more, who turned to Lord Northrup.

"Well, the fact is, I come into my inheritance next month, don'ts you know,"
Northrup said, "and I want, that is, I should, I suppose, invest some?"

Charles smiled kindly.  "Ah, would that all young men were as wise, eh, Lady
Whitmore?"

With a very slight smile, she inclined her head again.

"And I thought, well, might as well invest in shipping as anything else, eh,"
what?  "

"A very good choice, I must Say."  It was all Charles could do to keep from
rubbing his hands with glee.  There was nothing quite so wonderful as a very
rich, very stupid investor.  "We're currently planning our shipping schedule
for the next six months.  Approximately how much were you planning to invest?"

Lord Northrup's face went blank, then red.  "We!!"  that is.  "

"Not a large sum, just at present," Lady Whitmore said.

Lord Northrup looked relieved.  "Yes, not a large sum, just at present."

"I see.  We!!"  I'll have one of the clerks draw up a list of the ships and
trade goods.  There's some that are quite regular voyages, and we're planning
one or two that are really very exciting.  One thing to remember, old chap,
the greater the risk, the greater the profit, eh?  "

Lord Northmp's eyes gleamed with excitement, but Charles realized Lady
Whitmore was looking at him with a very shrewd expressioh.  Very shrewd
indeed.

He'd heard the rumors that she really made all the de cis'lons, but he'd
never believed a woman that beautiful could have a head for business.  Now he
could.

Obviously he would have to get Northrup alone if he was going to convince him
to risk major capital.  "Well," he said with a friendly smile, "there's no
rush.  Time and tide wait for no man, but there's always ships at sea, eh?
I'!1 just get that list stared, shall

When he came back, Lady Whitmore and Lord NoRhrup rose to leave.  "Do you
expect Mr. Fitzroy back soon?"  Lady Whirmore said.

"Tm not sure When he'll arrive.  He's a very busy man these days."  He
thought her eyes flashed for a moment, but the expression was gone in an
instant.  "Tell me, what do you think of Miss Flowers?"

"A very charming young lady."

Lord Northrup beamed.  "Isn't she, though?  Such a pretty little thing, too!"

"I understand Mr. Fitzroy's taking her to see the Crystal Palace tomorrow."

"I say, is he really?"

"I believe so.  Have you been already?"

"Went opening day.  I say, it's jolly incredible, all the stuff they've
crammed in the place.  Really amazing.  Have you seen it yet, Mr.
Horton-Smythe?"

"No, I haven't had the time."

"Wellg" Lord Northrup cleared his throat self-consciously "--I really don't
think one visit is enough.  Do you, Lady Whitmore?"

Lady Whirmore, who'd been standing quietly beside the door, shook her head.
"No, I don't believe it is.  I should like to view the exhibits once more
myself."

Darcy paced in the drawing room.  He'd probably already marched the
equivalent of five miles in the past half hour, but Blossom was getting as
bad as any female, keeping him waiting for longer and longer periods of time
as they prepared to go out.

As if the waiting weren't bad enough, he had no more desire to see the
blasted Crystal Palace than he would an iceberg.  He hated crowds, especially
gawking, talking crowds of people marveling at overgrown toys and cheap
baubles.  Crystal Palace indeed!

At last he heard Blossom and Mrs. Ditchett coming down the stairs, Without a
word, he went past Powlett and strode down the steps to the waiting cab.

All the way to Hyde Park, the only person who did any talking was Mrs.
Dichett, but it had become obvious over the past two weeks that the woman
would talk to a statue.

Darcy and Blossom might as well have been two ivory figures for all the
talking they did.  From the way the woman occasionally looked at the slender
girl sitting beside her, it was easy to guess that the chaperon believed all
her admonitions about how a proper young lady conducts herself, along the
lines of being seen and not heard, had finally taken effect, to her
chaperon's glory.

Darcy, who knew better, was finding Blossom's silence much more unnerving
than he would have believed possible.  They had gone out a few times, twice
to dinner parties and once to a theater.  At first he'd been worried that
Blossom would say or do something that would make it abun-dan fly clear that
her upbringing had been unusual, to say the least.  Perhaps he should be
grateful that she felt the way she did about him now, because she rarely said
anything at all in his company.

Darcy stared moodily out the window of the hansom cab, oblivious to the cries
of the street sellers.  Over and over again he kept telling himself that
things were much better this way as if by constant repetition he could come
to believe it.

Blossom tried not to look at Mr. Fitzroy and to concentrate on the sights and
sounds of the huge city.  After all, she had never been allowed outside the
walls of Honorable Wu's house, rarely outside the stuffy cabin aboard the
ship and Only been to a few social gatherings at night.  London by daytime
was a noisy, smelly, incredible sight.

Mr.  Fitzroy crossed his long, muscular legs that were so close to hers that
she could have nudged him with her knee.  But she was never going to touch
him again.

When she said those words, she had meant them with every fiber of her being.
She had been hurt and angry, dismayed and determined.

Only later, when she thought of the look on his face when she faced him, did
she realize he might have been regretting his words.  He looked sorry and
ashamed, as well he should.  "

She had not gone to him to thank him with her body, and in her heart she knew
there was no shame in what had happened between them.  If there was something
wrong, it was that he could not admit that there was a bond, a feeling,
growing between them.

As for herself, she knew that she needed him.  Without him her life would be
as empty as a storehouse duringa famine.

She had never before met a man who made her feel so safe and protected, not
even Honorable Wu.  When Mr. Fitzroy smiled at her, it filled her with joy,
and hope that she might yet find happiness for herself.  When he touched her,
she felt as if her spirit could soar into the clouds.  That was finished.

Now Mr. Fitzroy never smiled at her and barely spoke to her except to give
orders.  Around other people, he stood near her, but she might have been in
another country for all the attention he paid to her.

That foolish boy, the plump lord, was always at her elbow.  If Mr. Fitzroy
cared anything at all for her, he would have seen that she wanted to be
rescued from the 1ord's annoying attentions It had become all too obvious
that he didn't even care that much for her.

She sighed softly and tried to pay attention to Mrs. Ditch-ett.

In the distance the weak sunlight, straggling to shine through low gray
clouds and the ever-present pall of coal smoke, made something sparkle.  At
first Blossom was too lost in thought to notice, but when they drew closer,
she gave a little cry of delight as she realized it was an entire building
made of glass.

"I don't know when I've ever seen Hyde Park so crowded!"  Mrs. Ditchett
exclaimed, leaning out the window.

Mr.  Fitzroy grunted an acknowledgment and leaned back against the cushions.

Blossom ignored him and spoke to Mrs. Ditchett.  "Who owns all this place?
Surely he must be a great lord."

"Who owns Hyde Park?"  Mrs. Ditcbett chuckled.  "Why, my dear, no one.  We!!"
I suppose you could say the people of London.  "

Blossom stared incredulously.  This place belonged to no one?  "And the great
glass building?"

"Waste of people's money, I think."

Blossom pretended she didn't hear Mr. Fitzroy and looked at Mrs. Ditcbett.

"Well, to be sure it was a costly undertaking, but what a wonderful way to
show the world the might and ingenuity of the British Empire."

Blossom's eyes narrowed.  She didn't quite know what Mrs. Ditchett meant, but
she didn't like the smug, assured tone of the woman's voice.

"I mean, really, to think of all the latest inventions under one roof and
displays from so many foreign countries--which of course won't hold a candle
to the British exhibits-well, it almost takes one's breath away."

Mr.  Fitzroy looked at her as if he'd like to take Mrs.

Ditchett's breath away permanently, but he said nothing.  "There will be
things from many countries?"

"Oh, yes, my dear.  According to the papers, there are over seven thousand
British exhibitors and over six thousand foreign exhibits.  I should think
just about every civilized country will have sent something."

Blossom nodded.  Then of course there would be something from China, the most
civilized country in the entire world.

The cab finally came to a stop.  Mr. Fitzroy jumped down and offered his arm
first to Mrs. Ditchett, then to Blossom.

The Crystal Palace loomed ahead like some marvelous creation of the gods, one
hundred and eight feet tall at its apex.  The sheer multitude of glass panes
held in place by a framework painted orange, scarlet and pale blue almost
overwhelmed Blossom.  For the first time she began to believe that the
British might not be quite so inferior after all.

They made their way inside and immediately saw the enormous elm that had been
enclosed by the structure and beyond that a beautiful crystal fountain nearly
thirty feet high.  Blossom was much too impressed to utter a sound, and when
she looked at Mr. Fitzroy, she saw that he didn't seem nearly so indifferent
as he had in the cab.

"Now, Mr. Fitzroy, let's find the Textile Section first, shall we?  I
understand from Lady Whitmore that there's some velvet there that simply has
to be seen to be believed " Like a ship making headway through high waves,
Mrs. Ditchett began pushing her way through the crowd, leaving Blossom and
Mr. Fitzroy to follow along behind.

Mrs.  Ditcbett seemed to know exactly where to go, so they found the Textile
Section quickly.  It teemed with all kinds of fabric, from velvet to silk to
cotton to fur to feathers and even hair.

Darcy, after the initial shock at the magnitude of the place, knew he would
soon be bored by this feminine section of the exhibits.  Maneuvering his way
to a comer, he leaned against a wall and wondered what would happen if he lit
a cheroot.  As he scanned the crowd aimlessly, he saw a little girl staring
at him as she held on to a plump woman's hand.  The woman was fascinated by
the cloth she was looking at but the little girl was apparently fascinated by
him.

She had large, blue eyes and a delicately pointed chin.  Her skin was smooth
and pale and her face was framed with curling dark hair.  He realized, as he
returned her scrutiny, that the little girl reminded him quite forcibly of
Blossom.

All at once the girl smiled.  Darcy began to smile back until he realized she
was smiling at the man beside him.  Then the girl's mother spoke and she
turned to answer.

"Your daughter?"  Darcy ventured, look inga the dark-haired, rather short man
dressed in a simple coat and breeches beside him.

"Aye, sir."

"She's very pretty."

"Aye, so she is."  The man's accent told Darcy at once that he was a
Yorkshireman.  "Ding!  The women'll be all day about it."  He sighed and
Darcy nodded.  "I'll be lucky to get out with a ha' pence in my pocket.  Any
road, I suppose if it'll keep them happy for a while."

Darcy grinned.  "I've just resigned myself to spending half the day right
here."

"Aye," the Yorkshireman said, a companion in misery.  "Father," the stout
mother said as she turned to them, "why don't you go and see the big
machines?  We'll meet you at the fountain in a little while."

"Now that's a fine idea," the man said.  He turned to go but glanced back at
Darcy.  "Wouldn't mind somebody to talk to, if you're not wanting to stay
here."

Darcy thought that was one of the best invitations he'd had in years.

He found Blossom and Mrs. Ditchett examining some expensive silk, which he
knew he would probably be paying for later, told them of his plan to see some
of the exhibits on his own and to meet him at the crystal fountain in two
hours.

"Now, shall we?"  he said when he rejoined his newfound companion.

Ever since Blossom had arrived at the Crystal Palace and moved slowly through
the mob of incomprehensible voices, knowing that somewhere in the vast glass
building there was a Chinese stall, she had been filled with homesickness.

She wanted to hear a familiar tongue, to see familiar features, to feel once
again a part of the ancient civilization of the Middle Kingdom.

She knew that it could take a very long time before Mrs. Ditchett was ready
to leave all the fabrics and move on to another exhibit, so she waited until
Mrs. Ditcbett had moved far inside the stall selling velvet and other fine
cloth.  Then, cautiously, she moved away, out into the vast passageway.  She
didn't really know where to go, but she would find the Chinese exhibit if she
had to take the whole day.

It occurred to her as she kept to the edges of the stalls and crowds that Mr.
Fitzroy might see her.  She reached up to undo the veil on the top of her
hat.  She could at least hide her face, and she doubted Mr. Fitzroy would
recognize her dress since he paid so little attention to her now.

After walking what seemed like miles, she finally spotted a stall with a
giant porcelain vase outside.  Her steps quickened, for she was certain she
had found what she was looking for.

She had, to her profound disappointment.  Inside the stall was simply junk,
the things the beggars made for foreign devils.  Even more disappointing,
there wasn't one Chinese person in the booth.  Instead there was an immensely
fat man seated on a stool that barely seemed of a strength to support her,
let alone him.

Slowly she went inside the stall and discovered that all was not quite so
bad, There were some good examples of porcelain and some silk, but compared
to the British ex-hibitsmand indeed, most of the rest---this was
embarrassingly pathetic.

"Is this all?"  she finally asked the fat man, loath to believe it.

"Yep," he said, reaching into his pocket and producing a clay pipe.  "And
what a time we had getting' this!"

He saw that she didn't understand and began filling his pipe.  "See, they
asked them Chinese to send some things, and they said they would.  Never did.
What a hullabaloo!"  He leaned back, struck a match on the sole of his boot
and began to light his pipe.  When it began smoking, he took a long draw and
exhaled, the smell almost making Blossom fall over.  "Yep, not a thing they
sent.  So they rounded up this here stuff.  I'm just a watchman, like."

"Oh," Blossom said weakly, her face burning with shame.  What could her
countrymen have been thinking of?

She knew almost at once.  They thought the English and their exhibition not
worth the trouble.

If only they had understood how this would be, all the hundreds of people
going past.  If they had, they could have sent so many wonderful, marvelous
things.  Beautiful silks such as only the very wealthy could afford, silks
like no English person had ever seen.  Why, even one of her simplest and
least costly gowns was better than anything here.  They could have sent
carved furniture so ornate that it seemed only a god could have created it,
and porcelain as fine and delicate as a breath.  They could have sent clocks
so intricate you watch them for hours.

They could have shown the whole world that they were truly the greatest
nation on earth.  Instead all that was on display was trash, so obviously
inferior that people simply walked past.

Angry at her countrymen and ashamed, too, she turned away.  It was better, at
least, that she had seen this alone, without Mr. Fitzroy and Mrs. Ditchett.

As she turned to go down the corridor, she stopped.  Lord Neville Northrup
and Lady Whitmore were heading her way.  She had.  no wish to see Lord
Northrup.  Not now and certainly not here.  She went into the Chinese stall,
and, with her back to the entrance, began to examine some.  silk.

Mercifully they passed by the booth.

Not wasting any time, she pushed past the fat watchman and went down the
corridor in the opposite direction to Lord Northrup.  She hurried on until
she reached the farthest end of the pavilion and sat panting on a small
bench.  As she tried to catch her breath, Blossom suddenly realized that she
was quite lost.

"Did you come all the way from Yorkshire to see this?"  Darcy asked' as he
and his new friend made their way to the civil engineering section.

"Aye, partly.  Come to London to visit my wife's sister and see the Palace."

"What do you think?"

"Think I should've stayed at home on the farm."

His tone and words were so like Darcy's own feelings that he laughed.

"You're a Londoner, then, are you?"  the man asked.  "I live here, yes."
"BUsinessman?"

 "Shipping."

By this time they had reached their destination.  They spent several minutes
in companionable silence examining the model of the Liverpool Docks, complete
with sixteen hundred fully rigged model ships.  There were also various
models of bridges, railways, lighthouses and canals.  Then it was on to the
raw materials section containing almost every substance that could be used in
manufacturing; next came e weaponry, with guns and models of warships and
even a strange vessel that was called a "submarine."

"Incredible what some men think up, ain't it?"  Darcy's friend muttered.
"Who'd want to be under water like that?  God, gives me the cold creeps
thinking about it."

Darcy nodded.  "Except you wouldn't be at the mercy of the weather, I
suppose."

"No, suppose not."

By now they had reached what were called the "Philosophical Exhibits."

"Never saw a stupider idea in my whole life!"  the York-shire man muttered as
he looked at the Anhydrohepseterion.  "What's it meant to do?"

"It says it's a device to stew a potato in its own juice."

"My God!  Some men got too much time on their hands."

As they shared a companionable chuckle, Darcy realized he was having a very
enjoyable time.  The Yorkshireman was practical, sensible and pleasant.  "Tm
Darcy Fitzroy," he said, offering his hand.

They shook heartily.  "Sam Cooper."

Darcy nodded and then realized Sam was staring at something behind him.

"Here comes your lady friend," Sam said.

Darcy turned as Mrs. Ditchett came rushing up.  "Oh, Mr. Fitzroy, thank
heavens I've found you!  Miss Flowers has disappeared!"

Blossom taed not to panic.  The fabrics were at the other end of the
building.  She could go to a different level to avoid Lord Northrup, and
since she was watching for him, she could surely hide again if she saw him.
ff all else failed, Mr. Fitzroy had said to meet at the crystal fountain.  It
was so large it should be quite simple to find.  Feeling slightly relieved,
she stood up and prepared to head back to the fabric.

"Elizabeth, my darling, don't cry."

Blossom halted abruptly.  The voice was like Mr. Fitzroy's, but she
recognized it as Younger Brother's.  She glanced over her shoulder and saw
Younger Brother with the pale yellow-haired girl he had brought to the ball
going into one of the least crowded stalls, which was full of some strange
animal statues.  She hesitated for a moment, then followed cautiously.
Pretending to look at the statues, she hovered near the entrance.

"But Jeremy, we must end our engagement.  I won't be the cause of a break
between you and your brother."

"I'm not worried about Darcy.  He's just being stubborn and selfish.  Once
we're married, he'll come round.  I promise."

Blossom moved a little closer and heard quiet sobs.  "You do love me, don't
you, Elizabeth?"

"Oh, Jeremy, more than my own life!"  Blossom had never heard anything like
the emotion in the girFs voice.  It was at once sad but happy, weak and
strong.  Younger Brother's voice was soft and gentle, but filled with
intensity.  Blossom closed her eyes and imagined how Mr. Fitzroy would sound,
saying such words to her.

"Your brother loves you, too, in his own way.  You owe him so much."

This Elizabeth was no grasping woman, no Precious Jade in an English body.
She was willing to give Younger Brother up rather than come between the two
men.

"My brother's been good to me.  I won't deny that.  But I love you too much
to let you.  go, even for his sake.  Please, Elizabeth, marry me!"

"Oh, Jeremy, yes, yes!"

Their tenderness, their passion, their desperate longing for each other was
so clear in every word that Blossom hurried out of the stall, a lump.  in her
throat.

All at once she realized she had misunderstood this thing love.  It was more
than the mere physical union between a man and a woman.  It was a feeling so
strong it transcended filial duty and so powerful it could turn even a pale,
weak creature into a determined woman.

It was the way she felt about Mr. Fitzroy.  But he felt no love for her.

Her eyes filled with tears as she pushed her way through the crowd.  She
didn't see Mr. Fitzroy come storming toward her, his brow furrowed in anger.

"Where the hell have you been?"  he whispered harshly.

Oh, how different from the way his brother had sounded moments before!

Before Blossom could answer, Mrs. Ditchett hurried up, her handkerchief, veil
and hat shaking with agitation.

"Oh, my dear, what a turn you gave us!  We didn't know where you had gone!."

"Well, I guess I'd best be off, seeing that you've found her."

Blossom bit her lip to subdue her tears and turned to the man who had spoken.
The short stocky man, whose words she could barely understand, was looking
at her with a most peculiar expression.

"It's been a pleasure."  Mr. Fitzroy shook hands with the man.  "Here's my
card.  Perhaps you'll be in London again."

The man nodded.  "Aye, maybe.  I don't have a card, but if you're ever in
Haxby, ask anybody at the Saracen's Head Inn and they'll tell you how to get
to my farm."  Then, with one more nod and another searching look at Blossom,
the man drifted off into the crowd.

Mr.  Fitzroy turned to her and looked about to curse when another voice cut
through the crowd.

"Oh, I say, Miss Flowers!  This is a pleasant surprise, eh, what?"  Lord
Northrop came trundling up, looking like a boy who had just finished a dish
of sweetmeats.  Behind him came the stately and lovely Lady Whitmore.

Blossom tried to smile at Lord Northrup but couldn't.  All she could do was
stare at the floor and-wish herself far away from this place.

Mr.  Ftzroy nodded to Lady Whitmore.  "Enjoying the exhibitions?"  he asked
nonchalantly.

"Tm getting some more ideas for my ball next week,"

Lady Whitmore replied.  You are still planning to attend?  " " Definitely,"
Mr. Fitzroy replied.

"Oh, I say, that's wonderful!  And you, too, Miss Flowers?"

"I am honored to be invited," she whispered.

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine, my dear," Lady Whitmore said, smiling coldly.
"Really, all mine."

Mrs.  Ditchett sat or, rather, reclined on a sofa in the drawing room after
dinner.  Blossom watched to make certain she was asleep, then stood up and
went toward Mr. Fitzroy, who was seated at the far end of the room read inga
newspaper.

"Mr.  Fitzroy," she said softly.

The force and speed with which he moved the paper away and the intensity of
his gaze almost unnerved her.  "Well?"

"I am sorry I wandered away like a lost sheep today,"

she said, determined to get her apology out of the way.  He moved the paper
back in front of his face.  "Mr.  Fitzroy?"

Again the paper moved rapidly, but this time he just looked at her.

"While I was walking' back to you in the Palace, I overheard Younger Brother
speaking to the girl he wishes to

Mr.  Fitzroy's eyes narrowed.  "You eavesdropped?"  ?  "I dropped nothing,
Mr. Fitzroy.  I heard them talking."

 "Same thing.   That's considered very rude."

She cleared her throat.  "I think you should let Younger Brother marry her."

Mr.  Fitzroy's face hardened.  "It's none of your business."

Blossom didn't let his cold tone deter her.  She might never find love, but
she could at least help Younger Brother.  "It/s my concern as long as I am of
this household."

"If Jeremy wants to marry that penniless girl, that's his trouble, not mine.
He understands that," even if you don't.  "

"You are right.  I do not Understand things here, but I do know that it would
be better to be friends with your brother than enemies.  Isit not better,"
she asked softly, "to agree and help?  Then they will bless you all 'their
days."

She saw that he still did not agree with her and decided to try a different
way.  "I do know that he is as determined to marry as you are to stop it.
Think, then, Mr. Fitzroy, if you were in your brother's place.  Would you
obey?"  Mr. Fitzroy looked away.

"You should let them many.  They Will anyway.  And I think she is a woman who
would make a fine sister-in-law, for she understands proper filial duty.  She
does not wish to make trouble between you."  She hesitated for a moment,

looking intently at his face.  "They love."

Mr.  Fitzroy made no sign that he heard her.

"I am sorry if it was not in my place to speak of such matters, but I only
seek to make your way smooth."

Slowly Darcy turned to her, seeing an expression.  in her deep blue eyes that
told him she meant what she said.  Why should she care about his family?  She
had made it amply clear in the past fortnight that she cared nothing for him.
Indeed, by the apparent reciprOCity of her feelings for that oaf Northrup,
it seemed all her previous emotions had been only sham.

And yet, when she Spoke of love, he began to wonder .  Mrs. Ditchett stirred,
snorted and sat up.  "Oh, dear me, I seem to have fallen asleep."

Blossom moved away and Darcy tried not to notice, especially as Mrs. Ditchett
was looking at them suspiciously.

"Well, obviously it's time to retire," Mrs. Ditchett said, heaving herself
upright.  "Come, Miss Flowers."

Without a murmur of protest or look in his direction, Blossom walked toward
the door.

"Oh, by the by, Mr. Fitzroy, I understand the costumes will be ready for a
fitting tomorrow."

"Costumes?"

"For Lady Whitmore's ball."

Darcy went to a cigar box, select inga cheroot.  "Tm not wearing any costume."

Mrs.  Ditchett made a disapproving sound.  "But you must!  Everyone will be
in costume!"

"Not me."

The tone of his voice made it clear even to the less-discerning Mrs. Ditchett
that there was no point in further protest.  "Is Miss Flowers not to wear a
costume, then, either, sir?"  she said meekly.

"I don't give a damn what she wears."

"Well, that's something, I suppose," he heard Mrs. Ditchett say as she went
out the door.  "Good night," she said a little more loudly.

He turned and watched Blossom's slender form go out the door and up the
stairs, remembering the soft, intent expression she had fixed on his face
moments before.  He slumped down in a chair, lit his cheroot and reached for
the bottle of port at his elbow.

After the third drink, he became aware that Mrs. Ditchett was standing in
front of him.

"What?"  he said, not bothering to sound polite.  "It's about the servant,
sir," she said equally bluntly.  "What servant?"

"The Chinese girl, Ah Tup."  Mrs. Ditchett sat down across from him, her
voice now conspiratorially quiet.  "What about her?"

"I think we should consider find inga replacement."

Darcy glared at Mrs. Ditchett, who seemed to be swaying oddly.  "What's she
done?"

"Nothing specific, I must admit.  " But her continued presence is not helping
Miss Flowers to shed her, shall I say, peculiarities?  "

"Peclu... percu... what do you mean?"

"I mean, sir, that I think it would be more conducive to Miss Flowers's
father's plans, especially as they pertain to find inga husband, to hire a
more suitable ladies' maid."

Darcy finally got Mrs. Ditchett in focus.  "B!...Miss Flowers likes her."

"That may very well be, but I think we have to consider the larger scope.
After all, a young lady may like to eat, but a plump.  one will have a more
difficult time to catch a husband."

"I suppose you would know about that," Darcy said, not noticing how Mrs.
Ditchett's face reddened.  "Well, I shall think about it."

"There is something else I should like to discuss with you, sir."

"What?"

"You'll excuse me for mentioning it, but I really feel it would be better if
you could manage not to use such coarse language around the young lady."

Darcy's mouth hardened.  "I'll talk any damn way I like.  This is my house."

Mrs.  Ditchett got to her feet quickly.  "Very well, but I'm forced to say
it's having a rather disturbing effect on the young lady's conversation.
Only yesterday she asked Lord Northrop if he didn't think the theater a
damned pretty place."

Darcy gave a loud snort of laughter.  "Good for her!"

"Really, sir, this is not going to further the relationship,

which I'm certain we're both desirous to promote.  " He frowned.  " Very
Well.  " " Good night, then, sir.  " " Good night.  "

As Mrs. Ditchett wad died toward the door Powlett hurried silently down the
hall to find Mrs. MacTavish,

The next day Jeremy stood before his brother in the study, his stance defiant
and his face hard.  "Well, what do you have to say to me?  Or do you just
want to remind me that you don't approve of my choice of wife?"

Darcy gestured to a chair.  "Sit down."

"No, thank you."

Blossom was right, Darcy reflected as he looked up at his younger brother's
face.  Jeremy was quite as stubborn as he was.  "All right.  Stand up then.
I simply wanted to tell you that I remove all my former objections to your
marriage, and I still want you to come into the business when you're finished
school."

Jeremy sat down with a thump in the nearest chair.  "What brought on this
sudden change of heart?"

"Well, I've never seen you quite so determined to do anything as you are to
marry this girl, so I realized there was no point trying to dissuade you.  I
decided it would be better to be your friend."

Jeremy's face mirrored the changing of his thoughts.  First there was shock
and.  surprise in his eyes, then a smile burst onto his lips and lightened
the rest of his features.  "That's wonderful, Darcy!"  Jeremy jumped out of
the chair and grabbed Darcy's hand, shaking it vigorously.  "This is
wonderful!  You'll like.  Elizabeth really!  She's just the most wonderful
girl!  I have to go tell her right away!  Really, she's just the most
wonderful girl, Darcy!"

He rushed to the door, then paused on the threshold, turning back to his
brother.  "Darcy, I know you wanted me to marry well.  Believe me when I say
I couldn't marry any better than this, if love is any guide,; and I/mow it
is.  I can only hope, now, that you'll find a woman as kind, as sweet, as
loving as Elizabeth.  God bless you!"

Darcy went to the door of the study as Jeremy bounded out of the house like a
dog' off the lead at the hunt.

Love was for young.  fools.  Boys with their whole lives ahead of them, who
had no worries about business.  Who were perfectly free to choose a woman
who.  could make them happy for the rest of their lives.

He would find a socially advantageous wife.  He'd been meaning to do just
that for some time, but he'd always put it off with one excuse or another,
secretly counting on Jeremy to fulfill that objective while he lived a free,
bachelor existence.

Such a marriage wouldn't mean anything more than a convenient hostess and an
occasional moment of husbandly duty in the nuptial bed with a woman who would
probably put up with that distastefully.

At least Jeremy would be happy.

"Oh, Miss Flowers!  I'm so sorry, but you must forgive me.  I'm in great
haste!"

Younger Brother was smiling so broadly that Blossom had to smile back even
though he had almost knocked her fiat as she reached the bottom of the
stairs.  She watched him careen out of the house and into the street.

When she turned back, she saw Mr. Fitzroy standing in the hall.  He looked at
her for a moment with an expression that made her heart begin to beat
rapidly.  She thought he was going to speak, but instead he turned and went
back into his study.

Blossom guessed what had just happened.  Mr. Fitzroy had given Younger
Brother permission to marry, He had listened to her!  He had taken her advice!

Without stopping to think beyond the excitement such knowledge gave her, she
hurried down the hall and burst into the study.

Mr.  Fitzroy spun around quickly and ran his hand across his eyes, but not
before Blossom realized what she had seen.

A tear running down his cheek.

In that instant she forgot how angry he had made her, forgot the terrible
things they had said to each other, and only knew that her heart smote her as
she saw the pain in his eyes.

"Oh, Mr. Fitzroy!"  she whispered, going up to him and putting her hands on
his still-damp cheeks and looking into his dark eyes.

He pushed her hands away.  "I ... I got some soot in my eye.  That's all."

Blossom had had all she could stand of English reticence.  "No, there was no
soot in your eye.  You are ashamed to tell me that you have a tender heart!"

"That's completely wrong!"  He strode over to the window and stared at the
back garden.

"Very well, Mr. Fitzroy, you have no tender heart.  You did not reconsider
Younger Brother's marriage and did not listen to my wisdom.  You asked him
here to argue and protest, and so he left looking as happy as it is possible
for a man to look, heya?  Clearly I was most mist' en Forgive me."

Mr.  Fitzroy turned his head slightly and glanced at her.  "Maybe I asked my
brother here as a means of getting you to speak to me again."

Blossom opened her mouth,.  but nothing came out.

He turned around and looked at her steadily.  "Tell me the truth, Blossom.
Will you marry that idiot Northrup if he asks you?"

At that moment, with him looking at her that way, she hardly knew which way
was up, let alone what she was going to do about the foolish lord.

"I realize he would be quite the catch, of course."  He came a few steps
closer.  "Since I just approved one marriage, I won't stand in your way,
either."

"I have not been asked yet," she said, trying not to show her dismay in her
voice or expression.

"I see.  Mrs. Ditchett seems to think he's tottering on the brink."

"Is he?"

The cool tone with which Blossom replied, as if she had been planning and
considering the marriage like any business proposal, chilled him as much as
her inscrutable expression frustrated him.

Ever since he had first laid eyes on Blossom he had fought to keep his
emotions under control, and yet he knew he had not been successful.  The more
time he spent with her, the more he realized he was perilously close to
falling in love.  Apparently, however, she cared little for him now that she
felt free of any obligation to him.

God, what a fool he was!  The sooner she was married and gone from him, the
better.  And the more she hated him, the easier it would be to forget her.

"Mrs.  Ditchett also thinks I should get you a new maid."  Blossom stared at
him.  "What of Ah Tup?"

He tried to ignore the frightened, bewildered tone of her voice and he didn't
dare look at her face.

"What of Ah Tup?"

"Don't you think she would be happier back in China?"  Out of the comer of
his eye he saw Blossom's hands clench into tight balls, the same hands that
had caressed him so gently only moments ago.

"Ah Tup's home is with me.  She will not go."

"She won't have any choice," Darcy said, going out of the study and leaving
her there, alone.

Chapter Fourteen

Blossom rolled over in the small bed and looked at the shape of Ah Tup on the
floor next to the door.

What would she do without her friend?  She had no doubt that Mr. Fitzroy
meant to send Ah Tup away.  He had been so cold, so cruel.

It would be a pain worse than torture to see Ah Tup go away.  Yet as long as
she was in Mr. Fitzroy's house, he had the right to send Ah Tup back to China.

She had failed in her duty to Honorable Wu, failed to fulfill her own desire
and now she was failing Ah Tup.

It was not hard to guess that Mrs. Ditchett was responsible for this idea.
She had never liked Ah Tup, making no secret that she disliked anything or
anybody who was not English.

Blossom turned over and stared at the ceiling.  She had to think of a way to
keep Ah Tup with her.

She could do nothing about Mr. Fitzroy or her own wants.  " but perhaps if
she married Lord Northrup he would let Ah Tup stay with her.  He was always
very anxious to please her.

To manipulate Lord Northrup reminded her so much of Precious Jade that the
idea at first repelled her.  At the same time she found herself sympathizing
with Precious Jade.  She could understand something of the woman's bitterness
and hatred.  As with all Chinese marriages, hers had been arranged by her
parents.  Neither Precious Jade nor Honorable Wu had seen each other until
their wedding day.  Although Honorable Wu was kind, he was not a man to
inspire passion.  It could he that the emptiness of her life had made
Precious Jade what she was.

Blossom didn't want to marry Lord Northrup and he-come another Precious Jade.

Perhaps-there was another way.  Perhaps she could convince Mr. Fitzroy that
Ah Tup was vital to his household, or someone in

She thought of all the 'servants and quickly realized that although Ah Tup
knew enough English to joke with them, she was never anything but respectful
with the Chief Eunuch, just as he was always very polite to her.

Respect was sometimes the road to a more tender feeling.  She remembered a
look Powlett had given Ah Tup once as the girl laughed merrily over her work
in the kitchen.  The man was surely not .  a eunuch.

"Ah Tup," Blossom said innocently the next morning, "have you never thought
of being married?"

The maid giggled.  "Of course not, Mother!  How could I be your servant if I
had a husband?"

Blossom toyed with the ruffles on her gown and glanced surreptitiously at Ah
Tup," who was embroidering one of Blossom's robes.  It was of a fine,
serviceable Silk, but plain.  Having little to do, Ah Tup had decided to
decorate it.  " But suppose you were free, what type of man would tempt you?
"

Ah Tup took her time select inga pale blue thread and frowned slightly.  "A
dead one.  Then I would be a widow and still have my freedom."

Ah Tup was not answering at all seriously.  Knowing how important this
conversation was and having to keep the secret that Mr. Fitzroy might be
planning to send Ah Tup away made Blossom feel like crying instead of
laughing.  "Really, Ah Tup.  If you had to marry, what kind of man would you
choose?"

"One like you are choosing.  Rich."

"He must have much money?"

"Of course.  And preferably many concubines, so he will leave me in peaces"

"I don't suppose you would consider a foreign devil?"  Ah Tup snorted.
"Ayeel Why not?  They seem to treat their women very well--although they seem
most backward in this business of concubines.  Still, I would see that he had
one and then I would be left to.  ran the household without anyone's
interference."

"What of, perhaps, someone like the Chief Eunuch?"

Ah Tup looked at her, her face a picture of surprise.  "The Chief Eunuch?"

"Yes.  I think he has money."

"Money he may have, but he is too proud and pompous."

"I think he likes you."

"I don't."

"He looks at you when you laugh."

"Probably condemning me for having some joy in this awful country."

"Once I thought he was going to smile at you."

 "Impossible.   He does not know hoW."   "You never tease him."

"It would be a waste of effort."  "

"I think I'm right."

"I think you are mad."

Blossom decided she had pursued the matter far enough, for if she asked many
more qnestions, Ah Tup might begin to guess her plans.  But she also knew
that Ah Tup, for all her protestations, liked the Chief Eunuch, or she would
have made endless jokes on the matter.  Instead, she sewed as if her life
depended on the completion of that one gown, and was most
uncharacteristicaily silent.  "I do not like the dress I am to wear to this
costume thing," Blossom said after a long moment.

"Huh!  Nor should you.  Indeed, it is the most hideous garment I have ever
seen in my life."

"Mr.  Ditchett says it is Eliza-beet-an."

"To be sure somebody should have been beaten for making it.  What a jumble of
colors and patterns--not to mention the Way it fiat tens your breasts!"

Blossom sighed.  "She says the Eliza-beet-an was a 'glorious age of British
history."

 "

"That is like her, to say such a thing.  She believes the British do
everything best.  FOOl!"

Blossom thought about the Crystal Palace.  Before that, she would have
quickly agreed with Ah Tup's estimation of the British as bragging fools; now
she knew that their high opinion of themselves had some merit, however small.
It still rankled that the Chinese exhibit had been so embarrassingly
pitiful.  Why, even the gown Ah Tup was working on was better than anything
else in that stall.

Suddenly Blossom had an idea.  She got to her feet quickly and hurried over
to the trunk in the comer.

"What is it, Mother?  What do you seek?"  Ah Tup put down her sewing and
joined her.

"My best gown.  The beautiful one from HOnorable Wu.  And my best silk
undergarment.  And my lovely shoes."

"Why?"  Ah Tup asked as Blossom took an armload of clothing and laid it on
the bed.

"I will show these British what the Chinese can do.  I will wear this to the
costume ball."  She held up the beau tifui robe she had worn that night on
the ship, the first time she had seen Mr. Fitzroy.

Ah Tup smiled broadly.  "Ah, Mother!  Surely this will impress them all!"

"But we must say nothing to Mrs. Ditcherr or she will put a stop to our
plans."

Ah Tup frowned.  "Am I such a fool?  I, who never speak to that ox if I can
help it, I would run and tell her of your delightful idea?"

Blossom smiled and, holding the gown in front of her, spun around.  For once
she would be dressed comfortably,

tOO.

There was a knock On the door, one all too reCOgniZable as Mrs. Ditchett's.
Hurriedly but carefully, Ah Tup and

Blossom returned every Wing to the trunks.

"My dear, it's time to be receiving!"

Blossom frowned, sighed, rolled her eyes and 'prepared for-another afternoon
drinking endless cups of tea, smiling endless meaningless smiles and
listening to the stupid utterances of Lord Northrup.

One afternoon two days later, Emmaline watched Dul-cibeila Ditchett as she
leaned forward for another pastry.  you, re Certain that he, s going to ask
for her hand?  "

Mrs.  Ditchett gained her objective but held the tart in the air as she
spoke.  "Absolutely positive, my dear.  NeVille Northrup is completely
smitten."

"Do you think her guardian approves?  I mean, Neville's a sweet boy, but
hopelessly stupid."

"Mr.  Fitzroy?  It's up to Miss FlOwers's father to approve, not him.  And
really, my dear Emmaline, what man who's made his money in trade is going to
object to his daughter marrying into the nobility?"

"What of Miss Flowers?  Does she seem agreeable?"

"I'm sure the girl will not refuse.  She's always most courteous to Lord
Northrup."

Emmaline nodded.  If the girl had any intelligence at all--and those blue
eyes glowed with superior shrewdness--she would latch onto Neville as quickly
as possible.

Emmaline suppressed a sigh.  Miss Flowers's situation was very like her own
when she had been a young girl entering society.

Lord Whitmore was not unlike Neville Northrup, too, although her husband was
at least a handsome man.  That made the inevitable nuptial duties more
bearable.  Indeed, Emmaline had tried for five years to give her husband an
heir.  It had seemed the least she could do to repay his kindness and
indulgence, especially when he let her take control of the family purse
strings.

Emmaline felt the old pang.  After five years it had become all too obvious
that she was barren.

Desperate, she had taken her first lover partly to discover if the fault was
hers or her husband's.  Now, after several lovers, she was still childless.
Her husband, on the other hand, had three children by the mistress he kept in
the country.

Whitmore said nothing to her about not providinga legal heir.  He never
complained or chastised.  He turned a gen-He manly eye away from her lovers
and let her run his finances, just as she ignored his mistress and made sure
he had plenty of ready money.  But not a day went by when she didn't feel the
aching emptiness in her life.

Emmaline took a sip of tea and considered the situation.  Darcy's little
friend, whose presence in his home was the subject of much speculation, had
managed to snare Lord Neville Northrop and his two hundred thousand pounds.
it was clear Neville didn't think there was anything unusual in Darcy's
relationship with Miss Flowers and an announcement of their engagement would
end the rumors.

Emmaline had known from that first meeting that Darcy wasn't engaged in an
illicit affair with the beautiful Miss Flowers.  His social ambitions were
well-known to her, and if he had been carrying on a liaison with his ward,
she would have sensed it.  Still, there was something unusual in their
relationship, and despite her efforts, she hadn't managed to figure out
precisely what.

"How are the preparations for your ball proceeding, my dear?"  Mrs. Ditchett
asked as she put down her teacup.

"Wonderfully well," Emmaline said, coming out of her reverie.  "I believe it
will be one of the highlights of the season."

Mrs.  Ditchett patted her hand companionably.  "Fm sure it will be, my dear.
What costume are you wearing?"

Emmaline smiled secretively.  "You won't tell anyone?"  Mrs. Ditchett nodded'
and leaned forward.  "An Oriental slave girl!"

Mrs.  Ditchett sat back, astounded.  "A ... a what?"

"A Chinese slave.  I found the dress at the Crystal Palace."

"My dear, it's simply too scandalous!"

Emmaline laughed softly.  "I get so tired of the same old knights and
medieval ladies and former kings and queens.  At least this will be
different."

And I might actually get Darcy's attention, she finished in her thoughts.

"But it sounds so much like that terrible servant of Miss Flowers!"

"Oh?"  Emmaline raised one delicate eyebrow.

"La, yes.  She's an awful creature!  Never does a thing one says, always
chattering away in that absuut language!"

 "Miss Flowers understands her?"

"I suppose so.  She talks to her in it, too, try as I might to get her to
stop."

"She must have spent a very long time in the Orient."

"Most of her life, I think.  And the things she says!  Really, you'd think
she was one of those barbarians herself!"

"Really?"  Emmaline leaned forward.  "You must tell me more."

Blossom sat in the morning room, her chin on her hand as she gazed out the
window.  The garden was wreathed in mist, the air like smoke.

Her thoughts whirled around the strangeness of her life here, and the
problems that seemed to be growing larger and larger with each passing day.

Things had appeared so simple in China.  All that mattered was to help
Honorable Wu, for he had helped her with his generous kindness.  That had
propelled her to offer herself to pay the debt--simplicity itself.

Only, not knowing how very strange this England would be, she had found
herself in more trouble, like an ox caught in a mud hole.

Mr.  Fitzroy had not wanted her.  Or had he?  He was trying to find a
suitable husband.  A great honor.  Or was it?

He had told her many times that she was free to make choices, but in her
heart she knew she wanted to stay with him.  But that was not to be, and she
was foolish to even imagine otherwise.  Why then could she think of nothing
but staying with him?  Why did she keep dreaming of him in her arms,
whispering endearments, dancing?

He had threatened to send Ah Tup away.  She could prevent it by marrying Lord
Noahnap, but in doing so she would perhaps become another Precious Jade,
bitter and angry, poisoning the life of all around her.

The Chief Eunuch interrupted her gyrating thoughts.  He came forward with a
calling card on a small silver tray.

Blossom glanced at the card.  Mrs. Ditchett had taught her to read and write
a little, and by now she was all too familiar with Lord Northmp's calling
cards.

Mrs.  Ditchett had always been present to greet callers, but this afternoon
she had said she was going to visit friends and that Blossom should tell
anyone who arrived that she was not at home unless the visitor was Lord
North-rup.

"Show his lordship into the drawing room, please," she said wearily.

Powlett nodded and walked out of the room.  Blossom watched him go and
wondered if she had been too fanciful in thinking that the dignified, solemn
man cared anything for Ah Tup.  Perhaps it was time she found ore.  First,
though, she would have to see Lord Northrup.

He was standing in the drawing room, biting his fingernails.  "Oh, I say, how
do you, Miss Flowers?"  he said as he always did.

"I am very well, thank you."

He looked around, as if searching for something.  "Beg pardon, but where's
the charming Mrs. Ditchett?"

"She visits friends this afternoon."

"You mean we'll have some time alone?"

Blossom reflected that if almost any other man had said those words, she
might have had cause- for concern.  For-tuna rely she could imagine no one
more harmless than Lord Northrup.  "She should return shortly."

To Blossom's shock and amazement, Lord Northrup suddenly threw himself down
on his knees in front of her, grabbing her hands with his fleshy ones.  "Oh,
Miss Flowers, dear Miss Flowers," he said, his words coming out in a
torrential rush that Blossom could barely understand, "I simply must tell you
that I adore you.  I love the very air you breathe, the floors you walk, the
dresses you wear, the hair upon your head, your tiny exquisite feet.  I must
ask, no, dear Miss-Flowers, beg that you will do me the honor to become my
wife:

She was too dumbfounded to speak.

"Dear, darling Miss Flowers, everything I have shall be yours--at least as
soon as it's finally mine.  I love you" -- his chubby lips smacked on her
hand "--I love you" -- smack "--I love you!"

"What the bell's going on here?  And where's Mrs. Ditchett?"

Both Blossom and Lord Northrup turned to see Mr. Fitzroy standing in the
doorway, his face bearing such a cold, angry expression that Blossom could
easily believe he would indeed send Ah Tup away from her.

Lord Northrup stumbled hurriedly to his feet.  "I ... I..."

"You what?"  Mr. Fitzroy's voice was low and full of menace.

"I..."  Lord Northrup took a deep breath, his fleshy jowls quivering.  "I was
asking Miss Flowers to do me the honor of becoming my wife."

Blossom held her breath as Mr. Fitzroy's gaze swept over her, fear and
uncertainty filling her.

"And?"

Lord Northrup gulped.  "And that's as far as we'd got, Mr. Fitzroy."

He sauntered into the room, all the while looking at Blossom.  '"Well, Miss
Flowers, how do you reply?"

Only a person of Lord Northrup's insensibility would have failed to notice
the tension in the room, or not have realized that compared to Darcy Fitzroy,
he was about as attractive as a slug.  However, Neville Northrup was
insensible and he was vain.  He assumed that Miss Flowers was hesitating
because she had been unprepared for the violence and passion of his
declaration.

"How do you reply?"

Blossom couldn't speak, not with Mr. Fitzroy staring at her like that.  It
was very possible that she would have fled from the room without utter inga
word, except that something unexpected happened.

Maybe it was the centuries of noble breeding.  Maybe it was the expensive
public school education.  Maybe it was the romantic novels he read in secret.
Or maybe it was basic human kindness.  Whatever it was, it made Neville
Northrup step directly in front of Darcy Fitzroy.  "I say, sir, leave her
alone," he said firmly.  "She need not answer me today."

He is young and foolish, but his heart is kind, Blossom thought as she
watched Lord Northnap glare at Mr. Fitzroy.  Lord Northnap would do anything
to please her.  Ah

Tup would be safe.  "I will answer," she said.  The two men turned toward
Blossom.  "I accept Lord Northnap."

"Oh, I say, really?  I mean, you do?  By heaven, that's incredible!"

"I am only her guardian.  Her father must give his permission."  Mr.
Fitzroy's voice, hard and deliberate, filled the room.

"Well, sir, if.  you will tell me how I may contact him, I would be delighted
to ask him."  Empowered by Blossom's acceptance, Lord Northnap seemed quite
another person.

"I am certain he will not refuse," Blossom said, looking at Darcy with an
unreadable expression.

Darcy cleared his throat.  He was caught now.  "If you wish to write to Mr.
Flowers, I will see that the letter is sent to him with the rest of his
London correspondence."  He was amazed that he could sound so calm when
inside he felt as if a squall raged.  He kept looking at Blossom, trying to
see past her inscrutable face.  Did she really want to shackle herself to
this fat fool--or at least his money belt?

If she did, he would lose her forever.  All at once it seemed he had never
really known loneliness until this moment.

The next morning Darcy strode into his office, tossed his hat onto the
nearest hook and sat down in his chair, scowling blackly all the while.  Damn
Northnap and damn the whole institution of marriage!

He still wasn't any closer to deciding what to do.  He didn't want to say
that Blossom's father consented, but he couldn't be sure whether it was for
his own selfish reasons or because he really believed Blossom would be
unhappy married to Neville Northnap.

After a brief rap on the door, Charles entered the room, his usual channing
smile on his face.  "I say, Fitzroy, what brings you here so early?  Trouble
at home?"

"That impudent pup Northrup.,

Charles sat down.  "Makinga nuisance of himself?.  He seems quite taken with
your lovely house guest."

"So taken he's asked to many her."

Charles smiled blandly.  "Well, well, well.  How does the delightful Miss
Flowers feel about it?"

"She accepted."  Charles, vastly more perceptive than Noffiu'up, realized
that Darcy Fitzroy was anything but pleased by this turn of events.  "Do you
think her father will agree?"  he asked nonchalantly with his hawklike gaze
on Darcy's face.  "Probably," Darcy lied.

Charles couldn't resist twisting the shaft rankling Darcy bosom.  "It would
be a triumphant match.  Her father shouldn't hesitate to approve."

Darcy merely nodded as Charles got up to leave.  Things were getting better
and better.  Imagine.  it.  Lord Neville Northnap hearing that Darcy Fitzroy
was an embezzler and the girl was nothing more than a whore just before the
wedding.  Or, even more delicious, perhaps just after.

Charles, a sadder but a wiser man, would go to Madeira to get his uncle's
money with the beautiful Blossom.  She would have no place else to go and no
way to earn a living unless she plied her old trade.  Surely accepting his
protection would seem a better alternative.

Of course, once he was tired of her, she would fetch a high price at any
brothel.

Chapter FiJ een

For weeks Lady Emmaline Whitmore's costume ball had been a subject of gossip
and speculation, planning and subterfuge.

The first great concern was who would be invited.  It was sure to be one of
the high points of the season, and no one of any note or any hope of being of
any note wanted to be excluded.  For a time even the titillating speculation
about Darcy Fitzroy and his beautiful ward ceased.

Then, for those select enough to receive invitations, the costume became a
matter of almost cosmic importance.  Who was going as what?  Or whom?  What
fabrics?  How ornate?  How revealing?  Ladies' maids were bribed, shopkeepers
accosted, seamstresses pledged to secrecy.

Darcy, taking refuge in his club whenever possible, couldn't even escape the
ball there, as the after-dinner talk inevitably turned to the expense of
costume gowns and finely.

He was keeping as far away from Blossom and her lovesick suitor as possible.
ff she wished to make a good mar-dage, he would not stand in her way.  As for
the ruse of Blossom's father, well, perhaps the fictitious man could meet
with a fictitious accident.  That would be the simplest way out of that
morass.  Most of the time, though, Darcy tried not to think about her.  Tried.

At last the night of the ball arrived.  Darcy had remained adamant about not
wearing some foolish costume, reflecting that he would let the other men look
like imbeciles if they wished.  He paced the floor of the study, wondering
how much longer he would have to wait for Blossom and Mrs. Ditchett.

Finally he heard them descending the stairs and came out.

Both women were wearing voluminous cloaks.  Mrs. Ditchett seemed smug, but
Blossom .  there was something Of an air of subdued excitement that made her
cheeks flush prettily, although he could see little of her face beneath the
hood of the cloak.  Darcy told himself to ignore her as he took Mrs.
Ditchett's arm to lead them to the carriage.

"I think you'll find Miss Flowers's costume most lovely, Mr. Fitzroy," Mrs.
Ditchett gushed.  "And certainly worth every penny."

"I hope so."

"No one else has such an ornate garment.  Madame Stit-sokova assures me of
it, and she has spies at all the other dressmakers, so we can be certain.
The only person who stands any chance of outshining Miss Flowers is Emmaline
herself but that's as it should be, since she is the hostess."

The rest of the way, Mrs. Ditchett proceeded to detail what she had learned
about everyone else's costume choice, and how it was going to be overshadowed
by Biossom's.

Blossom paid little attention, for she was trying to keep her red silk gown
from showing beneath her cloak.  She also wore a petticoat tied loosely over
the gown, for without it her cloak would hang in such a way that Mrs.
Ditchett would realize she wasn't wearing the ugly costume.  Once at the
ball, she would take off the cloak, untie the petticoat and be ready.

Charles, dressed as the knave of hearts, looked around' the Whitmore's
ballroom.  Most people seemed to have arrived, including the nervous Lord
Northrup dressed as a Crusader.  Lady Gloriana Shrewtonbury, in something
that was meant to be Grecian, hovered near Northrup's elbow.

Charles's gaze rested on the daring Lady Whitmore, who wore an Oriental
costume that fit rather close to her shapely body.  Other men were glancing
at her, too, especially those whose wives indulged in the delights of the
table overmuch.

He heard Darcy's familiar voice and saw Miss Flowers and Mrs. Ditchett
disappear up the stairs to remove their cloaks.  Darcy tossed his cloak to a
footman and made for the nearest drink as Lord Northrup made a dash to the
door.  He was too late, for the ladies had already gone up.

Well, perhaps it was time to put a little flea in Northrup's car about the
state of Darcy's business.  With that in mind, Charles wandered over toward
his prey, neatly intercepting Northrup as the young man headed purposefully
toward Darcy.

"Good evening,.  Lord Northrup."

"Oh, Horton-Smythe!  Good evening.  I was going to greet Mr. Fitzroy.  Wish
I'd never worn this demmed thing-- Fitzroy looks the only sane man in the
place."

"Ah, going to ask about all these rumors, eh?  Don't be concerned; old man.
Just a lot of flap over nothing."

Northrup stopped staring at Darcy and looked at Charles.  "What's happened?"

"Nothing that won't be set right soon.  Don't give it an other thought, my
lord," Charles said with a worried smile.  "I say, is this serious?"

"Not at all, my lord.  Not at all.  Shouldn't have mentioned it."  Charles
smiled again and moved off.

Northrup resumed his course but glanced over his shoulder at Charles, who
grinned reassuringly and went to a spot near the door that afforded him a
good view of the room.

As Northrup reached Darcy, Darcy suddenly stared at the entrance to the
ballroom.

Northrup did likewise, followed by every other person in the room, including
Charles.

Blossom, in a silken Chinese gown of brilliant red and gold, ornately
embroidered, entered the room.  The garment showed every aspect of her
slender figure to perfection.  Her hair was done up in an elaborate style
with ornaments that danced with each graceful step.  She kept her eyes
downcast, her dusky black lashes making little fans upon her pink cheeks
above her ruby lips.

Lady Whitmore stepped forward, breaking the spell of silence that had
pervaded the room.  Instantly the narrow blue gown she wore seemed tawdry and
poor compared to the richness of Blossom's garment.

No one knew it better than Emmaline, just as she knew the battle was over and
she had lost.

Darcy handed his drink to the gaping Lord Northrup, then he crossed the room
swiftly as the orchestra began to play the first dance.

Northrup quickly put the drinks on the first available flat surface and
followed him.

Before Darcy could say anything to Blossom, Mrs. Ditchett erupted into the
room, grabbing him by the ann and pulling him into a corner.  "I'm so sorry,
Mr. Fitzroy.  I had no idea.  It must have been some kind of conspiracy
between her and that maid.  I told you that maid had better go."

Darcy wrenched his arm away.  "Never mind," he said quickly.  He turned in
time to see Northrup leading Blossom onto the dance floor.  "Obviously it's
not worth being overly concerned, considering Lady Whitmore is similarly
attired."

"No, no, I suppose not..."

Darcy didn't stay to hear any more of Mrs. Ditchett's rambling, but went back
into the ballroom.  The moment the first dance finished, he strode across the
floor to Blossom.

"May I have the honor of the next dance?"  he asked, looking into her blue,
blue eyes.

"Yes" ' she whispered, suddenly oblivious to Neville Northrup and everything
else in the room except Mr. Fitzroy and the music.  At once he put his arms
around her and began to waltz.

The sensation of being in his arms as the.  music played was like one of her
dreams become reality.  She looked up into his face, at once excited and
curious and not a little afraid at the determination she saw there.  The
music went on, weavinga subtle, charming spell all of its own, the room
becominga dizzying array of lights and colors and scarcely seen faces.

Until it stopped.

"Blossom."  She held her breath, her heart leaping at the look in his eyes.

"Oh, Miss Flowers, may I have the next dance?"  Blossom turned to find Lord
Northrup at her elbow.  When she turned back, Darcy was at the other side of
the room.  She couldn't see his face, so she sighed and accepted.

But Charles saw everything.

"Darcy?"

"Yes?"  He turned toward Emmaline, who had come up beside him.

"Is everything all right?"  She looked up at him archly.  All right?  He had
never felt more wretched in his life.  For the first time he truly knew that
he wanted Blossom, wanted her in his life and not just his bed.  Wanted to
see her face and hear her voice every day for the rest of his life.  Wanted
to make her happy, to share her smile.  Wanted to see that stubborn gleam in
her eye and the determined way she lifted her chin when she disagreed with
him.

While they danced he had begun to hope that she felt something of the same
way about him, until Northrup had appeared, reminding him that Blossom had
chosen.  Once again he was the poor boy at the banquet, desperately seeking
only to be denied.

Nevertheless, when he replied, he looked steadily at Em-ma line and managed
to keep his voice calm.  "What do you mean?"

"I've been hearing some rumors about your business."

"Oh."   He shrugged his shoulder.   "We've had a little bad luck lately, but
it seems to be changing.   That's to be expected in the shipping business."

Emmaline didn't look reassured, although she said, "Yes, I suppose you're
right."  She smiled.  "How soon do you suppose it will be before poor Neville
gets an answer from Miss Flowers's father?"

Darcy stared at the floor.  "You know that he's asked for her hand?"

"My dear, I know everything about everybody."

He looked at her.  "Do you?"

She smiled coolly.  "Everything worth knowing, I meant.  I must say I didn't
know you could dance, Darcy.  You seemed to be enjoying it, too."

"Would you care to dance with me?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, my dear.  My card is full."  With that, Emmaline went over
to her husband and began to dance, leaving Darcy standing alone.

"You seem to have made a complete conquest."  Blossom started.  She had
walked out onto the terrace for some fresh air 'and to think.  Charles
Horton-Smythe had come up silently behind her.

"Have I?"  she asked, wondering what he meant.

"Yes, young Lord Northrup seems most anxious."  She nodded and looked away.

"With good reason, if I may say so."

He was too uncomfortably close.  She moved away.  "That's a lovely gown, my
dear.  From China of course."

 "Of course."

"Ah.  You must miss it sometimes."

She glanced at him.

"You're forgetting I know all about you.  I daresay young Northrup doesn't,
eh?"

"I should return inside."

"So of course I understand why DarCy's so keen to see you wed to that young
ass."

BlosSom flushed hotly.  She could barely stand to dance with Lord Northrup
now, let alone marry him.

"What's this?  Changing your mind, my dear?"

She turned away, wishing he would leave her.  He seemed all too aware of What
she was thinking.  "Where is Mr. Fitzroy?"

"Getting drunk, I believe.  Perhaps there is someone else you wish to marry?"

"No," she Said quickly, moving away a little more.  "Darcy will never marry
you."

She said nothing, but inched away a little more.

"He wants to marry a wealthy, titled woman, to increase his ... what's the
word?  Ah yes, face."

Blossom bit her lip.  "He danced with me," she said, trying to sound sure of
herself.

"But you're prepared to do a little more than dance, I think."  The cool,
calculating tone of his voice frightened her.  "If I understand the
transaction, you are the payment of Wu's debt, are you not?"

There was no point in lying; he knew the arrangement.

She nodded, hoping Mr. Fitzroy or even Lord Northrop would come out.

"I don't think Darcy has made it quite clear enough that I'm his partner.
His business partner."  He came closer, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight
above his thin smile.  "We share the same debts, so we should share in the
same payment."

Horrified, she fled into the ballroom as Charles chuckled silently on the
terrace.

"Well, my dear, I must say it's a great pity you're not feeling well," Mrs.
Ditchett said as they entered the carriage.  "I suppose all the excitement is
too much."  The woman laughed slyly.  "I thought Gloriana Shrewtonbury was
going to burst her corset when you came into the ballroom!"

Blossom felt indescribably weary and looked out the window as Mr. Fitzroy
climbed into the carriage beside her.  She could still feel his Strong arms
about her, and hear the music of the dance.  But she must not.  She must not.

"Although you shouldn't have surprised me with your costume.  I see now, of
course, that it's even lovelier than the gown I selected.  I was quite
terrified that dear Emma-line would think I had something to do with your
choice, since she had confided her costume to me, but I hastened to assure
her that I had absolutely nothing to do with it.  I thought Lady Whitmore
looked stunning, as always, don't you agree, Mr. Fitzroy?"

Mr.  Fitzroy merely nodded.

"My, my, we all seem to be fatigued this evening!  Well, I suppose it's not
to be wondered at."

Miraculously Mrs. Ditchett managed to stay quiet for the rest of the journey
home.

Ah Tup, waiting in the lower hall, looked carefully at Blossom when they
returned.

"Oh, are you still waiting?"  Mrs. Ditchett asked petulantly.

Ah Tup nodded, or rather gave an impertinent shake of her head and followed
Blossom up the stairs.

"Ayee-ah!"  she exclaimed when they were alone.  "Why do you look so sad?"

"I am not sure about marrying Lord Northrup."

"He is rich," Ah Tup reminded her.

Blossom tried to force a smile.  There were many things that she and Ah Tup
agreed on and understood, but this, Blossom knew, would not be one of them.
Ah Tup would consider Biossom's marriage a stroke of unbelievable good
fortune.  One man was as good---or bad--as another in Ah Tup's opinion, and
the fact that Northrup was rich made up for any other shortcomings he might
have.

How could Blossom explain that the idea of spending the rest of her life as
Neville Northrup's wife, with all that that implied, filled her with sorrow?

So, while Ah Tup helped her undress and wash, Blossom made the pretense of
being satisfied, if not delighted.  Ah Tup may have suspected something was
amiss, but she wisely kept her own counsel.

At last the house was quiet, and all Blossom could hear were the soft sounds
of Ah Tup sleeping.  Sleep would not come to her, only overwhelming sadness.
Fearful of crying and waking Ah Tup, she climbed slowly out of the bed, crept
to the other room and out the door.

Mr.  Fitzroy's bedroom door was closed, and all was in darkness.  Blossom
went down the stairs, the tears beginning to fall on her cheeks.

A deep, ragged sob broke from her lips, and she hurried to the study, certain
the heavy door would muffle the sobs she could no longer restrain.  Once
inside, she pushed the door closed and ran to the sofa, hiding her face in
her hands as she sank down upon it.

Then she began to cry as if the sobs were being tom from her soul.  She was
trapped now, just as surely as she had been trapped on the ship long ago.

The tears she should have cried then, came now.  The tears she should have
cried at every beating Precious Jade gave her, came now.  The tears she
should have shed when she left Honorable Wu, came now.  All the tears she had
kept bottled inside, of sorrow and loneliness and heartache, came now.

Darcy listened for a moment, thinking he'd heard something outside his
bedroom door.  Deciding it was nothing, he pulled back the curtain and looked
out into the dark, damp street.  The fog seemed to have a life of its own,
swirling malevolent fingers around the nearby buildings.

He dropped the curtain and turned back into the room, pulling off his
necktie.  He stared at it, not seeing the tie but a vision of Blossom as she
stood at the entrance of Emmaline's ballroom, radiant and beautiful.  She had
looked as beautiful as the first moment he had set eyes on her.  As desirable
as that first night when she had been waiting for him in this very room.

Suppressinga groan, he began to pace.  God, he mustn't think of her,
especially not now, when he---he--had given Northrup permission to take her
out of this house and out of his life.

Northrup had cornered him by the refreshments after Darcy had successfully
avoided him most of the evening.  He couldn't think up any more excuses, so
he'd told North-rup he didn't see any cause for Mr. Flowers to refuse his
permission.  He had asked Northrup to keep the engagement quiet until they
could receive official approval, however.  The idiot had been pathetically
grateful.  Shortly after, Blossom had come into the room.  She said she
wasn't feeling well and wanted to go home.  They had left before Northrup
could say anything to her.

Darcy went back to the window.  Maybe this would be a good time to go to
Manchester.  Or Liverpool again.  Any where, as long as he wasn't near her.

He needed a cheroot and a drink.

Quietly he opened the door and walked softly along the hall.  He went swiftly
down the stairs and to the study.  When he pushed open the door, he saw
Blossom huddled on the sofa, sobbing.

He hesitated, afraid to stay but not willing to leave.  Then Blossom lifted
her tear-streaked face and looked at him.

He came inside and closed the door.  "What is it?"  he whispered.

She stood quickly.  "I will go now.  I should not he here."  He shook his
head and came a few steps closer, thinking he knew what was troubling her.
"I told Northrup he could marry you," he said, the words painful to say.

To his surprise, more tears welled up in her sorrowful eyes.  She brushed her
hand across her face but didn't stop crying.

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

He held his breath, scarcely daring to let himself hope otherwise.  He forced
himself to ask another question.

"Blossom, would you rather go home to China than marry Neville Northrup?"

"I cannot go back to China."

"Why?"

"There is no one there for me."

"What about Wu?"

"I would only bring trouble to him if I go back."

"Is there no one else, no other place you can go?"   She shook her head
slowly, a vast loneliness filling her.

He looked out of the window.  "Then I suppose a husband and a home here is a
good thing."

He spoke so quietly, so gently, so sadly, that her tears began anew.  "Yes,"
she whispered, knowing that there was only one husband, one home that she
truly wanted.  "Are you sure, though, that it should be Northrup?"  His
voice, the sorrow and sadness, the longing and the loneliness, surprised her.
Now he was not the powerful lord.  He was simply a man, a man perhaps as
lonely as she was.

She told him the truth.  "I marry Lord Northrup to keep Ah Tup with me."

He wheeled around.  "What?"

"You said you would send Ah Tup from me.  If I marry Lord Northrup, he will
let me keep her near,"

He came to her in two long strides and took hold of her shoulders, looking
intently into her face.  '"Do you mean to tell me that you'd marry that fool
because of a servant?"

Blossom nodded, watching him, afraid to let herself hope too much.  "She is
more than a servant to me She is my friend."

Mr.  Fitzroy let gO.  "By God, that's an idiotic reason to marry a man."

"It was the reason you gave me."

He looked surprised.

"If Ah Tup returns to HonOrable Wu's house, one day Precious Jade will beat
her to death.  For every lash I have had, Ah Tup has taken ten.  Do not think
that because she smiles, she has no fear, no pain.  Her spirit is stronger
than anyone's, but even she will eventually succumb."

"Her spirit's not stronger than yours."

Blossom shook her head.  His intense gaze made her only too aware of her
weakness.

"BlOssom, I promise I won't send Ah Tup back to China:" Suddenly she felt
like dancingagain, twirling around the room safe in his arms.  She brushed
the tears from her face.  "Thank you, Mr. Fitzroy."

"Do you still want to marry Northrup?"

"Yes."

He frowned, and she spoke quickly.  "I am too much expense for you.  If I
marry, I am responsibility of my new husband, and you will be free.  Also,
the marriage settlement will end the debt of Honorable Wu."

"I don't want you to throw yourself away just because of money."

 "You do not?"

"No, I do not."

She could scarcely breathe.  "You mean I can say I no longer wish to marry
Lord Northrup?"

He nodded slowly.

"But you will not be free of me."

He reached out and pulled her to him.  "I don't want to let you go," he
whispered as his lips found hers.

Her arms reached around him, feeling the desire and uninhibited yearning in
his kiss.  Before, she had known he was trying not to fel, but not now.

His lips propelled her into a realm of emotion and need and desire.  His
tongue.  boldly sought hers in her warm, moist mouth as his strong, sure
hands traveled slowly over her, ignitinga liquid flame of passion in every
part of her body.

Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the door, never
breaking the contact of his searing kiss as they went upstairs to his
bedroom.  Once there, he set her down and.  closed the door, pausing for a
moment to look at her.

"My God, you're beautiful," he whispered huskily.

She smiled tremulously.  Slowly he unfastened her gown and let it slip
unheeded to the floor.

He said nothing, but took her into his arms, pressing heated kisses on her
throat, moving downward toward her breasts.  She moaned softly, almost
unbelieving at the response of her own body to his caresses.

He laid her on his bed, and she watched as he tore off his shirt.  His eyes
were hot and hungry, but she knew hers were, too, as she feasted on the sight
of him.  She reached up and pulled him downward, archirig for him in her own
need.

Every movement of his lips, his hands, his glorious body brought forth
passion and fire in her limbs.

He lifted his face and spoke softly.  "Blossom, if you like, I'll stop."

She looked at him confusedly.  "Why?  Are you not liking...?"

His smile told her much, but his eyes told her everything.  "Take me," she
whispered, knowing that she wanted to make love with him, and that they would
be united in a way much more important than any mere satisfying of the
desires of the flesh.

He stood up to remove the rest of his clothes.  Watching her, he saw with
delight the craving on her face, the yearning that, for the first time in his
life, filled him not with a sense of power but tenderness and compassion.
She needed him in ways no woman ever had.

And he needed her, too.

That made him more gentle than he would have supposed he could ever be when
he lay down beside her.  At first he simply looked at her, exquisite and
perfect in her nakedness, the white of her skin seeming to glow in the pale
illumination of the candlelight.  He touched her long, dark hair.

His soft touch made her tremble, as if each part of her body wanted to touch
a part of his.  Undulating, stretching, she let herself enjoy the sensation
of his caresses.

He was strong, powerful, masterful--and gentle, tender, soft.  Lifting her
face, she kissed his neck, running her tongue along the throbbing pulse point
as he gasped.  Then her mouth trailed down his chest.  Her hands wandered
over his hard, firm muscles as both their actions gathered speed.

He rolled on top of her, coveting her flesh with his, his weight on his
elbows as each hand framed her face.  "This might hurt a little," he
cautioned, press inga kiss on her lips.

"I know," she whispered, not afraid.

Wrapped in each other's arms, entwined in each other's bliss, they reached
the zenith.  They were together in a world of their own, no longer alone.

Chapter Sixteen

Blossom opened her eyes and watched Darcy in his sleep.  His chest rose and
fell with his soft breathing and his face was almost boyish As if aware of
her scrutiny, he turned toward her, reaching and pulling her close.

She smiled in the safe circle of his arms, happier than she had ever been
before.  She kissed his cheek lightly and then wiggled out of his-embrace.

"Where're you going?"  Darcy asked sleepily.

She picked up her robe and slipped it on before going to the commode.  "I am
going to wash," she said, pouring water into a basin.  It was cool, but it
would have to do.  She dipped the cloth in it and returned to the bed.

When she touched the damp cloth to Darcy's chest, he sat up with a squelched
yelp.  "What the devil... !"

"I am going to wash you," Blossom said, continuing to wipe his chest with the
cloth.  "It is my duty ... and my pleasure."

"I'll be damned," Darcy said, enjoying her ministrations now that the cloth
wasn't quite so cold.

The cloth traveled lower and he sucked in his breath when she lifted the
sheet.

"Ah, the one-eyed monk still sleeps," Blossom said, glancing at him with a
mischievous grin.

"The who?"  Darcy said, his voice a little strained.  "The one-eyed monk.
Your heimeted warrior.  This."  He gasped at her touch.  "Oh, that."

She finished and deftly tossed the cloth into the basin.

"Am I supposed to do the same for you?"  Darcy asked,

smiling devilishly.

"No."

"Oh."  He lay back down and pulled her to him.  "I'll have to think of
something else.  My helmeted warrior is waking up."

"So I see."

He kissed her deeply, and she nestled close, running her hands along his
arms.  "What other names do you have?"

he muttered as he nuzzled her neck.

"I have only one name."

He moved away a little.  "No, I meant like one-eyed monk.  I'm fascinated."

"Ah."  She sat up and curled her legs under her.  "For men?"

He shook his head, then moved back so that he was half sitting.  "How about
for this?"  He indicated a part of her body.

"Ah.  You mean the jade gate or the pearl on the step?"

 "I like that, jade gate."

"Most men enjoy a jade gate."

Darcy chuckled.  "I suppose that's true.  And the pearl.  That's a very
wonderful thing .... " Slowly his hand moved toward her body, his fingers
teasing the hub until she squirmed with desire and moaned softly.

"I think the helmeted warrior should make another assault on the gate," he
said, his voice deep with desire.  "Please, Dar-cee."

"That's the first time you've used my first name."

"You are offended?"

He chuckled quietly.  "Not at all.  I quite like it."  Suddenly there was the
sound of Ah Tup's voice, subdued but angry, followed by Mrs. Ditcbett's,
equally angry and subdued.

"Damn!"  Darcy jumped out of the bed, reaching for his pants.

Blossom frowned.  "Ah Tup will see that Mrs. Ditcbett doesn't enter, if
that's what you fear."

Unfortunately Blossom had underestimated Dulcibella Ditchett when riled.  The
door burst open just as Darcy got his pants done up.  The older woman barged
into the room, followed by Ah Tup.  "Merciful heavens!"  she cried, "I don't
believe it!"

Blossom pulled the covers up a little more.  "In English society," she said
coolly, "it is considered polite to knock."

Mrs.  Ditchett caught sight of Darcy and reddened when she saw his naked
chest.  "Mr.  Fitzroy!  I'm shocked!"

To Biossom's dismay, Darcy didn't berate Mrs. Ditchett for entering his
bedroom without permission.  He merely scowled.

"This is disastrouS!  No one will ever marry her now!"

Blossom waited for Darcy to say that she wouldn't have to marry anyone, now
that she was his.

Instead, he glared at Mrs. Ditcbett.  "Are you planning on telling anyone?"

"Well, I..."

"Then no one need know what has happened."

 "This is certainly not the behavior of a gentleman!"

He took a step toward the woman.  "I am not a gentleman, Mrs. Ditchett."

Blossom got out of bed and wrapped the sheet around her like an imperial
robe.  "Good morning,.  Mrs. Ditchett," she said re gaily She turned to Darcy
and bowed icily.  "I

am sorry you are ashamed of making love with me.  " Then she swept out of the
room, Ah Tup going with her.

Darcy felt like throwing something, preferably at the interfering Mrs.
Ditcbett's head.  The woman didn't even have the sense to leave the room.

"Perhaps, Mr. Fitzroy, we may yet salvage the situation," she said hurriedly.
"Miss Flowers wouldn't be the first bride to come to the altar in a, shall
we say, less than pure state.  I assure you I won't say anything."  Then she
finally went out.

Darcy didn't doubt that he could count on Mrs. Ditchett's discretion.  After
all, she was supposed to be chaperoning the girl.  If it got about that Mrs.
Ditchett had failed, it wouldn't help her position in society, either.

As he began to dress, he was filled with anger and loathing of the woman and
the whole upper class.  He could see all their reactions in that one fat
female, bear their gossiping voices, see their pointing fingers, know how
they would cut both himself and Blossom from their society.

They were all snobs and hypocrites.  Not one in a thousand would come right
out and say what they thought or felt, not like Blossom.  She was wonderfully
uninhibited.  Making love with her had been the most delightful experience of
his life.

Right now he wanted nothing more than to go to Blossom and ask her to be his
wife, but he was too angry at Mrs. Ditchett and everything that she
represented to act the romantic lover.  He would calm down first.

He decided that it would be best to keep the true nature of their
relationship quiet for the time being.  English society was all too quick to
condemn and there was still the uncomfortable matter of Neville Northrup, Of
course the tentative engagement would have to be broken, but it was only
decent to speak to Northrup first.

Then he would be with Blossom for the rest of his life.

Darcy began to smile to himself as he picked up his watch and started to wind
it, glancing at it.  "Oh, blast," he muttered when he actually took note of
the time.  He'd have to leave for the office at once.  Charles wanted him to
sign an important contract this morning, and the other party was coming to
the office right at the start of business hours.  Well, he would simply have
to wait a little longer before he talked to Blossom.

Ah Tup watched Blossom as she paced the floor.  Ah Tup didn't say anything,
because she knew it was always better to wait until Blossom spoke first.

When Ah Tup had awakened in the night and seen the honored lord carrying
Blossom into his bedchamber, he had wanted to crow, with delight.  Instead
she had gone to sleep outside the door so that no one would interrupt what
was without doubt a marvelous thing.

She had heard enough to know that both the master and Blossom had experienced
highest bliss in the huge bed.  Ah Tup had even wondered whether sometimes,
marriage might be worthwhile.

She was sure that now things would take their proper course.  Blossom would
become the master's concubine and have a place of honor in his house.  Soon
she might even bear him a son and so maintain that place, even if the honored
lord was to take a wife.

If only the horrible Dish had not woken earlier than usual!  She had expected
the woman to sleep late after the ball.  And then the Dish had actually gone
into the master's room unannounced!  Surely she was a barbarian among
barbarians.  Who would have thought she would talk to the master in the tone
she used, and that he would not shout or curse at her?  Who could understand
these foreign devils?

"I do not understand these people," Blossom said, as if she had just read Ah
Tup's very thoughts.  "I thought all was going to be well.  He was so kind,
so filled with passion..."

Ah Tup tried not to look worried.  "He was angry at the impertinence of the
Dish, no doubt," she said soothingly.  "I thought he would tell Mrs. Ditchett
that..."

 "That what?"

"That he would marry me."

"You are his concubine.  That is enough."

"Not here, Ah Tup.  To be a concubine is to be like a street sweeper or dung
collector."

 "They are all stupid."   "No!"

Ah Tup stared at Blossom, who flushed bright red.

"I want to be Mr. Fitzroy's wife!"  She paced back and forth.  "If I
understand things, he only has to ask me.  Hre there are no parents who must
give permission."

"He did not ask you?"   Blossom shook her head slowly.   "Perhaps he will,
heya?"

They heard Powlett's voice downstairs and Mr. Fitzroy's brief reply, then the
opening and closing of the front door.

"I think he's gone out," Ah Tup said.  "When he returns, he will ask."

"I wish I had someone I could talk to about these things."

"What about Mrs. Ditchett?"

"I don't want to ask her such questions.  She thinks of men as if they were
fish in the marketplace.  Besides, I do not trust her."

"The Crow Woman?"

"No.  Mrs. MacTavish gets angry when I speak of these matters."

"It is a pity we know no young female barbarian.  Surely they would be able
to help."

"Wait, Ah Tup!  There is one!  Younger Brother's future wife!"

"She does not come here."

"I will write a letter thing, as Mrs. Ditchett has taught me.  I will ask her
to come to visit me and drink tea."

 "Will she?"

"Is she not to be married into the family?  I am a guest of Mr. Fitzroy.  She
will come."

Ah Tup frowned.  "Who can say if these foreign devils will do the correct
thing or not?"

Blossomsalso frowned, then her eyes it up.  "I will tell her it is an urgent
family matter concerning Mr. Fitzroy!  She is a good woman.  She will come."

-Sally hummed a few bars from the song she had heard at the music hall as she
entered Mr. Fitzroy's bedroom.  She should have been tired after her late
night.  Instead she was anything but.  She felt as if she could dance all day.

Mr.  Horton-Smythe was so nice and handsome and generous.  Taking her out for
such a lovely dinner--and buying that nice bit of cake for Motlier, too.

She paused as she wrung out the towel that was in the basin and closed her
eyes, remembering how she'd let him kiss her in the card' age on the way
home.  Well, and why not?  He was a gentleman, asking her if she'd mind and
all.  And not pawing at her like some of those other louts who'd taken her
out for a bit of supper.

No, he was a fine gentleman.  He gave her that bracelet, too.  She sighed
happily.

Of course, Mother had been a little worded when they got back so late, but
Mr. Horton-Smythe had walked her in, which showed there was no harm in it.

She hummed again as she walked over to the windows and opened the curtains.
He'd even asked her about her work, saying he wanted to make sure they were
treating her right at Mr. Fitzroy's house.  To be sure, he was maybe a little
too curious about Miss Flowers, asking if she seemed overfond of Mr. Fitzroy
or he of her.  He was worried, he said, about Mr. Fitzroy taking advantage of
Miss Flowersmand her, too.  She'd set him straight on that.  Mr. Fitzroy and
Miss Flowers didn't hardly see each other most days, and Mr. Fitzroy never so
much as looked in Sally's direction, which was a good thing.  He terrified
her.  If he ever laid a hand on her, she'd scream so loud they'd hear her all
the way to Piccadilly.

Now, if Mr. Horton-Smythe was to lay a hand on her, he'd no doubt be as
gentle as a lamb.  Not that he would, without her leave.  Anybody could see
he was too fine a gentleman to take advantage of a poor girl.

What would she wear tonight?  It wasn't every day she got asked to a
gentleman's house for dinner.  She frowned a little.  She didn't like lying
to Mother, but she'd never understand.  She'd say it wasn't decent.  But
anybody could see Mr. Horton-Smythe was a decent gentleman, and he'd have a
maid or someone there.  It wouldn't be as if she'd be all alone with him.

She didn't want him to think she didn't trust him.  He'd never ask her out
again, no doubt, if he thought that.

If he didn't ask her out 'again, he'd never fall in love with her and ask her
to marry him.  Looking out the window, she watched a fine carriage go past.
There was a lady inside wear inga beautiful hat and gown.  Someday maybe
she'd be a lady like that.

"And why not?"  she whispered to herself.  "It might happen.  Who's to say it
won't?"

She heard Mrs. MacTavish in the hall outside and quickly went to make the bed
before she was accused of being too slow about her business.  Picking up the
pillow, she began to punch it up.

There was a long, long dark hair on the pillow slip.  Sally stopped and
stared at it, her mouth falling open.

There was only one person in the house with hair like that.

My, but she'd have something to tell Mr. Horton-Smythe.

Blossom looked out the front window for the tenth time in as many minutes.
She brushed another imaginary speck of dust from her gown and sat down on the
sofa, only to get up again at the rumble of carriage wheels.

She heard a knock at the front door and in a few minutes Powlett escorted
Elizabeth Hazelmore into the drawing room.

"Please, come in and sit down," Blossom said, her nervousness making her
sound stiff and precise.

The ease with which Elizabeth maneuvered her skirt 'filled Blossom with
momentary envy.  Blossom also noticed her fine, clear skin, frank brown eyes
and soft smile.  Here was the epitome of English womanhood sitting before'
her.

This was what she could never, ever be.  Maybe this was why Darcy had not
asked her to be his wife.

"I was rather surprised to get your note," Elizabeth said softly, her brows
wrinkled.  "Jeremy's told me that things seem to be going wrong with the
business, but I don't understand how I can be of help."

"There are business troubles?"

"Yes, I believe so.  Isn't that why you wanted to talk to me?"

"No, but, please, tell me of these troubles."

Elizabeth knotted her slim hands together on her lap.  "Apparently there are
rumors going about the city that Mr. Fitzroy's having financial difficulties.
Jeremy was rather upset by it all."

"Who says these rumors?"

"That's just it.  Nobody really knows who starts these things, but Jeremy
heard it from somebody who spoke with..."

"Yes?"

"Lord Northrup."

"Lord Northrup?  What does he know of business?"

Elizabeth frowned and hesitated before replying.  "I understand he gets very
good advice."

"I shall find out about these rumors."

"If I can help in any way, please ask.  ere my really very concerned about
his brother."

Sally came in bearing the tea tray and set it down before leaving the room.
Or rather, going out into the hall and lingering near the open door,
ostensibly dusting.

"Why did you ask to see me?"  Elizabeth asked when Miss Flowers handed her
the teacup.  Indeed, it was obvious that something was bothering her hostess
very much, judging by the trembling of the bone china cup, and since it
wasn't the rumors, Elizabeth's curiosity was piqued.

"I wish to ask..."

"Yes?"  she prompted gently.

"I wish to ask, if men and women enjoy..."  Miss Flowers took a deep breath
and began again.  "Mr.  Fitzroy took me in his bed last night and of course
that was why I was sent to him, but now I wish to know if be will make me his
wife."

Elizabeth tried not to look completely horrified as she set down her rattling
teacup.  She knew little of what Miss Flowers was trying to describe, but she
had overheard her mother and her friends whisper inga few.  times over
scandalous goings-on.  Apart from the fact that such a thing indicated a
woman of very loose morals, which was bad enough, she knew no unmarried
couple should share the same bed because doing so in some way led to the
woman getting with child.  "Did he ... did he force you?"

"Oh, no."

"He took advantage of you?"

"Is that another way to say he made love with me?"

"Not precisely."   Elizabeth realized that somehow Miss Flowers didn't seem
to appreciate the magnitude of what she and Mr. Fitzroy had done.   She knew
Miss Flowers had not been raised in England, but still she shouldn't seem
quite so .   pleased about it.   "Did you ... did you want to go to his bed?"

"Yes.  Of course I was sent for that, but he pleased me very much."

"Your father sent you to Mr. Fitzroy so that he could take advantage of you?"

"My father is dead."

Now Elizabeth was completely confused.  "I don't understand."  '

"I was sent from China to pay a debt, but Mr. Fitzroy said that was not the
custom here.  Then he wished me to marry, so I said yes to Lord Northrup,
although I would rather make love to a fish.  Last night, Mr. Fitzroy and I
made love and now I need to know if I will be his wife."

Elizabeth decided Miss Flowers was trying to describe an arranged marriage.
Apparently Miss Flowers was supposed to marry Darcy Fitzroy, he decided
against it and wanted her to marry someone else.  Lord Northrup proposed and
Miss Flowers had agreed, although she had fallen into sin with Mr. Fitzroy.

For herself, she knew that she loved Jeremy so much that it would be easy to
do whatever he asked.  Indeed, sometimes, when he kissed her, she found
herself wishing he wouldn't Stop.

"What should I do?"

Elizabeth focused on the immediate problem.  "Did Mr. Fitzroy say that he
loves you?"

"No."

"Did he ask you to be his wife?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, Miss Flowers, truly.  I can't speak for Mr. Fitzroy, but I do
know that he has acted like a dishonorable man.  He sinned greatly, taking
advantage of a woman who was living under his roof."

Sin.  Blossom's heart began to pound and dread knotted her stomach.  Sin.
She knew that word.  It was to do something wrong, very wrong.  Terrible.

"I have sinned, too?"  she asked weakly.

There was sorrow and pity in Elizabeth's eyes.  "I'm sure you didn't
understand the implications.  He should have known how to behave."

Blossom understood from Elizabeth's tone and her pitying look that she had
sinned.  By sinning she had lost face.  A shame flooded through her.

"What should I do now?"  she asked in a small voice, as if she were once
again a lost child.

"You must leave here immediately.  Please, come stay with us.  We'll be
delighted to have you.,"

"That is the thing to do?  To leave?"

Elizabeth, showing an aggression few would have guessed she possessed, stood
up.  "Yes, at once."

 "What of Ah Tup?   She will come, too?"   "Who is she?"   "My servant."

"Of course, certainly.  I'll go home now, and tell Mama.  Where is Mr.
Fitzroy?"

"I believe he is at his business."  "

"Good.  Hurry now, and collect your things.  You shouldn't stay in this house
a moment longer than necessary."

Chapter Seventeen

Charles could not figure out what was going on.

He had just spent the better part of half an hour telling Darcy that several
of th creditors were worried about the business, but the man seemed not to
hear a word of it For all the attention Darcy was paying, Charles could have
been describinga new carriage.

The man kept grinning like an idiot, too.

"We'd better do something before everybody j umps ship," Charles said.

"Oh, it's probably just some flotsam from China y's late arrival.  It'll blow
over soon."

"It might, but it might not.  I tell you, it's exceedingly troubling."

"Well, don't worry too much.  I'm sure everything will turn out all right."

"If it doesn't, don't say I didn't try to warn you."  "Very well, I won't."

"I say, Fitzroy, what's going on?"  Charles demanded, not keeping his
exasperation from his voice.

Darcy smiled, the expression lighting up his handsome face.  "Oh, nothing in
particular," he said.

Charles wanted to strangle him.  How stupid did Darcy think he was?

"How is Miss Flowers these days?"

"Wonderfully well.  Is there anything else you needed to talk to me about?"

"I thought you might want to chek the repairs to China

Lady.  They seem to be taking rather longer than usual.  " " Fine.  Anything
else?  "

"No.  I think that's everything."

"Good."  Darcy stood up.  "Then if you'll excuse me, Charles, I'll go see
China Lady."  With that, Darcy walked out of the room, whistling.

Whistling!  The man had never whistled in all the time Charles had known him.

Charles-stared after him.  He didn't like surprises, and Darcy's behavior was
definitely surprising.

A few hours later, but still much earlier than usual, Darcy strode into the
foyer of his house.  pOw lett was waiting, as usual, but most unusually, the
man actually had an expression on his face,

The butler was perturbed.

"What's happened?"  Darcy sked.  "Miss FlOWers has left, sir."  .  "Gone'
shopping?"

"No, sir.  She has packed and left the house."

Darcy stared at Powlett in disbelief.  "Where's she gone?"

"I believe she is temporarily visiting Miss Hazelmore."

Darcy became aware that Sally was dusting in the drawing room, and nodded
toward his study.  "In there."  Powlett went where he was bidden.

"Now," Darcy demanded.  "Tell me what happened."

 "Miss Hazelmore was invited by Miss Flowers to tea.

They had some conversation and then Miss Flowers her things and left.  "

"Ah Tup?"

To Darcy's surprise, Powlett looked down at and blushed.  "She, too, has
gone."

"With Miss Flowers?"

"Yes, sir.  Miss Flowers left this note."  Powlett held out a small piece of
paper.  In round, uncertain hand, it said, "Mr.  Fitzroy, We a great wrong.
I do not wish to see you now.  " Get me Mrs. Ditchett.  " " She left this
morning.  " " What?  "

"She gave me to understand she would send for things at a later date."

Darcy frowned.  '"Did she say why?"

"No, sir."

Thank heaven for small mercies, Darcy thought.

my carriage ready.  I'll go and get Miss Flowers.  Tell MacTavish to wait
dinner' for us.  "

"I'm sorry to inform you, sir, that Mrs.

longer here, either.  "

"What the devil's going on, Powlett?"  Darcy Powlett held out another note,
this time MacTavish.  Part of the ink was mined he could make out "terrible
thing and I must go at Mrs. MacTavish."

Darcy sat down in the nearest chair.  It seemed that sOmehow or other Mrs.
MacTavish had found out about night.  It didn't surprise him that she would
leave at once.

Mrs.  Ditchett had obviously deserted like a rat from a sinking ship.

But why had Blossom gone?  What had Jeremyls intended said to her?

No, what had Blossom said to her?  If Blossom had told

Elizabeth what had happened last night, it was no wonder the daughter of a
minister would convince Blossom to leave the house.  No doubt she'd made him
sound like a fiend in human form, if she was as pious as she looked.  "Sir?"
Powlett said softly.  "What?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Damn good question."

He could go to see the Hazelmores and try to talk to Blossom, but he didn't
doubt they'd keep her as far away from him as a cloistered nun.  How could he
even begin to explain his feelings to BloSsom, let alone Elizabeth and her
father?  His experience with women had been woefully lacking.  Before, all
he'd been concerned about was getting them into bed, not talking to them
about their feelings, or apologizing for behaving like a libertine.

He needed to talk to Jeremy.  Better yet, he needed Jeremy to come to the
Hazelmores with him and explain.  They'd litten to Jeremy, if not him.

He got up.  "I'm going to Oxford."

Powlett's eyes widened for an instant.  "Would you like me to prepare a bag,
sir?"

"There's no time for that."  He hurried to the door, but paused and clapped
his hand on Powlett's shoulder.  "Don't worry.  I'll get them back," he said.

He thought Powlett almost smiled with relief.

Mrs.  Ditchett sobbed loudly, hold inga small piece of ace that was supposed
to be a handkerchief up to her nose.  "Who ever would have guessed he was a
c:ad.t A rake.t An unprincipled libertine.t To thinkrain his own house!"

Emmaline handed her guest another cup of strong tea.

"I mean, she's mined, absolutely mined!  And how does it look--was her
chaperon!  Oh, this is terrible?

"You're sure then, that he..."

"There's no doubt of it, my dear.  I mean, she was in his bed, completely
naked and so was he!  She didn't even bother to deny it--that's how
unprincipled she is!"

Emmaline stared down at her teacup.  She should have known this would happen.
She couldn't blame the girl, not if her assumptions about Miss Flowers's
past were correct.  And Darcy was simply much too tempting.  "Have you told
anyone else this?"

"I came right here the first thing.  I've left his house.  I

gave orders to the maid to pack my things.  "

"Where's Mr. Fitzroy now?"

"He's at his office, I suppose.  The bold rascal--as if nothing's happened!"

"Has he proposed to Miss Flowers?"

"Not that I know of--and I'm sure I would have heard of that.  After all, she
left the room before I did and then I

heard him leave the house shortly afterward "

"Miss Flowers was not upset?"

"The shameless trollop!  She didn't even have the decency to pretend!
Really, she.  was more annoyed at being discovered, !  think.  Such
goings-on!  A decent woman couldn't stay a moment in such a place."  Mrs.
Ditehett took a gulp of tea.  "I don't suppose you have any spirits?  I'm
really so put out."

"Certainly."  Emmaline rang a bell and asked the maid to bring some sherry.
"This all happened this morning?"

"Yes at the crack of dawn.  My nerves may never recover, waking from a sound
sleep to discover all this!  And that awful Chinese servant actually had the
gall to raise her voice to me!  It took me most of the morning to get
dressed, I was so upset."

Emmaline kept the skepticism off her face, but if she knew Mrs. Ditchettmand
she knew her well rathe woman had more likely been waiting to see what was
going to happen than lying around in a state of shocked sensibilities.

Clearly, she had decided the best thing to do was decamp, This did not bode
well for Darcy's reputation.  His social standing would be destroyed when
news of his liaison with Miss Flowers became public knowledge, as it surely
would.

At that moment James appeared in the doorway bear inga silver tray with a
card on it.  Emmaline took it.

"It's Lord Northrup."

"Oh, my dear!  I can't see him!  Oh, the humiliation.  After all I did to
promote that match!  I couldn't bear to face him."

"He knows nothing of this?"

"I shouldn't think so.  I certainly haven't told anyone."

"Go up to one of the bedrooms and lie down for a little while.  You'll feel
better.  Leave Lord Northrup to me."

Mrs.  Ditchett got to her feet with surprising alacrity "I really think
that's a good idea.  I am feeling quite faint."

As Mrs. Ditchett hurried out, Emmaline turned to James.  "Show Lord Northrop
in."

"You haven't told anyone else this, have you, Sally?"  Charles asked, handing
her a small.  glass of sherry as she sat down on the red velvet sofa.

Sally looked up at him, taking her gaze from the beautiful, delicate crystal.
"No, sir, not a soul.  But it ain't... isn't proper carryings-on, I must
say.  Mrs. Ditchett leaving and Mrs. MacTavish and then Miss Flowers and her
maid packing up."

"Nobody told you what happened?  I think we can guess, though, eh, my dear?"

"I didn't tell nobody else about that there hair," "Ah."  He smiled and
looked at her companionably before sighing softly.  "My word!  I'must say
it's a distressing thing to find out that your partner is a man like that."
He shook his head sorrowfully.  "Of course, having a pretty girl so close by
does tempt a man."  He looked at her tently.

Sally took a sip of the sherry.  She'd never had it but it sounded so fancy.
Just like this house, with its furniture and curtains and rugs.

Unfortunately, the sherry tasted terrible.  She tried make a face.

Charles went around behind her.  "Here, my dear, let take your wrap."  He
lifted it from her shoulders, his resting there a bit longer than strictly
necessary.  "Thank you," she said softly, taking another

He sat beside her on the sofa, his body close "Dinner won't be ready for some
time yet."

"Oh."  She stifled a small twinge of discomfort.

a gentleman, after all.  He'd been to Eton and could trust a man like that.

He smiled at her, but instead of warming her smiles had done before, she
suddenly felt a chill as snow down her back.

"You know, Sally, you're a very fine young lady, sure you've had plenty of
young rions."  He moved a little closer and reached out to finger along her
cheek.

She flushed and took another sip.  "Oh,

sir.  '

Charles smiled again as his arm snaked around of the sofa behind her.  "Is
that so?  I'm it.  Tell me, Sally, do you like men?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so .... " She paused

One hand was on her shoulder now and he reached to take the sherry the
drugged sherry from her { "I'd like to kiss you again, Sally."

She tried to move away, but her head seemed all "What about the servants?"
she whispered.

"All out for the evening.  I so much wanted to be alone with you."

She knew she should stand up and leave, but her legs felt like a load of
wash.  She was frightened of him, of the look in his eyes, of the way he
moved closer and closer, his arms trapping her like a fly in a web.

"You don't mind, do you, Sally?"  His face looked evil, like those gargoyles
on churches, as he bent down and kissed her.

"I ... I..."  She wanted him to stop and tried to push him away.  But she
couldn't.  Her arms were too weak.  Useless.

"I didn't think you would.  You should be honored, my dear, to think that a
man like me finds you worthy of notice."  His hand on her shoulder gripped
tighter as he began to undo the buttons on her bodice.

"I ... I..."  I must go, she wanted to say, but she couldn't seem to make her
mouth move properly.

He pushed her back onto the sofa.  "Don't be afraid, Sally.  You'll enjoy
this, I promise you.  And afterward, I'll give you another lovely bracelet
.... "

A short time later Charles adjusted his clothing as he looked at the girl
softly sobbing.  He frowned.  "Come, come, my dear.  Nothing to get so worked
up about."

He tossed a cheap bangle bracelet at her as she feebly tried to button her
bodice.  "There.  I told you I'd give you something."

The girl looked up at him, her cheeks streaked with tears, her eyes puffy and
red from crying.  Charles wondered how he'd ever thought her pretty.

"You're no gentleman!"  she accused.

Suddenly he grabbed her wrist, his grip fight and hurting.  "I am!  I am the
Honorable Charles HOrton-Smythe, YOu little guttersnipe, and don't you ever
forget it!"  He let go and took a deep breath, transforming from a vicious
brute to the urbane gentleman before her very eyes.  "But, my dear, you're no
lady.  Besides, Sally, what's a man to think of a gift who willingly comes
alone to his house?"

By now the girl had gotten to her feet.  "You're no" -- She stopped when she
saw the look in his eyes.

He smiled coldly.  "Your opinion is of no consequence to me, or anybody else."

"I'll tell Mr. Fitzroy."

Charles slapped her across the face.  "Do you think he'll listen to you, you
little whore?  And if he listens, who do you think he'll believe?  Now get
out of here.  I never want to see your face again, not even at Fitzroy's?"

The girl collapsed in a sobbing, hiccuping heap at his feet.  "Oh, what am I
to do?"  she wailed, over and over again.

Charles looked at her dispassionately.  Perhaps he shouldn't be so quick to
get rid of her.  She was still employed in Darcy's house.  She might yet
provide some information.

He reached down and pulled' her up.  "Now, look, my dear, there's no need for
all these tears."  He pulled out his silk handkerchief and wiped her face as
she stared at him.  "After all, you're quite a pretty little thing.  You
could become very wealthy, if you met the right sort of gentlemen."

 "

She was too upset to say anything, so he continued uninterrupted.  "Many rich
women got their start just like you, you know.  I'd be more than willing to
introduce you to some of my friends.  You'd like that, now, wouldn't you?  A
fine house and a carriage and beautiful clothes?"

Sally, ashamed, half-drugged, degraded, thought that she had no other choice.
Not now.

Slowly she nodded her head.

Chapter Eighteen

Blossom sat in the large window seat of the Hazelmores' parlor and watched
the various members of the family as they employed themselves after dinner.

Mrs.  Hazelmore, a plump, pleasant woman who had made Blossom and Ah Tup feel
welcome despite their unexpected arrival, sat knittinga sock.  Miss Elizabeth
Hazel-more played a light air on the piano, her two sisters sat on either
side of their mother, reading, and on the hearth rug a kitten worried an old
ball of yarn.

It was a very tranquil scene, Blossom realized, distinctly at odds with her
tumultuous feelings.

In the time since her hurried rush to leave Darcy's house, she'd had
opportunity to think.  She simply couldn't believe that the barbarian notion
of sin could be so distinctly at odds with what, in China, would be
considered only natural.

She remembered Miss Hazelmore's questions, about force and "taking
advantage."  If the woman was not willing, she could see the sin in that.

She couldn't help wondering if she had been too hasty, listening to Elizabeth
when she should have trusted Darcy.  Perhaps that was why he had not come for
her.

Tomorrow she would tell them that she wanted to go home.

"Come, my dears, it's time for bed," Mrs. Hazelmore said, putting down her
knitting.  "-Elizabeth, you and Miss Howers may remain for a little while, if
you like."

Elizabeth smiled and nodded as her mother hustled out the younger children.
Blossom sighed, wondering briefly what it would have been like to grow up in
England with such a family.

Then she realized Elizabeth was looking at her.  "Yes?"

Elizabeth flushed.  "I'm sorry, I was just thinking that this must be very
difficult for you."

Blossom nodded and said softly.  "Yes, I miss him very much."

"Do-you love him?"  Elizabeth asked quietly.

"I think I do.  If on!}; I knew what you mean by love.  Can you explain it?"

Elizabeth looked startled.  "Why, love is ... caring about a person, even
more than your, own self.  Love is wanting to be near someone, to keep him
safe, to make him happy."  Blossom nodded.  "Yes, I love him."

She stood up and paced the floor.  "I should have waited for him.  I trust
him.  Now he is probably angry with me."

Elizabeth frowned.  "No you did the right thing.  If he's an honorable man,
he'll come here."

"I want to go home."

Elizabeth stood and went to her, looking intently into her face.  "No.  That
is precisely what you must not do.  If Mr. Fitzroy intends to marry you, he
will come here.  If he does not, you are much better away from his influence."

Blossom wasn't convinced, but she realized that Elizabeth's knowledge of the
proper conduct was what had prompted her to contact Younger Brother's
intended wife in the first place.  She sat on the sofa.

237'

Elizabeth joined her, and as she did, Blossom saw that the girl was giving
her a sidelong glance.

"What is it?"  Blossom asked.

"Well, it's not any of my business and I know it's not something that should
he discussed, but I can't help thinking that" -- she colored even more "--it
must not be so terrible, being in bed with a man."

 "To share the zenith?"   "To ... what?"

"To share the supreme moment, when a man and a woman..."

"Ithat's what I was thinking.  Pardon me, it's very un-ladylike to talk about
things like that."

"Sharing the zenith is the greatest pleasure a man and a woman can share."

Elizabeth whispered, "I don't know anythingatall about men and their
...needs."

"Why not?"  Blossom demanded.  "You are to be married, are you not?"

"We simply don't talk about such matters."  Elizabeth looked around
furtively.  "But, please, I'd like to know something about what happens on
the wedding night."  She bit her lip nervously.  "Does it hurt?"

Blossom saw that Elizabeth was truly afraid, and her heart went out to her.
"Only a-little the first time.  But you will soon forget.  The pleasure
quickly takes away the pain.  I am sure Mr. Jeremy will be most gentle."

"Thank you."  She looked around again.  "I hope I'm not upsetting you, but
what exactly happens?"

As Blossom proceeded to tell her, including describing the male anatomy,
Elizabeth grew paler and paler and Blossom grew more and more disgusted by
the barbarian custom of keeping what was perfectly natural a great secret.
They treated the relationship between men and women as if they were divulging
the answers to the Imperial examinations.

When Blossom finished, she smiled.  "It is not a torture, Miss Hazelmore.
Believe me, it is the most wonderful pleasure."  She had a sudden moment of
illumination.  "Especially, I think, if you love the man."

"Thank you, Miss Flowers.  I'm glad that I won't be completely taken aback on
my wedding night."

"I think it would be wise, Miss Hazelmore, if you would not let Mr. Jeremy
know that you are enlightened.  If it is the custom here that such things be
kept a great secret, he might not understand."

Elizabeth smiled and nodded.  "I agree.  He would probably consider my
curiosity rather bold," she said.  She patted Blossom's hand.  "Don't worry,
Miss Flowers.  I'm sure everything will be all right.  I've sent for Jeremy.
Tomorrow Papa will be back from visiting Grandmother, too.  He's sure to be
able to have some good advice."

In the past, Darcy had never' ridden through the town of Oxford without
noticing the calm, cathedral beauty of the place, and without becoming
jealous of every person in a scholar's gown.  It wasn't their education he
envied-such matters as Latin and C-reek would have done him little good in
making his fortune rebut that they had the means to simply enjoy the best
years of their youth.

This time, however, Darcy only noted the familiar landmarks as they pertained
to his progress toward Jeremy, and hopefully some way out of the morass of
his personal life.

His carriage rattled into the courtyard of Christ Church College.  A few
minutes later Darcy strode into Jeremy's room without bothering to knock.

"Who's" -- Jeremy began, then turned around.  He held what appeared to be a
letter in his hand, and when he saw who stood in his room, his eyes widened.
Then, to Darcy's surprise, they narrowed.  "What are you doing here?"

 "I had to talk to you."   "Oh?"

"I have a problem."

Jeremy waved the letter in his hand and then pointed to another handwritten
page on his desk.  "I've just heard that from two different people.  It would
seem that you have more than one problem."

Darcy threw himself into the nearest chair.  "What are you talking about?"

"I got two letters in today's post.  One from Charles Hor-ton-Smythe and one
from Elizabeth.  I must say, Darcy, I never took you for a hypocrite."

Jeremy's tone and expression made it very clear that he was speaking in
earnest.

"I can guess what they're about."

"Elizabeth has taken poor Miss Flowers to her house after your despicable
treatment of her, and Charles says there seems to be some more disturbing
rumors about your business that he's not able to quash.  Not only that, but
you apparently don't care at all.  I must say if you do business in the same
way you 'protect' young ladies entrusted to your care, I'm not surprised."

Darcy jumped to his feet.  "ff your charming Elizabeth had not interfered, I
would be engaged to Blossom right now.  Instead, your future bride has
absconded with her and now I'm a despicable.  cad

"Did you make love to Miss FloWers, Darcy?"  Jeremy demanded.

"Who are you to sit there and ask questions like that?"

Jeremy would not be dissuaded.  "Did you make love to her?"

"Only once, if it's any of your damned business," Darcy said sullenly.

Jeremy looked as if he'd scratched a golden idol and discovered clay instead.
"Only once?  Is that supposed to make your action less offensive?  That you
only took advantage of the poor girl once?"

Darcy strode across the room and grabbed Jeremy's shirt, hauling him up.
"Listen, you insolent pup.  That 'poor girl'

was brought up to be some man's mistress.  "

Jeremy stared, openmouthed.

"She's not some old friend's daughter I'm chaperoning.  She belongs to me, a
gift from a Chinese merchant.  He owed me a lot of money, but instead he sent
her.  She's been trying to get into my bed ever since she got here."

He let go and Jeremy stumbled back.

"That's..."

"The truth.  I tried to get rid of her, to get her married to somebody,
Anybody."

He turned away, but not before Jeremy saw his eyes.  "Only you hadn't counted
on falling in love with her yourself."

Darcy strode to the large window in the spacious room that he paid for.  He
spoke without turning around "I think so, but how can a man tell?"

Jeremy went toward his brother.  "Darcy, Elizabeth didn't understand.  When
she got Miss Flowers's letter asking her to come to tea, she went because she
was concerned about you.  Miss Flowers said you were in trouble.  So she went
thinking it might have something to do with all these rumors about your
business."

"How did Elizabeth know about the rumor sT

Jeremy smiled.  "She's quite fascinated by business.  I don't always
understand where she comes by her knowledge myself, but some of her friends
are married to city men.

"At any rate, she went to tea.  Miss Flowers wanted to discuss something
personal and finally told Elizabeth about ... you know.  I'm afraid she
thought the worst."

 "You weren't so quick to trust me, either."

"We!!"  I'm a man and I've seen Miss Flowers.  I could understand how you
might be tempted.  "

"Tempted?  Good God, Jeremy, you don't know how I've been tempted !"

"Elizabeth thought she was helping Miss Flowers.  I'm sorry, Darcy.  We
didn't understand, although I must say I

still don't think you should have.  "

"Well, it just happened."

"There's something else troubling you, isn't there?"

Darcy sat down heavily.  "I still don't understand why she left.  She must
have been angry or upset."

Jeremy looked contrite.  "You don't know Elizabeth, Darcy.  I daresay she
didn't give Miss Flowers much of a chance to think.  Elizabeth can be quite
compelling if she thinks she's in the right."

Darcy felt a little better.  "I suppose I'd better get to know my future
sister-in-law better, in that Case.  To protect myself, if nothing else."

"Is that why you came to see me?"  Jeremy asked softly.

"Yes.  I want you to go to the Hazelmores' with me and help me get Blossom
back."

"I'd be happy to and I think the first thing you should do is tell Miss
Flowers how you feel."

"I can't do that.  I don't know how."

"There's no mystery to it.  Just tell her.  If she cares for you at all,
she'll understand the meaning.  Then ask her to marry you.  Oh, and you'll
have to let poor o1' Northrup know he's been jilted."  Jeremy went over and
put his hand on Darcy's shoulder.  "Darcy, I saw the way she looked at you.
I don't think you have to worry about her caring for you.  Stay the night
here and in the morning, we'll go and see her."

Darcy nodded and put his hand over his brother's in a rare gesture of love.

"Help yourself to one of my dressing gowns, Darcy.  You look exhausted."

Darcy grinned.  "I am."  He went into the next room.

Jeremy picked up the letter from Charles Horton-Smythe and read the worrying
words once again.

Perhaps they were only rumors, after all.  Once Darcy got formally engaged to
Miss Flowers, they could sort every, thing else out.

"papa came home late last night, I hope you Weren't disturbed," Elizabeth
said Over breakfast' the next morning.  BlossOm had heard the sound of a
carriage and a man'g hearty voice, but not wishing to cause them any
diScOmfort, she shook her head.

"I'm glad," Elizabeth said.  "He said we could meet him after matins."

Although Blossom had no idea what matins were, she nodded in agreement.

A short time later,.  dressed in a walking dress of brOwn and cream, she
joined Elizabeth at the front door of their cottage.  The Hazelmores lived
outside London in an area that was still more country than suburb.  The area
was green and lovely, and the Hazelmores' garden bloomed delightfully.
Blossom would have liked to linger for a while, but Elizabeth was clearly
impatient to begin.

Over in the distance Blossom saw a huge stone building and they began to walk
toward it.  They approached what Blossom assumed was the back of the
building, where there was a small, heavy wooden door.  Elizabeth pushed it
open and went inside.  Blossom followed.

The air .  there was something about the musty air of the place that she
recognized, but how she couldn't say.

"Papa must still be in the nave," Elizabeth said, leading the way farther
inside the dark, damp place.

They turned a corner and came to another door, which Elizabeth opened only
wide enough to peel through.  "Oh, there he is.  Mrs. Vye's talking to him.
Come on, he won't mind if we interrupt."

Elizabeth opened the door and led the way inside.  Blossom halted and stared
about her.  This place, this big place with the benches, the cross thing on
the wail above the table, the vessels on the table, the books .  everything
was familiar, yet different.

Then the man at the end of the aisle turned, his white surplice moving like a
ghost, the two ends of his stole like animal tails.

"Father!"  Blossom whispered.

Chapter Nineteen

Darcy stared at Elizabeth, his heart pounding with dread.  "Fainted?  Is she
ill?  Can I see her?"

Elizabeth had never seen a man so upset, and she wouldn't have believed it
possible of Darcy Fitzroy if she wasn't seeing it with her own two eyes.  "I
don't' know.  The doctor's with her now."

"I'm going up," he said, pushing Jeremy aside and bounding up the stairs.  He
burst into the little bedroom to see Blossom lying on a small bed, her eyes
closed and her skin white as snow.  He knelt beside her, ignoring the man who
must be the doctor and another other man wear inga clerical collar, and took
her hand.  "Blossom, Blossom!"  he called softly.

Her eyelids fluttered and she opened her eyes.  For a moment he was afraid
she wouldn't want to see him, but she smiled and his heart leapt with joy.

"Dar-cee," she whispered.  "You come for me?"

He kissed her hand, then looked into her face.  "Yes, my darling.  And then I
never want you to go away from me again," he said, his voice filled with love.

"I don't think the young lady should he disturbed," the doctor said sternly.

"What happened?"  Darcy asked, looking at them but keep inga firm grip on
Blossom's hand.

The man in the clerical collar, whom Darcy realized must he the Reverend
Hazelmore, said, "She came into the church with my daughter and suddenly
fainted."

"You got her inside a church?  She told me she wouldn't go in one."

"Why is no one speaking to me?"  Blossom demanded, her voice weak but
imperious.  "I tell you."

Darcy.  turned to her with a smile on his face, but his eyes were serious.

"I did not know what the building was.  I did not know it' was a temple."

"My dear young lady, it's a church," the doctor said.

Darcy gave the doctor such a black look that the man shut his mouth wit ha
snap.

Blossom's brow wrinkled.  'When I was inside, I think, "I know this place,"
or one much like it, long, long ago.  Even the smell is familiar to me,
Dar-eee.  Then I saw this man re she pointed at Reverend Hazelmore
,"--dressed in the white gown with the cloth around his neck.  Like my
father."

"Like Your father?"  I thought he was killed.  "

"Yes, I saw him dead with my own eyes.  Ever since, until today, that was my
memory of him.  But then, when I saw the gown..."

"I think the young lady should he allowed to rest gentlemen," the doctor
said, wit ha glance at Darcy.

He nodded and stood up.  Blossom didn't let go of his hand.  "Everything's
going to.be all right now," he whispered tenderly.  "I'll he downstairs."

 "I want to go home," she said.   "You will," he promised.

The doctor preceded Darcy and the minister down the stairs and into the
drawing room.  There was no sign of

Jeremy or Elizabeth or any of the other members of the Hazelmore family.

"She's not seriously ill, is she?"  Darcy asked, his voice low and fervent.

"No, I don't believe so.  She's had a shock and that made her faint.  She
should be fine after a good night's rest."

Darcy nodded and the doctor seemed poised to leave, but Reverend Hazelmore
laid a detaining hand on his arm.  "I must ask this, Doctor.  Could she be
with child?"

Darcy suddenly felt as if a load of ballast had fallen onto his chest.

"No, I don't think so," the doc to said, obviOUsly trying to mask his
surprise at the question, "although I must say I didn't consider that
possibility."

Both of the men glanced at Darcy, who spoke quickly.

"I don't see how she could be."

Reverend Hazelmore frowned.

Darcy began to blush.  "I mean, I suppose theresa very remote chance."

"I don't believe this matter requires my attention, Reverend," the doctor
said.  "If the young lady is with child, it is in its very early days yet.
Still, that might account for the fainting spell.  If she faints again, or
feels sick to her stomach, send for me."  Before heading for the door, he
gave Darcy a look that made it clear that he now considered him a rogue and a
scoundrel.

Darcy's hatred for medical men boiled up, but he fought to get it under
control.  The doctor didn't know how things really were between Blossom and
himself, and he shouldn't blame the man for thinking the way most of society
would He took a deep breath and prepared to meet more of the same attitude
from Reverend Hazelmore, but first the minister saw the doctor to the door.  '

As he waited for the man's return, Darcy stared at the empty grate.
Pregnant!  Blossom pregnant with his child!

The thought had never occurred to him.  Indeed, he hadn't had time to think
about such things.  Of course, it was possible, even though they'd only been
together once.

"Mr.  Fitzroy, I realize you may consider my intrusion into your personal
affairs unwarranted."

Darcy turned toward the door as Reverend Hazelmore returned.

"However, I must say that I hope, for the young lady's sake, you'll allow me
to intercede."

"I'm going to marry her."

The minister indicated a chair and Darcy sat' down.  His host, with a sad and
serious face, followed suit.

"I had planned on asking her to marry me anyway, before I got here."

"Because she might bear your child?"

"Because I love her."  Darcy cleared his throat, feeling impossibly young,
although he wasn't much more than ten years younger than the man sitting
across from him.  "If she's pregnant, the baby has to be mine."

"You are certain?"

"Of course," Darcy said, getting rather annoyed.  He wanted to go home with
Blossom.  "She was a virgin."  He stopped when he saw the look on Reverend
Hazelmore's face.

"I'm sorry to hear that, my son.  She's young and she was entrusted to your
care by, I take it, a man who is dead.  I should have hoped that would have
rendered his trust in you a sacred one."

"Look, Reverend, you don't understand," He'd had enough of being considered
an unprincipled villain.  "In a manner of speaking, Miss Flowers seduced me."

This time there was no slight disgust on the clergyman's face, but outright
revulsion.

"It's a long story.  Her father didn't send her to me before he died, or
anything like that."

"I think it would be best if you explained everything, Mr. Fitzroy.  My time
is at your disposal."

Darcy sighed.  He was very tempted to tell the man to mind his own business,
but since Blossom was in his house, perhaps it was.  He shrugged his
shoulders and told the minister the whole story, beginning with the debt.

When Darcy finished, Reverend Hazelmore leaned back in his chair, his
expression thoughtful.  "Well, I must say that was quite different from the
story I expected to hear, although I should have been forewarned.  Elizabeth
did mention that Miss Flowers's case was rather unusual, but she had no time
to go into details.  China, you say?"  Darcy nodded.

"I knew a young man who went to China.  I went to Oxford with him, in fact.
He was from Yorkshire, and his name was Cooper."

"Cooper!"  Darcy's mind flew back to the day at the Crystal Palace when the
young daughter of Sam Cooper caught his attention because she looked so much
like Blossom

"Yes.  He was quite evangelical.  Rather much for the Church of England, if
truth be told.  However, be always wanted-to go to China and last I heard he
had succeeded.  Miss Flowers reminds me of him, now that you tell me her
history.  But it could be merely fancy, and an odd connee-tion to my own
past."

"That's more of a clue to her true name and family than anything we've.
found out.  As a matter of fact I met a man named Cooper.;from Yorkshire not
too long ago.  I thought I saw a family resemblance."

"Is that so?  Well I could provide you with an address, although it's
beea'years since I had any contact with him., " I would appreciate that.  "

The minister frowned.  "However, Mr. Fitzroy, we mustn't forget the reason
Miss Flowers is now a guest in my home."

"I want her to come home with me today.  I'll arrange for a wedding as soon
as possible."

Darcy was taken aback by the hard look that came into the pastor's eyes.
"Hadn't you better ask Miss Flowers if she wishes to be your wife?"

Before Darcy could respond, Reverend Hazelmore continued.  "As far as I can
understand all this, the poor girl is rather confused and uncertain.  I think
a rest and some time away from society would do her good"

"You don't mean away from me?"  Darcy felt a cold finger of fear along his
spine, a fear that this: man would somehow prevent Blossom from coming home
with him.  "I love her."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I love her," he said firmly.

"I'm very happy to hear it, my son.  Your feelings do you credit.  However, I
feel it would not be wise for you to cohabit."

"I'll get a chaperon."

"you had one before."

"What if she's pregnant?  Shouldn't we marry at once?"

"I am not one of those who believes that marriage is the perfect answer in
such a circumstance, especially if entered into hastily," came the minister's
surprising reply.   "I was going to propose that Miss Flowers remain here, as
our guest."

Darcy stared at the floor.  His heart protested the plan, but his mind told
him that Reverend Hazelmore was trying to do what was best.  It would look
rather shocking if Blossom was living in his house when they announced their
engagement.  Despite his disdain for the dictates of society, Darcy knew that
he couldn't step outside the boundaries that much.

There was still Northnap to consider, too.  The young fei-low was a fool, but
he had feelings, too.  Darcy actually felt sorry for him, sorry enough to
want to break the engagement as gently as possible.  That would not be easy
if Blossom was living with him.

A visit to Yorkshire, to try to solve the mystery of Blossom's identity,
might be in order, too.

Darcy sighed heavily.  "I will abide by your wishes," he said.

"I'm glad you agree.  Naturally you may visit her as often as you like, and
her servant is welcome to stay as well."

"Thank you."

"Now, sir, I think you Should go upstairs and tell the young lady what you
have so feelingly revealed to me."

Darcy stood up and smiled.  Before he left, he hesitated for a moment.
"Perhaps, Reverend, it would be best not to say anything about the Coopers.
Nothing may come of it, after all."

"As you wish."

Darcy went upstairs once again, thi time feeling abashed and--damn it--shy as
a boy.  He knocked on the door and opened it slowly.

Blossom was sitting up in the bed, the satin coverlet pulled up to her chin
so that only a tiny ruffle of lace showed around her neck.  She looked
better, the pink returning to her soft cheeks.

Ah Tup, reacting to a subtle nod from Blossom, sidled past him and out of the
room.

"How are you feeling now?"  he asked.

"Wonderful'Y Blossom replied, thinking that word didn't begin to convey the
extent of her emotions.  She watched Darcy as he came inside the room.

Then he smiled.  Such a smile!  Her heart began beating rapidly.  Excitement
coursed through her body.  She wanted to get up and nan to him.

He came to the bed and took her hand in his, looking down into her eyes.  At
that instant she knew, without doubt, without question, that she loved him
and he loved her.

"Blossom," he said, kneeling beside the bed.  "Blossom, will you marry me?"

She answered him quickly and decisively with a deep, lingering kiss.  Slowly
she drew back.  "I would be honored," she said, smiling.

Darcy smiled back, then frowned a little.  "I want you to come home with

"I want to go home, too," she interrupted.

"Please, let me finish," he said, but not harshly.  "Reverend Hazelmore
thinks you should stay here for a few days."

The regret in his voice touched her.  "I don't want to.  I want to go with
you.  I choose to go home with you."

Darcy laughed softly.  "I'm glad to hear you understand something of your
rights.  However, I need to get some business cleared-up, and I can't think
clearly with you near me."

"Why not?"

"Because" -- his hands cupped her face "--because all I can think about is
you."

She moved his hands away and tried to look stem.  "Does this mean I am going
to be the wife of a poor man whose business has become a rain?"

"What it means is, I'd better take care of some business so that I have some
time to devote solely to you, my love."

"Ah, I understand.  Then, when you tire of me ina day or so, you will be able
to return to your business and never think of me at all."

He leaned closer until his lips were close to hers.  "I don't think I'll ever
be tired of you."

She kissed him quickly, then moved away mischievously.  "I will see to that,
Dar-cee.  We have not even begun Water Lily's teachings."

When Darcy got home later that day, he was surprised to find Powlett prowling
the stables.  "Ah, Mr. Fitzroy!"  the butler said, his icy demeanor defrost
inga little.  "Lord Neville Northrup is awaiting you in the drawing room.
He's been there all afternoon, sir."

Darcy walked quickly toward the house, Powlett following behind, and wondered
if Northrup had somehow discovered what had happened the other night.  "What
does he want?"

"He declined to say, sir, but he seems most anxious.

Most anxious indeed.  "

"[ see."

Powlett suddenly halted and, in a gesture of familiarity totally at odds with
Darcy's experience of the faithful retainer, put his hand on his employer's
arm.  "If you please, sir, I must know about Ah Tupand Miss Flowers.  Are
they returning?"

Darcy glanced at Powlett's face.  Then grinned.  "Why, Powlett, what makes
you ask?"

Powlett actually blushed.  "I am merely concerned for their welfare, Mr.
Fitzroy."

Darcy, a man in love himself, took pity on his butler and refrained from
making a comment along the lines of "in a pig's eye."  Instead he said, "Tm
going to marry Miss Flowers, so I think we can safely assume that Ah Tup will
become a permanent resident of our household."

Powlett smiled so broadly that Darcy had the impression the man was making up
for years of stony facial expressions in one moment.

"Keep this between us for now," Darcy cautioned, certain that if he didn't
say something, Powlett's face would cause instant speculation among the rest
of the staff.  "As you wish, sir."

Powlett's face immediately returned to its usual blank, causing Darcy to
wonder just where Powlett had learned to keep his emotions, which were
obviously in existence, under such strict control.

Powlett seemed to guess the meaning of his employer's look.  "Army."

Darcy grinned and went inside to see Neville .  Northrup.

Neville nervously crossed his legs, then uncrossed them, fearing creases in
his trousers---or, more precisely, fearing his vaiet's reaction to creases.
For the fiftieth time that afternoon, he got up and walked to the window,
then back to the chair where he sat, crossed his legs, feared creases and
stood up.

At the sound of the heavy footsteps coming down the hall, Neville tugged at
his fine chesterfield coat, resisted the urge to touch the cravat Chambers
had spent forty minutes arranging and prepared to meet Darcy Fitzroy.

Fitzroy strode into the room like a knight in one of the King Arthur stories,
or a general.  Neville's legs turned to jelly and his palms began to sweat.
Still, he knew what he had to do.  He thought about the previous night, took
a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"Good afternoon, Lord Northrap."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Fitzroy."

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Neville tried 'to remember that he was a lord while the man before him
Wassimply a merchant, but that didn't work.  He felt like an errant child.

Clearing his throat again, he took a halting step forward, "I came, Mr.
Fitzroy, that is, I wanted to talk to you about..."

"" Yes, my lord?  "

For a brief instant Neville thought Mr. Fitzroy seemed different, a little
more kindly disposed toward him perhaps.  But that might be his mind playing
tricks.  Nevertheless, it gave him the slight boost he needed to speak.  "I
want, that is, I have come to say that I've been thinking about my engagement
to Miss Flowers.  I fear that perhaps I have been rather over being in my
attentions and premature in my proposal, leading her to make a decision in
haste.  Since this decision will influence the rest of our lives, I think
perhaps I should withdraw my offer for the present time."

"Am I to understand you wish Miss Flowers to release you from your
engagement?"

"Yes."

Fitzroy Walked over to the window and Neville began to fear that the man was
going to hold him to the engagement, or demand some sort of recompense.  But
when Fitzroy turned around, he didn't look angry.

"I see.  Well, Lord Northrup, since you feel that way and since no formal
announcement has been made, I think it would be best to acquiesce to your
wishes."

Neville's knees went weak with relief.  "Thank you, Mr. Fitzroy.  Is Miss
Flowers at home?"

"As a matter of fact she isn't, but I don't think you need to ee her.  VIi
tell her our decision

"Oh, I say, would you?  That's awfully kind and decent.  I always knew you
were a decent fellow, despite the rumors to the contrary.  Please extend my
regrets to the charming Miss Flowers.  Good day !"

Lord Northrup bustled out of the room and hurried straight to the mansion of
Lady Emmaline Whitmore.

"Lord Northrup did what?"  Charles stared at Darcy, who was sitting smugly
behind his desk in his office.

"He broke off their engagement."

"Whatever for?"

"He said he feared they had made a hasty decision."

 "Will he still marry her, do you think?"

Darcy's smile made Charles dread what was coming next, and when his partner
spoke, it was as bad as he'd feared.  "I'm going to marry her myself."

Charles managed to recover quickly, despite the wreck of part of his schemes.
"" Well, congratulations, old man!  " he said, his lips twisting into a
smile.  " When's the wedding?  "

Darcy leaned back in his chair and grinned.  "" As soon as possible, I hope.
Reverend Hazelmore will perform the ceremony, I'm sure.  First, though, I
need to go to Yorkshire.  "

"Yorkshire?"  Charles said casually, but his mind was racing.  Mitchell's
letter had mentioned a Yorkshireman.  "Yes.  I shouldn't be gone too long."

Charles wondered if Mitchell had written another letter to Darcy that he
hadn't intercepted, but he doubted that Darcy would sit there discussing this
business so matter-of-factly if he had.

"I think we can handle things for a few days, old man, but I have to remind
you that the 'creditors seem to be getting nervous."

"Again?  What about this time?"

"I'm not sare."

"Well, try to find out.  We can't fight what we don't know.  '

"Of course.  Congratulations again, eh, what?"

Charles walked out of Darcy's office and into his own.  Once inside he picked
up his newspaper and began tearing it into little pieces as he stared at it
unseeing.

So, Darcy was marrying her himself!  He had hoped to use Sally's interesting
information against Darcy, but now

Miss Flowers was safely lodged with a clergyman.  That talkative Ditchett
woman probably wouldn't say a word about what had happened since it would do
little to credit her ability to chaperon.  Sally's word wouldn't hold up
against a man like Darcy, and Mrs. MacTavish had apparently disappeared into
the Scottish mist.

We!  " he would simply have to use his original plan and expose Darcy as an
embezzler.  The only question now was the best way to proceed.

Chapter Twen

Two days later, Blossom and Elizabeth strolled arm in arm through the
Hazelmores' fragrant garden.  In the late afternoon, it was a paradise of
lovely scents and quiet Warmth, surrounding the' girls like the' embodiment
of youthful dreams and hopes.

"I cannot wear a white wedding dress," Blossom said firmly.  "It is the color
of purity."

Elizabeth nodded, frown inga little.  "Perhaps under these circumstances,
white would not be an appropriate color."

"It would be a bad omen to wear the color of mourning."

"Here, we wear black for mourning."

"That is the color of wealth and prosperity," Blossom said, beginning to
wonder how many other things she would discover about English customs.

Suddenly Jeremy Fitzroy came running into the garden.  One look at his face,
and both girls felt as if a storm cloud had appeared on the horizon.

Blossom's first thought was of Darcy.  "What is it?"  she asked quickly,
running forward.  "Has something happened?"

"Darcy's all right.  At least, he's not hurt."  Jeremy reached her and
stopped, holding out his hand to Elizabeth, who seemed to be rooted to the
ground as firmly as the rosebushes.  "But something terrible has happened!"
"What?"  Blossom demanded.

"It's the business.  Apparently Darcy's been embezzling."

Blossom could tell this was SOmething very bad by the horrified expression on
Elizabeth's face.  "What is this, embezzling?"

"Charles Horton-Smythe says that Darcy's been stealing money from the company
for his own personal use.  He has the ledgers to prove it, ledgers that he
found in Darcy's safe.  It amounts to thousands of pounds!  He says that
unless we pay back the money Darcy stole, he'll be forced to go to the
police."

"Dar-cee owns the company.  How an he steal his own money?"

"It's not his money, Blossom.  It belongs to the stockholders.  If they find
out, the company will be ruined, and so will my brother."

"Dar-cee is not a thief."

Jeremy looked at her.  "I know that.  At least, I can't believe this myself.
But Charles is one of his oldest, most trusted friends, as well as his
business partner.  He looked absolutely sick when he told me about it."

"These ledgers, what are they?"

"The account books of the company, where they keep a record of the money."

"Did you see them?"

"Yes."

"And they looked true?"

"Yes."

"You believe this man before you trust your own brother?"

"How can I not, when I saw the books myself?."

"Who keeps the books?"

"The clerks.  Every night they're locked in a safe."

 "Safe?   What is this safe?"

"It's a heavy metal container, with a very special lock.

Nobody could get in it except Darcy and Charles.  " " Then Charles is lying.
"

Elizabeth and Jeremy gave Blossom a look that was openly incredulous.  "But
the books..."  Jeremy began.  "Charles Horton-Smythe could change them."

"I suppose, but why should he?  If the business is ruined, so is he."

"If Dar-cee did not take the money, and I do not for a moment think he has,
who else?  Perhaps this man hopes to accuse Dar-cee to take suspicion away
from himself."

For the first time since he'd seen the books, Jeremy began to hope.  "That
might be true.  But Darcy's paid Horton-Smythe well.  Why would he steal from
the company?"

Blossom stamped her foot in exasperation.  "I say this one more time.
Dar-cee would not steal.  I believe this with all my heart.  I have never
trusted that Horton-Smythe, who has the eyes of a snake."

With that, she turned and hurried from the garden, going straight upstairs.
She found Ah Tup putting away some clean clothing.  "Ah Tup, I need your
darkest trousers and blouse.  I am 'going to Mr. Fitzroy's business tonight,
when it is dark."

"Alone?"

Blossom thought for a moment.  "No.  You can keep watch for me."

Ah Tup nodded.

Sam Cooper smiled when he saw who stood at the door of his house, "Come in,
come in, Mr. Fitzroy.  Glad to see you.  What brings you to Yorkshire?"

"Good evening.  I'm sorry to disturb you so late," Darcy said, coming into
the comfortable, if small, parlor.

"Think nothin' of it.  Mary, my dear, here's Mr. Fitzroy, that I met at the
exhibition."

Mr.  Cooper's pleasant-faced wife came bustling into the room.  "Very happy,
I'm sure.  I'!1 just call Sarah to put on the kettle for a nice cup of tea."

"I don't mean to trouble you."

"Oh, tsh!  It's no trouble.  Sarah!"

The young girl that so looked like Blossom came shyly into the room.  "Yes,
Ma?"

"Be a love and put on the kettle.  Oh, and take Mr. Fitzroy's cloak."

Darcy divested himself of his cloak and gave it to her.  Sarah smiled.  and
left.  Mrs. Cooper, picking up a basket of knitting, sat down beside the
hearth.  "Have a seat, Mr. Fitzroy."

Darcy complied.

"Now, then, what can I do for you?"  Mr. Cooper said, lighting his pipe.

"I came to see if you knew a man named Saul Cooper."

 "Aye, I certainly did.   That's my brother."   "Does he live near here?"

Mr.  Cooper shook his head sadly.  "No.  I don't know that's he's living
anywhere

"He's dead?"

"Missin', more like.  He went out to China sixteen years ago.  We got some
letters for a while, but then they stopped."

"Was he a missionary by any chance?"

"What's all this about?"

"I might have some information about his fate."

Mr.  Cooper's eyes widened.  "Aye, well, Saul was a missionary, all right."

That would explain the admonition not to go into their temples, Darcy thought.

A puff of smoke from the pipe hovered around Mr. Cooper's head.  "He truly
thought the heathen were all doomed unless they converted to Christianity.
He could get pretty worked up talking about it.  Even after his wife died out
there, he wouldn't come back."  Mr. Cooper blew out another ring of smoke.
"I reckon the Chinese killed him.

We heard he shipped for home, then.  nothing.  "

"Did he have children?"  "

"He had one, a little girl.  Saul could be a hard man where he thought the
proper Christian road lay, but he doted on her."

"Do you have any idea what happened to her?"

"Dead; we suppOsed, if the ship went down.  Flora was a sweet little thing,
with her big blue eyes."

Mrs.  Cooper put down her knitting.  "Where's Sarah with that tea?  You look
like you need a drop, Mr. Fitzroy."

Darcy shook his head.  "It's all right.  Mr. Cooper, I believe I know what
happened to them?"

Mr.  Cooper's pipe almost landed on the floor.  "What?  How?"

"I do a lot of business in Canton.  One of the Chinese merchants there found
a young girl, who Was not Oriental, and took her into his household.  He
recently sent her to me.

"She has little idea of her family, although I must tell you her father was
killed by.  pirates."

Mrs.  Cooper's knitting and Mr. C per's pipe sat untouched.

"She looks very much like Sarah, has blue eyes and dark hair and says her
name is Blossom."

"Here's the tea," Sarah said softly.

"Blow the tea!"  Sam Cooper leapt out of his chair.  "Ma, I'm getting Mam and
goin' to London."

Darcy stood up.

"My mother looked after Flora many a time when she was little.  If anybody'H
know her for sure, it'll be Mam.  And if Flora remembers any of us, it'll be
her, too."

"It's a long ride to London," Darcy said, desperately hoping that the woman
would come, but afraid she would be too old and frail for such a journey.

"Not to-worry.  Mam'd walk if she thought she'd see Flora again.  She'll do,
never fear."

For the first time since she had arrived in London, Blossom blessed the
thick, yellow fog.  It provided an additional covering as she and Ah Tup,
muffled in dark cloaks, quietly left the house.  They hurried down the
street, turned a comer and got a cab.  Blossom asked to be taken to one of
the streets near Fitzroy Shipping.

When they arrived, they hurried away into the fog, leaving the cabdriver to
stare after them.

Lady Whitmore gazed thoughtfully at Charles Horton-Smythe as he stood in her
magnificent drawing room.

"I thought your husband, as one of the principal stockholders, should know
this, before it becomes public knowledge."

"I see."  Lady Whitmore gracefully gestured to a nearby seat.  "You have no
alternative to going to the police with this information?"

Charles kept his voice carefully concerned.  "We!!"  I had hopes that Darcy
might be compelled to repay the money, but I don't think he has sufficient
funds.  "

Lady Whitmore smiled enigmatically.  "How much money has he stolen?"

Blossom expelled her breath as she helped Ah Tup move the last of the wooden
boxes beneath a window.  She looked up at the grimy window, one of several on
the main floor of Fitzroy Shipping.  Without saying anything, she began
climbing up, her hands holding on to the slippery, slimy walls.

It was only when she was high enough that she saw the iron bars.  With a
curse, she climbed back down and looked at Ah Tup in dismay.  "I cannot get
in that way.  It is barred."

Ah Tup glanced around nerVously.  "Then we should leave.  I do not like this
place."

Blossom shook her head.  "Not yet.  We must first find a way inside."

With that thought in mind, she surVeyed the back wall.  There was a wooden
door, but they had already tried it and found it bolted.

She spotted a very small window at the bottom of the wall where the wooden
boxes had been stacked.  Moving them had exposed the window.  She signed for
Ah Tup to come closer.  "Look.  I can enter here."

Ah Tup frowned skeptically.  "It is a very small window."

"Am I fat?"  Blossom whispered indignantly, kneeling down on the ground.  She
pushed at the frame, but the window wouldn't budge.  She picked up a piece of
wood nearby and carefully hit the window so that it cracked.  Then she took
off the dark shawl she had wrapped around her head, tied it around her hand
and pushed in the glass.  Carefully she pulled out the rest of the pieces
attached to the frame.

"Stay here and watch.  ff anyone comes, crawling after me and wait."  .
"But..."

"Do as I say."  Blossom sat down and put her feet through the narrow opening.
Slowly she' thrust her legs in, then lowered her hips.  To her great relief
she felt her feet touch something solid.  Bending her knees, she moved the
dark, dark cellar.

Her eyes, already used to the dim light in the justed quickly.  Rats rustled
in the darkness, running the floor.  Trying not to feel squeamish, Blossom
down carefully from the packing crate and searched door.

She spied stairs and made her way to them.  Once of stairs, she tiptoed up
quickly and held her breath tried the door.

It moved.  Cautiously she opened it.

The lamps in the street provided some illumination, cautious, Blossom went
down a small out into the main office.  She cursed herself for not a way to
visit in the daytime, when someone could out which one of the 6ffices.  was
Darcy's and Charles Horton-Smythe's As it 'was, she would guess.

That proved smprisingly easy.  Sh found the and recognized the scent of
Darcy's tobacco.  the next one, she recognized the smell of cologne, curling
her lips with the corner was a large iron box with a strange

Only a fool would hide false account books in thing and she didn't believe
Horton-Smythe was a if he had convinced Jeremy of his own brothefts She went
straight.  to the huge mahogany desk.  Blossom had seen many secret hiding
places.  Wu had several in his house, always fearing the peasants might
revolt, or the government decide he enemy.  Precious Jade had a few where she
choicest jewels, believing the places unknown, Ah laughingly told Blossom of
the lengths Precious gone to keep the knowledge secret, including hiding
places in the middle of the night.  Little did

Jade know that a servant, beaten and reviled, had made it her business to
find out such things.

As Blossom gazed at the desk, she almost laughed out loud.  Really, the
English were-truly barbarians if they couldn't disguise a hiding place any
better than the one in this desk.  It took her only a moment to find the
spring that made the hidden drawer ix)p open.

Inside the drawer, there were some large books filled with writing and
numbers.  She picked them up.

Moving quickly, she pushed the drawer back and hurried to the corridor, down
the steps and into the dark cellar.  She stumbled in the darkness, knocking
over another box and dropping one of the heavy books.  Scramblingaround,
fearful of the rats but desperate not to lose the book, she finally found it.

Ah Tup called softly, "Is it you?"

"Yes!"  Blossom called back.  "Come, take these!"

Ah Tup's face appeared in the small aperture.  Blossom shoved the books up
and began to climb onto the box.  "What's going on here?"

She glanced over her shoulder.  Charles Horton-Smythestood on the top of the
steps, his eyes gleaming like those of the rats in the darkness.  "Go!"  she
cried to Ah Tup.  "But mistress, I..."

"Go!  Take them to Younger Brother!"  She heard Ah Tup's feet run down the
alley.  Then she got down and faced the man moving slowly toward her.

Chapter Twenty-One

"This is a most unexpected pleasure."

Blossom ignored Horton-Smythe until she was certain Ah Tup was out of the.
alley, then she looked at him squarely.  "I came to find the books that lie."

"Books that lie?  What is that, some quaint Oriental notion?"  He came a
little closer.  She smelled wine and realized his eyes were bloodshot.

"No.  They are books that you have changed to make it appear that Dar-cee is
a thief."

"Oh, you think that, do you?"

"I know that."

He came even closer, his mouth turned up in an evil grin and his eyes
suspicious.  "How do you know?"

"I know Darcee would not lie and he would not steal.

You, however, I believe would do both.  "

"Indeed?"

Suddenly his hand clasped hers tightly.  "What else do you believe me.
capable of, my dear?"

"Anything," she said.  She tried to stay calm, to think clearly.  She had
known fear many times, and although she was afraid now, she was far from
terrified.  Horton-Smythe had had much wine, and that would cloud his
judgment.

He pulled her toward the stairs, but Blossom yanked her hand from his.  "Why
have you done this?  He was good to you."

Horton-Smythe's' eyes grew hard, his mouth tight.  "He was good to me?  A
merchant was good to a nobleman?  He didn't give me anything I didn't deserve.

"He was the one who should have been thankful for having a man of my rank
willing to be his lackey.  Where would he have been, without me?"

"He would no he accused of a crime."

Horton-Smythe scowled.  "So what?  What is a merchant to me?"

'"I thought he was your friend," she said softly, inching backward.

,"I hate him.  A man of his birth thinking he could worm his way into society
with money.  If my father weren, t a drunken sot, I'd he able to show Darcy
Fitzroy just how lowly he was."

She moved back a little more.  "You have done all this because your father
lost face?"

He glared at her.  "Yes, and I'd do it all again."  Suddenly he reached out.
and grabbed her arm so tightly that she cried out.  "Oh, no.  You're coming
with me," "Where are you taking me?"

"To a safe place, very secluded and quiet.  No one will bother us there."

"You would not dare to harm me.  Dar-cee would kill you."

"He'll have to find me first."

"He will."

"I don't think so.  I've planned all this very carefully."

"Ah Tup has taken the books.   She will go to his house right away.   tfyou
let me go, !   will tell him that you didn't hurt me."

His other hand took hold of her other arm.  "But Darcy isn't there, is he?
Only his brother--the fool he was going to put in my place--who wouldn't know
how to button his shirts without Darcy!"  He took a deep breath.  "Be that as
it may, my dear, I simply can't have you talking to people.  I have other
plans."

She began to struggle, calling him all manner of foul things in Cantonese.

His grip remained as firm as iron.  "I assume you're not flattering me, but
no matter--for now."  She lifted her arm and bit his hand as hard as she
could.  He pushed her back, knocking her to the ground.  She struck her head,
and for a moment the room seemed to spin around, only to stop on him looking
down at her.  She put her hand to her head and felt the warm moistness of
blood.

"That was singularlY.  Stupid, Miss Flowers, and utterly useless."

With a cry of fear, rage and hatred, Blossom leapt to her feet.  One of Water
Lily's last lessons had dealt with unwanted advances by men who might try to
woo her attention away from her master.  surely there could be no advance
more unwanted than this.

Without hesitation Blossom did what Water Lily had said while Horton-Smythe
was too surprised to respond.  She used her knee, her fists, her fingernails
and her feet until he lay moaning on the floor.  She didn't wait to see if he
was capable of following, but ran shakily to the box and climbed up and out
the window.  Then she ran through the alley and down the next one, her only
thought to get away from Horton-Smythe.  She kept on running, not even
pausing to glance behind her.

Until she realized she didn't know where she was.  Out of breath and dizzy,
she stopped, leaning against a stone wall.

A new fear crept over her.  She had never been outside alone.  In China,.
she had not been allowed beyond the walls of Honorable Wu's house.  On the
journey to England she had had Ah Tup with her at all times, and afterward,
she had always been with Darcy, Mrs. Ditchett or Elizabeth.

Gasping for air, she tried not to panic.  It seemed a long time since she had
escaped Horton-Smythe, but he might be trying to find her.  She must get home.

Home.  Where a man who loved her lived, a man she loved with all her heart.

Somehow, someway, she would make her way through the alleys and streets.  She
felt the wound on her head and the blood trickling down her neck, then
glanced down at her trousers and blouse.  The night air was damp and chilly,
and already she was beginning to shiver with the cold.

Nevertheless, she raised her head and slowly, cautiously, began to walk away.

Powlett stared at Ah Tup in dismay.  He was.  very glad to see her, but it
was evident that something was extremely wrong.  He could understand nothing
from her frantically garbled language as she stood in front of him, her
clothes filthy and tears streaming down her face.

She had arrived only minutes ago, pounding on the door, babbling incoherently
and carrying what appeared to b ledgers.  A.  cabdriver had followed her,
demanding to be paid.  That at least the butler could understand, so he paid
the fare.

Now he gently grasped Ah Tup by her slender shoulders.  "Please, speak-slowly
I can't understand."

"It is my mistress.  He has her!"  There followed more frenzied Chinese.

Powlett led the girl into the drawing room and tried not to let a sense of
fear pervade him.  "Who has her?  Where?  Explain yourself."  He made Ah Tup
sit on the sofa, regardless of the dirty state of her clothing.

"He does!  The evil one, the Horton-Smythe!"

Powlett's eyes widened for an instant, then he ran into the hall and
bellowed, "Mr.  Jeremy!"

Moments later, Jeremy rushed into the drawing room, hastily doing up his
shirt: "What is it?  What's going on?"

Ah Tup jumped up and held out the ledgers she had been clutching to her
chest.  "Here.  We went to get, but he came!  Hurry to the place!  My
mistress... !"

Jeremy looked at Powlett.  "These are account books."  He turned to Ah Tup.
"You went to the office?  You took these?"

"My mistress found them.  Now she is in danger!"

Jeremy nodded once and ran to the door.  "I'll get my horse."

Ah Tup began to weep silently, moaning as if in great pain.  Powlett sat
beside her.  Very tenderly and as awkwardly as a lad, he put is arms around
her.

Charles stood in the alley, the fog swirling about him like the embodiment of
his dishonest plans.

Ruined now His wonderful plans, ruined.  By her.  And she was nowhere in
sight.

She couldn't have gone far.  He felt the pistol tucked inside his coat and
went down the alley.  It led into another," narrower one and he took it.
Then another.

He would find her and shoot her.  Like a dog.

All the time he'd spent creating the false books.  Creating the false uncle.
And now, just when it was all to come to fruition, that whore had to destroy
everything.

Well, perhaps not everything.  Most of the money was safely in Madeira.  He
knew there was a ship leaving tonight bound for Portugal.  He could be on it
and' out of the country before anyone realized it.  He would withdraw the
money from the bank and take the first vesse{ leaving, no matter its
destination.  Then he would like to see somebody track him down.

He stopped and pulled out his watch.  The hour was growing late.  It might be
better to get to the ship now and escape before daylight.  He turned and
began to walk back to the office.

A figure stepped in front of him so that he had to stop.  "Sally!"  he said
when he recognized her.  "What are you doing here?  Shouldn't you be ...
busy?"

The girl glared at him, her eyes full of hatred.  "Busy entertainin' more of
your friends, you mean?"

 "Busy earning money."   "Bein' a whore."

"If that's the way you choose to look at it, but at least you're no
streetwalker."

"No thanks to you."

"As you wish.  Now, if you'll excuse me..."

"I'm havin' a baby."

He paused.  "A risk of the job.  I can tell you who to see to get rid of it."

"It might he yours."

"Or it might not."

He made to walk past her, but she moved quickly, grappling with him in her
effort to make him stay.  "You can't just leave me standin' here in the
street!  Oh, what have you done to me, you monster!"

Exasperated, Charles pushed her away with considerable force, so that she
fell in the gutter.  He didn't say a word, but began walking away.

Suddenly a shot rang out.  Turning, Charles stared at Sally's terrified face
and the smoking gun in her hand.

Then he slowly sank down upon the pavement where he lay motionless, shot in
the chest.

Darcy had doubted Sam Cooper's.  insistence that his mother could make the
journey without discomfort, but he had to admit that her son had been right.
They had been

 273

on the road for several hours--all night, in fact--but she seemed as if she'd
just stepped into the carriage.

As the sun rose and they drew nearer to the city, Darcy felt for the first
time in many days that everything was going to be fine.  No, better than
fine.  Wonderful.  He began to imagine how it would be.  Blossom, a
delightful, charming, never-boring wife.  Jeremy and Elizabeth married.
Jeremy coming into the business.  He even went so far as to envision visits
with the Coopers, with his wife and--he almost gasped with sudden sheer
happiness--children of his own.

It was more than he had ever dared to dream before.  Soon the carriage was
driving through familiar streets.  As they got closer, it would have been
difficult to tell who was more excited, Darcy or Mrs. Cooper.  At last they
arrived.  Before the carriage had even come to a halt, Mrs. Cooper was
reaching for the door.

"Now then, where is she?  Where's my girl?"

 "Patience, Mam.   Only a little more time."

Darcy opened the carriage door, got down and prepared to help Mrs. Cooper,
who gave him a terrible glare as she jumped nimbly down.  "Young man, don't
try to pamper me!  I don't like it and [ won't abide it!"

Darcy could well believe this was Blossom's relative.  He smiled and said,
"I'll go to Reverend Hazelmore's now and bring her for a visit."

"No, no.  Let's all go!"

"I think it would be better if I could prepare Blossom a little," Darcy said,
which was partly true.  It was also partly true that he wanted to have her to
himself for a little while.  If the Coopers were her relatives, they might
want to take her back to Yorkshire.  He'd have a lot of long, lonely journeys
to Yorkshire and back in his future, until they were married.

Mrs.  Cooper looked about to protest, but Sam spoke first.

"I agree.  Come on in, Mam, and calm yourself a little."  "Oh, very well."

Just then the door to Darcy's house opened and out stepped Mrs. MacTavish.
"Mr.  Fitzroy!"

Darcy bounded up the steps.  "You're back!"  he exclaimed.

"Yes."  His housekeeper wrung her hands nentously.  "It appears there's been
some misunderstanding.  I had to go to my sister's.  She was suddenly taken
sick."

"Well, glad to have you home," he replied With a broad smile.  Home.  With
Blossom for his wife, he would truly have a home.  "We've got some guests.
This is Mrs. Cooper and her son."

Mrs.  MacTavish nodded a greeting.

"I'm going to the Hazelmores, ..."

"Sir!"  Mrs. MacTavish's tone and the look on her face got his attention at
once.  "Sir," she repeated, her tone softened, "Please, come inside.
Something's happened."

Darcy frowned but obeyed, going into the drawing room.  Mrs. Cooper, her son
and Mrs. MacTavish followed him.

Ah Tup, her face tear streaked, Jeremy and Powlett were already in the room,

"What's going on?"  Darcy demanded.

Ah Tup began to cry and a shaft of fear lodged in Darcy heart.

Jeremy stepped forward, his eyes tired and sorrowful.  "It's Blossom--she's
missing."

"Missing?  What do you mean?"

"My girl isn't here?"

"Now, Mam, keep quiet a minute."

Darcy strode up to Jeremy, ignoring the others in the room.  "What happened?"

"She went to your office last night."

"What for?"

"To get your account books."  Jeremy robbed his forehead.  "While you were
gone, all kinds of rumors about your business started flying about.  Charles
was quite upset and he showed me what he said were the accounts.  They
revealed that there had been certain ... irregularities.  You'd taken money
with no explanation "

"That's a damn lie."

"I know that.  Now."  Jeremy looked completely wretched.  "At first, when I
saw the books, I confess I doubted you."

Darcy's voice was hard, his gaze boring into his brother's.  "Go on."

"Blossom said right away that she didn't believe it.  I tried to explain
about the books, and she was certain they'd been altered."  Jeremy put his
hand on Darcy's arm.  "You have to believe me, D/rcy.  I had no idea she'd go
to the office herself to look for the real books."

 "Did she go alone?"   "Ah Tup went with her."

"Books?.  Who cares about' books?  Where's my granddaughter?"

Jeremy looked over.  at the indomitable matron.  "We don't know.  Charles
came upon them as they were leaving.  Ah Tup got away and brought the books,
but Blossom..."

Darcy felt as if every drop of blood had drained from his body.

"I rushed over to the office as soon as we heard, but there was no one there."

Darcy didn't hesitate.  "I'm going to Charles's house."

"He's not there.  We've already checked."

"Oh; my baby!  To think I've come so close!"

"Now, Main, we'll find her."

There was a loud knock at the front door.  As everyone stared at each other,
afraid to think what it might herald, Darcy strode out into the hall and
opened the door.

To his surprise, Emmaline stood on the threshold.  "Have you heard?"  she
asked at once.

Fear, as cold and merciless as the freezing waters of a fiver, struck at his
heart.  "What?"

"Charles Horton-Smythe.  He's dead."

Emmaline would not have believed Darcy Fitzroy could look so shattered and .
and afraid.

"Where?  How?"  he blurted out.

A gray-haired head appeared in a nearby doorway, a woman Emmaline had never
seen before.  "Have they found my baby?"

 "No, not yet."

At his words, the old woman retreated.

Emmaline glanced at Darcy, who said, "Come to my study."

Emmaline followed him and pulled the door shut behind her.

"What happened to Charles?"  he demanded at once.

"They found his body in an alley, not far from your offices.  He'd been shot."

"Do they have any idea who did it?"

"No.  He was in a rather unsavory part of the city.  The police think someone
tried to rob him, then ran away once they'd shot him."

"His wallet and watch?"  "Still in hi coat."  Darcy didn't say a word.

"I also came to tell you that you needn't fear for your business.  I can
assure you that several investors are quite convinced of your honesty."

Darcy didn't reply, and she realized her last words had been unimportant to
him.  "Darcy, what is it?  What's happened?"

"It's Blossom.  She's missing."

Blossom.  Not Miss Flowers.  So it was true.  Darcy's relationship with his
ward was definitely intimate.  "Charles is involved, isn't he?  Did she find
out about his embezzling?"

Darcy nodded.  "How did you know?"

"He came to me and tried to tell me you had done it.  He may have had some
foolish idea that I would be only too happy to find a way to discredit you.
I knew that man should be watched, but I didn't think he'd stoop to anything
like this."

"Blossom went to the office to look for evidence that I wasn't the one
stealing from the company.  He found her there and no one has seen her or
heard from her since."

 "You don't think she killed him?"

"If she had, she would have come home."

Tears sprang into Emmaline's eyes at the anguish in Darcy voice.  "Don't
worry, Darcy.  We shall find her."  She didn't want to tell him that it was
more likely Charles had taken her somewhere.  He wouldn't kill her right
away, not a man with such a bestial nature.  He would want to do other things
first.

When she spoke, she tried to sound hopeful.  "It could be that she got away
from him and he simply went down the wrong alley."

"Then she could be anywhere, lost and maybe hurt."  Perhaps it would be
better to prepare him for what they might find, She took a deep breath.  "Or
she could be hid den in one of Charles's houses."

Darcy stared at her.

"Oh, my dear.  You didn't even know that about him?  That he owns property in
the city of a most disgusting sort?"

"I'm beginning to realize I didn't know him at all."

Emmaline smiled sadly.  "You always were much too trusting, my dear.  Come,
I'il take you there."

"How do you know where to go?"

"I make it my business to find out these things."  Darcy went to tell the
others that he was going to look for Blossom and that he didn't know when he
might return.  When he came outside, Emmaline gave her driver a few brief
instructions.  As they entered the carriage, she sat posite him.

Darcy gazed at her steadily.  "Emmaline, I can't tell you what your help may
mean to me."

Emmaline, who had considerable fortitude, didn't have the courage to look
into Darcy's face.  No one would ever feel for her the way he felt about Miss
Flowers and it was a torture to realize that now.  "You love her very much,
don't you?"

He didn't answer.  She reached out to put her hand on his cheek and gently
'turned his face so that he looked at her.  For Once, Darcy wasn't trying to
hide his anguish, and the sheer magnitude of his fearful torment moved her
deeply.  "Oh, my poor dear!  We will find her.  We must!"

Emma line why.  " he began brokenly, but she put her finger to his lips.

"Because I care about you."

He looked even more upset, and she hurriedly began to tell him the truth.
"Darcy, I could never love you, or any other man, try as I might to believe
otherwise.  That capacity has, for good or ill, been driven out of me.  But I
want you to be happy.  Miss Flowers loves you very much, as much as you love
her."

"Emmaline, oh, God, Emmaline.  I don't think I can live without her," he
whispered.

"Then we'll find her," she said briskly, wiping her eyes and determined to
distract him, at least a little.  "My husband has considerable influence with
the authorities."

"Thank you, Emmaline."  He took a deep breath.  "But I think you're wrong
about yourself."

"Oh, don't worry about me, Darcy."  She tried to sound nonchalant.  "I'm
quite content to have control of my husband's purse---and some others
besides."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Didn't you wonder why Neville Northnap was so easily persuaded to break the
engagement with Miss Flowers?"

 "You don't mean..."

"He's quite like having a puppy, and for now he amuses me greatly.  He lets
me invest his money for him, too."

Darcy wasn't fooled by her tone for an instant.  "Tm sorry."

She looked away.  "Don't be.  Please.  I couldn't bear to think of you, or
anyone, pitying me."  Her head came up, her poise returned, and so did her
cool manner.  She glanced out the window as the carriage began to slow.
'"We're here."

Darcy stared in disbelief at the filthy tenement, He knew such places existed
in London, as did everyone, but he had never been near such a squalid, fetid
building.  "Charles owns this?"  .

"He owns three more just like it in other parts of the city."

"I would never have guessed."

"No,you wouldn't.  His methods and motives are totally foreign to a man of
your character,-However, they are not so foreign to me,"

Darcy turned to the beautiful, perfectly groomed woman sitting across from
him.  "You don't own places like this, do you?"

"No."  She looked at hiTM, "I'm not that greedy."  Darcy nodded and got out.
"Wait here."

Emmaline didn't have to be told to comply.  The street below the carriage
wheels was slimy with dirt and other things that his nostrils identified.

Darcy pushed open the door and almost immediately collided with a huge,
stinking man.  The man, his face covered in grime and a drunken look in his
eyes, pushed Darcy into the wall.  Immediately Darcy felt for his wallet--and
immediately realized it was no longer in his coat.  "Stop!"  he called out.

The man turned to him and Darcy saw that he wasn't really drunk at all.  "I
want my property," Darcy said, his voice low and distinct.

"What?"

"I want my wallet."

"Do you?  Come and fetch it then."

Dy saw the gleam of a knife and dodged just in time.  The man lunged for him
again, but he had underestimated his Well-dressed opponent instead of attack
inga city-bred gentleman, he found himself grappling with a man desperately
seek inga woman he loved, a veteran of street fights and brawls, a man who
knew how to protect himself with his fists and his fet, and a man who, when
he got the knife in his hands, knew precisely how to use it.

The thief backed into a corner of the narrow hallway.  He reached into his
dirty coat and tossed the wallet at Darcy.  "Here, take it!"

Darcy picked it up without taking his eyes from his attacker.  "I want
information."

The thief grinned nervously, but his glance kept flicking from Darcy's face
to the knife in his hand.  "Anything you likes, gov."

"Have you seen the man who owns this building?"  "Who's that?"

Darcy had the knife to the man's throat in an instant, his hand gripping the
other man's shirt.  "I said, have you seen the man who owns this building?"

"I can't rightly say, gov.  Don't know who owns it."

 "Then have you seen a gentleman and a lady?"   "No, sir."

Darcy pressed the knife into the man's throat, just enough to dent the skin.
"Are you certain?"

"Certain sure, gov!"

"Is there anybody here who might know the landlord?"  "None that I knows of."

Darcy believed him.  It would be prudent for Charles to use an intermediary
for collecting rent in a place like this.  And whatever else Charles was
proving to be, he was pro-dent.

Darcy let go.  The man rub led his hand against his throat.  "Get out of
here," Darcy muttered.  Then he proceeded to search the rest of the stinking
place, to no avail.  There was no sign of Blossom, and nobody knew anything
of Charles and a lady.

It was the same at the other properties Emmaline took him to.  As they drove'
from tenement to tenement, Darcy demanded that Emmaline tell him all she knew
about Charles.  He realized she was reluctant, but he wanted to know.  He
needed to know.

He learned the full extent of Charles's villainy, the amount of money he'd
stolen, the incredible rents that he charged on buildings that should have
been torn down, the brothels he'd patronized and the prostitutes he'd abused.
These last reports made it quite clear that Charles enjoyed hurting women,
which almost drove Darcy mad with panic.  He could easily envision Charles
taking Blossom somewhere, hurting her, even killing her and dumping her body
somewhere like so much refuse.

The last part of their journey brought them close to the offices of Fitzroy
Shipping.  Darcy scanned the street on one side, while Emmaline surveyed the
other.  She sighed softly and he realized they had been searching all day.

"You should go home, Emmaline.  Order your coachman to take us there."

She turned to him.  "You're exhausted, too.  I'll have the driver take you
home first.  Rest a while and eat something.  Your brother will have the
police searching."

Darcy shook his head.  "I can't rest until I find Blossom."  He went back to
staring out the window.

"Stop!"  he called out almost immediately.  Emmaline moved to look out his
window.  They were now close to the banks of the Thames and she could see a
group of people huddled below on the reeking shore, looking at something that
had washed up from the fiver.

The carriage halted and Darcy moved to open the door.  Emmaline reached out
and grabbed his arm.  "We can send the driver," she said quickly.

Darcy turned to her, his face full of both an awesome strength and a terrible
fear.  She knew 'it was useless to try to detain or spare him.  Without a
word Darcy stepped down and walked toward the little crowd, his back rigidly
straight, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

Chapter Twenty-Two

As Darcy drew closer, he realized most of the people muttering about the
thing laying on the ground were mud larks the poorest of the poor, mainly
children and elderly woman wh made their living scavenging in the mud.  When
they saw that he was coming toward them, they turned their dirty faces and
stared at him.  In the waning light of evening, they looked like grotesque
inhabitants of another world.

Finally, he was close enough to tell what had caught their attention.  A
body.  His throat tightened and breathing became even more difficult.  It was
a human body.  A woman's body, in a soaking, muddy dress.  He forced himself
to go closer, bend down and gently turn the body over.

Not Blossom!  Oh, thank God!  Not Blossom!

But he knew her nonetheless, he realized with a gasp of shock.  It was Sally,
the housemaid.  He looked at the tallest person standing nearby.  "When did
you find her?"

"A little while back."  The person who spoke was only a boy.

"Did you find anything else?"  Darcy asked.  "I'll pay."  Onebf the old
women, a toothless hag, stepped forward and drew out a relatively clean
reticule from somewhere within her garments.  "This.  I found it on the steps
yonder."

Darcy took the purse and opened it.  Inside he found a paper, a note from
Sally.  He read it slowly, then handed the old woman a sovereign.  Her eyes
widened and she clutched it hungrily, scurrying away

A policeman joined them, explaining that the fine lady in the carriage had
alerted him to the "trouble."  Darcy told briefly how he had come to know the
drowned girl and gave the note to the officer.  He read it and shrugged his
shoulders, by his expression clearly used to the corpses that washed up on
the shore of the river.  "Suicide, eh?  Lord, I've seen this too many times.
What's all this about some fellow named Smythe?"

"She shot the bastard, I gather."

The policeman looked shocked.

"The man was my partner.  He was also a thief, a scoundrel who abused women
and was quite capable of mining an innocent young girl.  You need have no
pity for the likes of him."

"Oh.  But surely you don't think she..."

"Yes, I believe what she says---that she shot him, then threw the gun in the
river and herself after it.  I only wish someone had stopped her."

"Well, she put an address on the note.  That'll make things easier."

"I suppose someone will have to inform her mother?"  "Yes."  "I'll do it."

"You don't have to, sir."

"I think it's the least I can do."

"We're supposed to be keep inga look out for a young woman, but I don't think
her name was Sally.  Blossom something, I think."

"This is a different young lady.  I know Miss Blossom Flowers."

"Do you, now?"

But Darcy had already turned and started to walk away.

Darcy persuaded Emmaline to go home.  From her mansion he took a cab and went
on his horrendous errand to tell Sally's mother what had happened to her
daughter, all the while fearing more and more that Blossom, too, would be
found dead, if she was ever found at all.

As a little crowd of the sympathetic and curious gathered outside the doorway
to the humble dwelling, Darcy told Sa!  y's mother as gently and
compassionately as he could about her daughter.  The woman sat in stony
silence for a long moment.  Darcy, not sure what to do, sent one of the
children hovering nearby for the apothecary.  Then the woman gave one long,
low moan and began to cry.  A matronly neighbor hurried into the room, taking
the bereaved mother into her arms as tenderly as one would an injured child.
The apothecary, a careworn, soft-spoken man, listened as Darcy explained the
circumstances, then began to make a mixture to quiet the sobbing woman.

No longer needed, Darcy went out to his waiting cab and only then realized he
was crying, too.

Blossom clutched the shawl more tightly around her face, using her other hand
to try to keep the long skirt from dragging in the dirt.

During the early morning, she had seen a woman hanging some wash on a rope in
a narrow back garden behind a gloomy-looking row house.  Hoping the woman
might understand, and being as quiet as possible, Blossom had climbed over
the fence and taken a skirt and a large cloth to use as a shawl.
Unfortunately, the skirt was made for a woman much taller, and the shawl, she
soon realized, had been used as some kind of a mop.  It smelled terrible.

As the day progressed, she felt less fearful about being alone Since she had
to ask for directions several times, she had to make her way through busy
streets.  But most people ignored her, and she began to think that if
Horton-Smythe was trying to find her, he would have less chance if she was in
a crowded place.

She knew Darcy's house was on a street near Mayfair, and thought that if she
could get there, she would be able to find her way.  A few people she asked
were clearly mystified as to what a l.  rson was doing asking the way to such
a place, but they didn't question her.

By now she was very hungry, but she had gone without food many times before,
thanks to Precious Jade.  More troublesome were her aching feet, and, with
darkness falling once again, the chill night air.  She knew she would soon be
too sore and weak to walk much farther.

Then she saw it, shining in the sunset just over some trees.  The Palace.
The Crystal Palace.  With renewed strength she hurried toward the park,
pulling the shawl from her head for a moment.  Hyde Park.  Yes, she could'
hide there, at least until morning.  Perhaps all she needed was rest.  She
knew now she wasn't so very far from Darcy's house.  Tomorrow she could find
it, and she would be home.

She waited until a cab passed, and then began to cross the road.  All at once
the horse neighed loudly and halted, making the cab jerk to a stop.

Blossom gasped with fear, but it wasn't Charles Horton Smythe who jumped down
from the carriage.

It was Darcy!

"Blossom!"  he cried, running toward her.  In an instant, she was also
running.  She leapt into his eager embrace.

"Oh, my darling, my darling," he whispered, clutching her to his chest.

"My love!"  she answered.

"Are you all right?  Where have you been?"

"I am very well, thank you, sir," she said, smiling up into his beaming face.

"Where have you been?"

"Hey, get out of the middle o' the road!"  another cab-driver yelled.

Darcy picked Blossom up and deposited her inside the cab.  "Did he hurt you?"
he asked as he joined her.

"No.  Oh, Darcy!  I was so frightened, but now I am so happy !"  '

He kissed her tenderly, taking her hand in his as if he'd never let it go.
"We're going home."

As they sat together in the carriage, she told him what 'had hapened and how
she had made her way to Hyde

Park.

He, in turn, told her about Charles Horton-Smythe, and, with some reluctance,
about the fate of Sally.  By the time they reached his house, their joy had
become quiet, subdued by what had happened and what might have been.

Nevertheless, Blossom felt great happiness as she entered the house with
Darcy.  He pointed to the drawing room, and she went in.  And halted.  And
stared.

"Grandma Nanna!"  she whispered as Mrs. Cooper rose shakily to her feet.

"Oh, my baby!  Flora!  Flora!"  the woman cried.

Blossom ran into the elderly woman's arms and buried her face against her
grandmother's shoulder.

Darcy blinked his suspiciously moist eyes and glanced at Sam, who beamed
broadly.  "Aye, it's her, sir.  No doubt of it.  We didn't even tell you what
Flora called Mam, just so we could be certain.  Aye, it's her.  My own lost
niece, come home at last!"

Blossom lifted her face and looked at her grandmother's eyes that she
remembered from so long ago.

"T!I leave you alone for a while."

Blossom whirled around.  "No!"  she cried, making Darcy pause in the doorway.
"You think to leave me again?  Never, never!"  She went to him and pulled
him into the room, looking up into his face.  "Where you are is' my home and
there I will stay," she whispered.  She turned around.  "Grandma Nanna, this
is the man I will marry."

"Maybe you'll come back for a visit before the wedding at least," Sam said
with a wink.

Darcy tried not to betray his feelings, but he would rather have faced a
hurricane in mid ocean than be without Blossom again.

Blossom shook her head.  "I'm sorry, but no.  I will not leave Dar-cee again."

"Why don't you all stay here until the ceremony?"  Darcy suggested.

"Yes, oh, yes!"  Blossom cried happily.

And so it was decided that Blossom's family would remain in London as Darcy's
guests until the wedding.  Since they could act as chaperons, Blossom, too,
could remain in his house until the ceremony, which took place as soon as it
could be arranged.

Other guests on that festive occasion presided over by the Reverend Hazelmore
included the groom's brother and his future bride, Mrs. MacTavish in a new
black silk dress, Lord and Lady Whitmore, Lord Neville Northrnp escorting
Lady Gloriana Shrewtonbury, Mrs. Dulcibe!  la Ditchett, who claimed she had
known this would happen all along, several prominent investors in Fitzroy
Shipping, and, nes-fled together in a pew toward the back of the church, Mr.
Percy Powlett and Ah Tup.

That night, alone in their bed, Blossom kissed Darcy gently.  "Now I am
yours," she said, according to the customs of your country and you, dear
husband, are mine.  "

"Command me then.  I hear and obey," he replied with a smile, mnninghis hands
over her smooth skin,

She laughed softly, leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

"Good God!  I thought I'd heard of everything!"  he exclaimed.

Blossom smiled seductively.  "Am I not trained by the most famous concubine
in all of Canton?"

Darcy grinned slyly, then to her surprise and delight, he said in Cantonese,
"Am I not the most fortunate of men, having such a supreme lady?"

"Dar-cee!"  she cried, vastly pleased.

"I got Ah Tup to teach me," he said, chuckling softly.  "I am the most
fortunate of women.  And now" -- she kissed him slowly, deeply, leisurely
"--and now I will make sure you never wish to leave this bed."

"I think you might succeed, my darling."