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Clemmie's Major
by Lesley-Anne McLeod
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Romance/Historical Fiction

Copyright ©2007 by Lesley-Anne McLeod

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CHAPTER ONE

Major Gideon Rhyle, late of the 11th Light Dragoons, shifted uncomfortably on one of the rough benches set in the yard of a prosperous coaching inn situated in the old town of Guildford.

His shallow-crowned beaver hat rested beside him, as did a stout, simple crutch. His gray eyes narrowed against the glare of midday in August as he gratefully received the heat of the midsummer sun on his aching body. His great height and massive frame, at the best of times, made four hours spent in a stagecoach an ordeal. This was not the best of times.

He idly considered the tankard of ale in his hand, then lifted his gaze to survey the innyard. It was a busy place, as were all the inns of Guildford; their position on the Portsmouth Road bestowed on them popularity and renown. He took pleasure in observing the ordinary details of daily life that he had missed in the past five years—the ostler with a straw between his teeth, washing mud from a coach; an immaculate postilion checking his saddle; the serving maid with a soiled apron talking at the kitchen door with a laundry maid who had slipped off her clogs for a moment. A scent of roasting meat wafted from that open door, mingling with the warm odour of horses, leather and hay and, more faintly, the scents of the sea and the harbour at low tide.

With a rumble of iron-rimmed wheels, a substantial crested coach drawn by a quartet of matched bays swung into the innyard. It slowed as the ostler leapt forward, and the coachman drew his horses to a halt. A groom jumped from his perch, waved the ostler aside, and let down the coach's step.

A plump young maid, plainly gowned and bonneted, stepped to the ground. She turned and swung out a little boy of about five years. He was possessed of wayward auburn curls and was pulling fretfully at his dark blue skeleton suit. A lady—a tall, shapely young woman with a calm, comely face—followed the boy. She accepted the groom's hand with a pleasant smile and a word of thanks. She was gowned simply and sombrely; her traveling costume was a fine dark grey silk, and a black straw bonnet revealed only a single auburn curl. She bent to hear something the child said, smiled and took his hand.

The party advanced to the inn's main door to Rhyle's left, away from the yard he faced. Hastily setting his tankard aside, he straightened. He seized his heavy crutch in one large, well-shaped hand and, leaning on it heavily, rose. Once upright he paused, breathing heavily against the pain that spread from his thigh, upward to his hip and down as far as his ankle. With his well-favoured face set unconsciously in lines of suffering, he took half a dozen halting steps toward the old oak door, and bowed politely to the party.

The maid shot him a saucy, curious look, which he did not return. The child skipped up to him interestedly. “Are you a giant, sir?” he piped, tipping back his curly head the better to observe Rhyle's face above him.

“Christopher!” The lady, who had not appeared at first to see Rhyle at all, now surveyed him with a mingling of doubt, compassion and admiration as she admonished the child.

The little boy responded immediately to the reproof in her tone. “I beg pardon, sir, but you are very tall.” He held out his small hand with touching confidence.

Rhyle smothered a grin, and gripped the little fingers gently but firmly. They exchanged a brief handshake, man and boy. “He speaks nothing but the truth,” Rhyle said, lifting his grey gaze to the lady's face. “Surely he cannot be faulted for it."

He scarcely understood the urge that had moved him to stand and all but intercept the small group. The woman and child were undoubtedly mother and son. Though his father must have shaped the child's face, he shared hazel eyes with his mother—set widely beneath generous brows—and their small straight noses were identical.

“I thank you for your forbearance, sir,” she said in a soft, low voice. She met his gaze directly, with gratitude in her look. “He is ever an honest, inquisitive child."

Speechless, the major bowed once more.

She hesitated, then turned away to speak with her servants. “Take Christopher within, Jenny.” She summoned the groom who was assisting his coachman. “Marshall, examine the carriage carefully, if you please. I would have no more mishaps like that of yesterday."

“A mishap?” Rhyle was filled with sudden concern, though he was well aware he had no right to it. He glanced at the groom, who swung away immediately to obey his mistress.

“A cracked pole ... a disaster averted.” The lady seemed surprised by her own explanation, and with a polite, discouraging smile at Rhyle, she hurried with her maid and child into the inn.

Gideon Rhyle watched them disappear, and limped back to pick up his hat, leaning heavily on his crutch. He knew now very well what had moved him to accost the party. He had once dreamt there was just such a woman in the world for him; a woman he could cherish and with whom he would create a home, and raise a family. His action had been a momentary fulfillment of the fantasy.

Reality reestablished, he recalled that in the last year or two, the vision had faded. Now, suffering the aftereffects of battle and the disillusion of injury, he was done with dreams. He donned his hat. His stagecoach's horses were being harnessed.

The crested coach was unhitched and turned. The lady, it was plain from the painted indicator on the door, was the wife of an earl. Of course, he had recognized her position; her carriage, clothes and composure proclaimed it, despite the lack of height in her manner. He considered with anxiety the difficulty of the cracked pole they had encountered the previous day, then shook his head over the illogical concern. It was another man's privilege to be worried over it.

The coachman of the stage appeared with his guard, and the signal was given that the coach would soon depart. Rhyle took a tentative, awkward step accepting yet more pain from the movement, and then limped slowly to the door of the stagecoach. With the guard's help, he settled reluctantly within, the countess’ coach removed from his view. He wished that her lovely face might be so easily expunged from his memory.

* * * *

It was only one day later that Clementina, Countess of Carmelth, said to her little son, “We are nearly arrived, my love; do you see, the signposts bespeak Brighton, rather than London now.” Though their traveling coach was the latest in design and possessed of every comfort, she would be glad to quit it when they achieved their destination. Even the modern springs incorporated into the coach's construction had not been able to ameliorate the rough roads earlier in the day. The turnpike that they now traversed was blessedly smooth.

“I am tired of journeying, Mama,” he said. Moodily, the young earl kicked the blue plush of the opposite seat.

“You did not sleep well last night.” She considered his small face lovingly, then drew him to sit upon her lap with scant regard for the silk of her gown.

“I kept thinking of Sponge,” he admitted, resting his curly head upon her bosom. Lady Carmelth smiled over his head at the nursemaid, Jenny. Sponge was the liver-spotted spaniel puppy, the runt of his litter, which her son had adopted.

“Sponge will be fine. Did not Jenks promise to care for him, Master Kit?” the younger girl assured him.

“Besides we must have made this journey, my darling,” Lady Carmelth reminded her son. “Grandmama and Grandpapa have not seen us for ever so long. With Aunt Eleonora to be wed, and Aunt Felicity a toast of London society, we had to seize this opportunity to visit.” She sighed.

She had had no real wish to travel into Sussex to Wheeling Hall, where her family was staying at the home of Eleonora's betrothed, Robert, Viscount Damerham. She had rather have visited them at home in Suffolk where they might be private.

But her family was a busy one, eminent in the ton, active in government, and now, of all times, they needed to be together. Her older brother Nicholas, her father's heir, was missing following the action in Belgium at Waterloo.

She had been apart from all her family's activity these five years. At eighteen, she had wed the youthful Earl of Carmelth, and was bereaved while with child, a year later. When she had only just emerged from her confinement and her mourning, the grandfather of her late husband had died and she had been plunged into black again. Her mother-in-law's death but eight months previous had prolonged the family's suffering, and it required that she remain at Carmelth with the only survivor of her husband's family, his grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Carmelth.

Her own family, whom she had desperately missed during the early months of her marriage, became secondary to her new life. Her son was the centre of her existence, and the family seat of his earldom was his world. It was out of duty to her son's estate and to the dowager countess that Clementina had remained at Carmelth in Gloucestershire the better part of five years.

Her family had of course paid visits, some fleeting, some—when her sisters came—extended. But this was Clementina's first trip of any distance in a very long time ... a lifetime, it seemed. Despite the unwelcome destination, she looked forward to introducing the world to her child. And she anticipated experiencing with him her noisy, large, loving and active family. Though touched by sadness, she knew they would not grieve until and unless they knew without doubt that Nicholas was killed. In the carnage that had been Waterloo, ‘missing’ might mean anything.

“Look at the sojers, Mama!"

The piping voice distracted her from her musings. She directed her gaze to follow her son's pointed finger to several exhausted looking men in the tattered remnants of uniform who reclined at the road's dusty verge. She scanned them carefully, but her charming brother's fine face did not look back at her. She knew that it was foolish to look for him everywhere, but she could not abandon even the smallest possibility.

“The poor men,” she said. “They have come back from the war, Christopher Nicholas, to find that there is no work for them, that their old life is gone. We do what we can. We have employed several at Carmelth."

“Like Jenks,” he nodded.

“Yes,” she said, dropping a kiss on his soft curls.

“Do you s'pose the giant was a sojer?"

“The gentleman was not a giant,” she scolded very gently. “As you very well know. But yes, to answer your question, very possibly he was a soldier."

One wounded in action, she thought to herself, for pain had carved deep lines in his strong-boned face. From the shadow of the inn's doorway, she had watched him limp awkwardly with his crutch to the stagecoach.

She was grateful that her thoughts were interrupted as their fine carriage swung through a set of open, rather rusty iron gates. The drive was edged closely about with overgrown rhododendrons but they gradually fell away and Clementina leaned from her seat to the coach window to catch a first glimpse of Wheeling Hall.

She wrinkled her nose at the dust and shielded her eyes against the setting August sun. The house was imposing, but of indeterminate age and architecture. Of more interest were the people who stood beside the wide main door. “I do believe Grandpapa is on the step. Yes he is, and so too is Susan,” she referred to her father and to her youngest sister. “How can they have guessed the moment of our arrival?"

She was interrupted as the coach lurched to a halt and Clementina found trepidation mixed with the excitement flooding her. It was some months since she had seen any member of her family. They had been involved in the London Season while she had been planning the year's work at Carmelth. Now, with sadness stalking them, how should they behave?

She gathered up her bead-fringed reticule and her fan, replaced her long-abandoned bonnet, and combed her fingers through Kit's tangled curls. She waited for the step to be let down, then stepped out into her father's arms.

His embrace was warm, and she knew immediately that she need have experienced no concern. The Marquess of Cheriton was a big man, kindly, preoccupied and clever, with a great affection for his six children. His neckcloth was awry, and his coat had been pulled on hastily. Clementina noted it lovingly, as she was herself subjected to a keen survey. She coloured a little and proudly presented Kit to his grandfather.

The older man shook hands gravely then picked up the child and tossed him, squealing with pleasure, over his shoulder. “You and the child are well,” Cheriton stated rather than asked. “He has recovered from his fall?"

“Yes, indeed and it is so good to see you Papa. It seems an age since you were at Carmelth.” She could not speak of Nicholas in the joy of reunion, but his wise eyes told her that her father understood.

“It's been nearly a year ... too long without you and this rascal.” The marquess turned his burden so that they could exchange a wide smile.

Clementina embraced her fair-haired young sister who had been waiting patiently.

Susan burst into speech. “I have been on the watch for you all day. We are holding dinner back. What a smashing bonnet, Clemmie!"

Clementina answered her young sister with a laugh. “I brought you one very similar, Susan, though not so very somber. But what shocking language! And James not even home from Eton. You look wonderful, my darling; you've grown."

“Wait until you see James! He is to meet us in Brighton; he must be taller than you."

“Do you come in; dinner is being held. I think we should dine, then you and the boy may retire. You must be weary.” The marquess set his grandson on his feet and led the way within.

They passed indoors from the brilliance of a dusty sunset, to a spacious passage made dim and cool by thick walls.

Inside the great oak door of Wheeling Hall, Clementina paused and said, “What an unusual house, Papa!"

“You are right there, my girl,” Cheriton replied. “The story is that Damerham's grandfather commissioned it from Adam, but Lady Ann has taken a turn for the Gothic, to the result you see."

“Lady Damerham is Gothic in everything,” Susan said. She flushed as her father quelled her with a frown.

Clementina considered her young sister, and tucked away several half-formed questions.

Cheriton was continuing as though his youngest daughter had not spoken. “I believe most everyone is in the Hall waiting for you.” He released Kit's hand, and introduced the stout butler who hurried up. “This is Pate, Lady Damerham's man; he is invaluable."

The man bowed with great dignity, and said, “Thank you, my lord. If I can be of any assistance, my lady, I would be most honoured."

Clementina smiled and thanked him, as he led them into the Hall. The chamber they entered confirmed her first impression of Gothic reconstruction. Two airy parlours had been knocked in to one and the ceiling beamed to imitate a vast medieval-style great hall.

The rest of the party was gathered at one end of the chamber, where tall doors led out to a wide east-facing terrace already dim with twilight. The ladies of Clementina's family hastened to her: her mother, the Marchioness of Cheriton, fair and handsome, and her sisters Eleonora and Felicity, close in age and alike in beauty. Embraces were exchanged, but mindful of the chamber's other occupants the marchioness soon quelled her daughters and performed the necessary introductions.

The widowed Lady Damerham was a vague-looking lady of middle age dressed in a curiously shapeless gown with a braided girdle about her ample waist. Her daughter, Miss Louisa Rainley, was a diminutive, dark-browed, rebellious looking girl with a mop of rich brown hair barely confined by a dingy riband. She appeared to be about seventeen years old.

Robert Rainley, the Viscount Damerham, was a stolid, pleasant-faced young man who took up Eleonora's hand possessively and made the newcomers a ponderous bow.

Clementina greeted them all pleasantly, concealing her curiosity, and gently drew Kit from behind her to make his bow. But shyness overcame him and he began to weep.

“Come my love, you remember Grandmama?” Clementina said. “He is very tired,” she said to her mother.

“Of course he is,” that lady said. She bent to the child's level.

Christopher, the Earl of Carmelth, hiccuped and allowed his grandmother to cuddle him.

Clementina took the opportunity to call Jenny to her side, and to say to her hostess, “Lady Damerham, I beg your indulgence for my poor child. He must retire. If Pate will direct us? I shall go above stairs just momentarily with them and return directly."

The mistress of the house waved a small, pudgy hand at her major domo and the butler, who had lingered with the nursemaid near the door, said, “I should be delighted, my lady."

Clementina saw her child and his nurse to their chamber, the house passing in a blur of inept Gothic decoration. After refreshing herself, leaving off her bonnet, and assuring Kit that she would soon return to him, she followed the butler—who had waited patiently in the corridor—back down the broad stairs to the hall.

Immediately upon their return Pate, alerted by a footman, announced the dinner, and ushered the party to the dining chamber.

When they were all seated—with little attention to protocol and only some regard for comfort—Clementina said, “This is delightful beyond anything.” She observed the beloved faces of her family around the table, and smiled at her hostess who nodded amiably across the expanse of linen.

“How kind of you to open your home to us,” she said to her host, seated at the head of the table, on her left hand.

He flushed and stammered a polite disclaimer. She had had a concern when she had heard of Eleonora's betrothal that her sister was making a mistake similar to her own; that she was marrying a young man without close acquaintance, or thoughtful consideration. Upon meeting Robert, however, she fancied she was mistaken. Lord Damerham was responsible, kindly, and pedantic. He was as unimaginative and dependable as Eleonora herself, and their attachment, Clemmie realized, was deep and genuine.

The dinner proceeded without formality. The food was rather inferior, the service remarkably good, Clementina noted. She spied an harassed look upon the butler's face, and wondered at its cause. But her attention was claimed by her father, seated on her right hand.

“Yes, Papa?” She turned to him, certain she knew his question.

“You will see if you can make any improvement in our dinner fare?” he asked.

“I will of course, but I am only just arrived,” she said.

“I am well aware of it. And I also know that you will be about improvements and easements wherever you may so soon as you have looked about you."

“Papa!” she protested with a laugh. “Though it seems to me that the cook is likely very good at her job, when she has proper help. A shortage of staff would explain Pate's distressed expression."

Her father snorted. “Minx, I have missed you."

“And I you, Papa. But despite that I enjoy your company, I think that tomorrow I must change the seating arrangement here at table. We are happy you and I, but only observe poor Susan, seated between Felicity and Louisa. Our poor little dear deserves better, and I believe we are comfortable enough here to be so rude as to rearrange ourselves."

She was proved right about informality as Eleonora spoke to her from across the table. “This is very nice, though I do wish, Clemmie, that you had joined us in London for the Season."

Clementina shook her lace-capped head decidedly. “I had no wish to join in the Season, my dear. I would only have been an object of pity and curiosity, and of gallantry. I have no need for pity, no time for curiosity and no wish for gallantry. Indeed, I have no desire to wed again, and so..."

“And so, your widow's cap?” Felicity asked. She paused in picking at her food to stare with visible distaste at the confection that covered much of Clemmie's luxuriant auburn hair.

“This conversation is unsuitable to be held in company,” the marchioness said. She turned the subject. “Clementina perhaps will join us next Season, and we must be thankful she is with us now, at this trying time. You are good, Lady Ann, to bear with our uncertainty."

Lady Damerham made a dismissive noise, but did not speak, as she was fully involved in her plate.

“Shall James be long in joining us? I have not seen him for an age.” Clementina followed her mother's lead in conversation. “Christopher will be over the moon to be in his company."

“He will come to us at Brighton,” Susan said from her position well down the table.

Lady Cheriton looked scandalized by the informal conversational flow about the dining room, though she said nothing of it.

“Then we shall be delightfully crowded.” Clementina observed Susan's pleasure at her words, Felicity's dismay, Louisa Rainley's determined scowl, and Eleonora and Robert's absorption in each other.

Nicholas should be with them; he would rejoin them, she was certain of it. A warm smile curved her generous mouth and lit her hazel eyes. Truly, she reflected, it was delightful to be in company and in the bosom of her large family again. To her surprise, it occurred to her to wonder if Christopher's ‘giant’ had had such a happy close to his journey. She hoped that he had.

* * * *

Gideon Rhyle, seated in his cousin's handsome drawing room, nodded amiably to his cousin's chatter while allowing his attention to wander. In the normal way, he did not suffer fools in silence, but his cousin was not quite a fool, and at his present stage of recuperation, her homely inanities were comforting.

He had been wounded in mid-June on the continent. He had taken two weeks to arrive at his home in Lincolnshire, and had spent a month there surrounded by all the comforts his parents and siblings could command. When his cousin's invitation, to spend time in the south of England at her home, had arrived, he had accepted as much for his family's sake as his own. He had had a need to prove to them and to himself that all would be well with him. He had spent a few days in Leicestershire with close friends and then had wandered south, traveling as his strength permitted, seeing more of his own country than he had previously in his life. He found the southern countryside as gentle, pastoral and comforting as he could have wished. But the travel had been almost too much for him; he had overestimated even his unusual strength. His journey's end had been a relief and he was content to be pampered.

He shifted in his chair, and set his teacup on a nearby table. The only real fault of his cousin, Lady Polegate, was her desire to improve her social standing. He discovered on his arrival that his mother's niece was married to a country squire as unpretentious as he was himself. But she was resolute in her pursuit of the fashionable, and she had chosen frail Egyptian-styled furnishings for her home. Gideon was hard put to find a chair in her drawing room that he was convinced would bear his substantial frame. He thought it fortunate that his illness had caused him to lose flesh; at his best fighting weight, he would have had to sit on the fine Wilton carpet.

The thought caused him to smile, which moved his cousin to break off her flood of information.

“Really Gideon, you were such a hobbledehoy of a lad, it gives me pause to see you now, so elegant and presentable. And that smile ... well, it causes me wonder that you are not wed."

“Ah they all like the smile, Catherine,” he jested, remembering the little lad's words at Guildford. “But the ladies cannot abide the giant's frame. And as for being presentable, ‘tis only a superficial impression created for the titled company I have been keeping. I am—was—only a simple soldier."

“Soldier perhaps, simple never. My aunt wrote me of your work with the Foreign Office and those other officers. What were they called? Some Frenchy word."

“Reconnaissance officers,” he said, repressing a smile.

“Yes, them. Besides you are not a giant. Large certainly, but well knit...” She stopped and coloured a little, an almost-pretty mouse of a woman.

“You'll have me blushing; best leave it be,” he said, allowing the kind smile to appear.

“Well in any event, as I was saying, we have our own circle of friends, and they shall be glad to include you in their entertainments. A new face is always a diversion. Such as we have of the upper classes in our neighbourhood are not sociable. Lord Valence I should not countenance to receive, though Sir Martin finds him conversable. His sister is oddly reclusive. Lady Damerham is said to be entertaining some nobs at the Hall, but only because of her son's betrothal, and you may be certain those guests will have a sad time for an odder woman you may never meet."

“Valence?” asked the major. “Now there's a name I know. I did not remember he was from the south."

“I might have known you would be acquainted with the most disreputable character in the neighbourhood,” sighed Lady Polegate. “Well, you may not bring him here."

Lady Polegate's sons burst into the room.

Gideon grinned at his nephews. They were stout lads of nine and eleven years, bursting with rude health, and stuffed with plans for his entertainment. “I shall visit Valence at his home,” he said, “if I have opportunity. I have promised Sir Martin as much of my father's farming wisdom as I can recall, and your boys have vowed to show me the best fishing in the whole of England."

He added, “I need no entertainment, cousin, as well you know. I shall be happier spending time with your lads than anything. Don't trouble your head about me.” He rose leaning on his crutch and, with a boy on either side, limped from the chamber. He was conscious that his cousin's worried gaze followed him. She would be even more worried, he thought with a grimace, had she known that his thoughts too often rested upon a married lady chance met at Guildford.

CHAPTER TWO

Clementina was accustomed to rise early at Carmelth, but her journey, and her happy reunion with her family, caused her to sleep more deeply and longer the next morning than she had for many months. It was eleven by every mantel and long-case clock before she and Christopher were dressed and, hand in hand, were led by a maid to the breakfast parlour. That room had remarkably escaped Lady Damerham's Gothicizing and was a sunny chamber painted in a soft shade of eau de nile and furnished with homely oak.

The ladies of her family and her hostesses were all at breakfast. Her mother considered her keenly, and smiled at her in an approving way that made Clementina long for a comfortable cose with her. But first her sisters claimed her attention. The two older—at nineteen years and twenty only thirteen months apart—were seated side by side at table, and their fair beauty was as always dazzling. A brief examination of their identical oval faces told Clementina that although Felicity was not in spirits, Eleonora was, as usual, content.

Young Susan greeted her with pleasure and rose to lift her small nephew into a well-cushioned chair. She took the opportunity to hiss in Clementina's ear, “Papa was here but is gone back to the library. He is seldom elsewhere. That's Louisa, remember? She's beastly."

Not by a flicker of an eyelash did Clementina indicate that she had heard this youthful indictment of Miss Rainley, but she turned her gaze to the young lady and smiled warmly at her. She was rebuffed by a blank stare.

She made a mental note of it, wondered briefly about the young lady, then turned to help Kit to a substantial breakfast. There was a dearth of toast, but the buttered eggs looked appetizing, and there was no shortage of ham, deviled kidneys and kippers.

It became clear within minutes that Lady Damerham was going to make none of the usual efforts of a hostess, and to Clementina's surprise she shortly drifted out of the chamber by doors which opened onto a sunny terrace.

It was the marchioness who undertook to organize the remainder of the party. “Clementina, it is a joy to have you with us. When Christopher has eaten his fill, he and I shall go upstairs and become reacquainted. You might like the opportunity to talk with your sisters."

“I shall be delighted to be engaged in conversation with anyone and everyone. Adult chatter is a luxury I am often without.” Clementina smiled gleefully at her sisters.

Kit had slept well and with bright curiosity he stared at the relatives around him. Then he tucked into his plate with determination. “I shall grow as big as the giant sojer, Mama,” he said, around a mouthful of egg.

The marchioness stood, and directed an enquiring glance at her eldest daughter.

“Merely someone we saw on our journey,” Clementina explained, annoyed to find herself colouring faintly. “A large man, grievously wounded, I think, but very kind."

Lady Cheriton paid no heed to her daughter's high colour. Clementina saw that her youngest sister, however, had made note of the mention and the blush. She applied herself to assisting Christopher to finish his meal. “There you are my love.” She wiped his small mouth. “Do you go with Grandmama now, then later we shall walk and explore the countryside."

“Your mother shall come with Nurse in a little, Christopher.” Lady Cheriton took her grandson's rather sticky little hand without hesitation. “Felicity will show you to my suite, Clementina. Please come to me in an hour."

Clementina nodded her agreement, and turned politely to Miss Rainley. Before she could speak however, that young lady rose, turned on her heel and also quitted the breakfast parlour.

“You can see what a happy group we are,” Felicity murmured, as she stood with a twitch of her blue muslin gown.

“Hush,” Clementina said. “Susan, you may go to my chamber and rummage in the green bandbox. Jenny will be busy unpacking and will aid you. Your bonnet is in that box and you may choose some ribands."

She watched the younger girl depart, then she turned again to her other two beautiful sisters. She was not in the least surprised or hurt that they did not enquire the state of her health or spirits, or that they expressed no interest in what had occupied her during the months in which they had been separated. She was quite accustomed to the disinterest with which both regarded the world, except as it closely affected them.

Even Nicholas’ disappearance would be but an occasional sadness to Felicity, though it could be expected that Eleonora's soft heart would be touched with concern.

“Lady Damerham is very pleasant,” Eleonora said in a tone unusually forceful for so gentle a person.

“She must be witless to create a mausoleum out of a pleasant enough house, and live here without company or distraction,” countered Felicity, ready to join battle.

“That will do,” Clementina said, with all the authority of her four years’ seniority. “Where is the viscount?” she enquired of Eleonora, whose wide blue eyes were swimming with tears over the insults to her family-to-be.

“Robert had to meet with his bailiff and begged your understanding for not being present at breakfast to greet you."

In this sentence, Clementina recognized Lord Damerham's ponderous mannerisms.

Eleonora added, “He said I might come to him after welcoming you.” She brightened at the memory.

“Then that is what you must do. We will have a lovely cose later. I have brought you a curious and pretty floss trimming I saw quite by chance in my favourite shop in Swindon. It will trim a rose-coloured gown beautifully."

Eleonora had risen and was making her way to the door. She turned at those words, and said, “I have a new length of silk."

“You must show it me presently. Off you go,” Clementina urged.

She was left alone with Felicity, whom she recognized as brimming with information and irritation. She gestured that the servants might leave them to their coffee.

Without hesitation her remaining sister burst into speech. “They—Eleonora and Robert—are ever mooning about somewhere, and have done nothing else since we arrived three days ago. I am left with dear Louisa, or Susan for companion. I have never been so happy to see you."

Clementina accepted that doubtful accolade with equanimity.

“You may tell me all as you show me to my chamber,” she soothed. “And I will inform you about your nephew and our rather commonplace, boring journey. But first advise me about this odd house. I shall be afraid to wander about alone. Once lost, one might never be found!"

Felicity pulled a face at her sister, destroying her elegant aspect. “You are never afraid, Clemmie, and never bored. But this visit may try even your patience."

They left the breakfast room, mounted the impressive main staircase, turned into a long passage lined with ancestral portraits in the antique style, and walked on. They passed newly fashioned Gothic-style windows, and an occasional squat suit of armor. The casements stood open, giving access to a summer breeze laden with the scent of the roses that clambered over the front of the house.

“Wheeling Hall is a rapidly deteriorating pile of stone.” Felicity said. “It has been so extended it resembles our maze at Shardleigh. I became lost one day, and came upon that miserable Louisa, and she would not assist me. And there is so little staff that it took quite half an hour to find anyone of use."

“Begin at the beginning,” Clementina said, realizing she could not divert her sister's attention.

“It is the worst thing imaginable. London is in the midst of celebrations. The ton is all in Paris. We are midway between Brighton and Tunbridge Wells, and there is not a thing to do. There is no one else in company to even our numbers or provide some interest. Lady Damerham is an indifferent hostess. She has not the least tact, and will say whatever comes into her mind. It is most discomfiting. She is taken up with herb gardens, and Gothic antiquities, and antique dress. And if that were not enough, she lives retired so that we are not invited to any parties in the neighbourhood. Dear Louisa is a little beast. She is envious of Eleonora and me, and even Susan, and takes no pains to conceal it. Papa naturally has found the library, and studies his wretched political papers. His gout makes him impatient and he only notices when dinner is poorly, as it often is! And Mama is busy trying to keep us comfortable, and be brave about Nicholas. Well I daresay he is just fine, and celebrating the victory somewhere cozy."

Clementina blinked at this cavalier dismissal of her beloved brother's possibly dire situation.

But her sister was continuing. “And no one can converse about anything with Robert as a matter of course.” She at length ran out of breath, and paused in her litany of complaint, looking pitiful.

Clementina considered her in silence. She understood very well that Felicity's only problem was that she had no one to admire her or to entertain her. Society was her vocation and her avocation. The selfish beauty had no inclination to occupy herself with music, art or needlework, and she had no interest in books.

“Well,” Clementina said, experiencing a desire to both chuckle unsympathetically and to box her sister's ears. “We shall have to find something to do."

Felicity stopped walking, and looked hopeful.

“Is this my chamber?” Clementina asked, opening the nearest door. “Ah, of course it is.” She smiled at her maid, who was unpacking a large valise, and bent to pick up a toy horse which stood upon a platform with little wheels.

She drew her sister into the chamber, and closed the door. “Has Susan been in, Jenny?"

“She has, my lady. She advised that she was going riding."

“It is a pity the nursery here is in disarray,” Felicity said, wandering the room, paying no heed to her sister's maid. “Mind you, every room is in a pitiful state. Did you not bring your dresser?"

“I have not got a dresser, and I have no need of a nursery. I can manage for myself, with a little help from Jenny; she scarcely knows if she is nursemaid or lady's maid.” Clementina smiled at the cheerful young woman. “I prefer to have Kit near to me.” She pointed at the adjoining small chamber. “These rooms—see, we have two—this arrangement is excellent.” She felt unusually impatient with her selfish sister.

“Here is the green band box. Now, Felicity, this floss is for Eleonora, but this broad lace is yours. I saw a cunning new way of draping it in Reading. We paused for the passing of a herd of sheep and I spied a display in a draper's window. There is a fan here for each of you—designs I never before saw—but you must decide between you which will be whose. And there are the most glorious ribands. Why don't you take it all to your chamber?” She smiled as her elegant sister responded with unaffected pleasure at the gifts. “But please to show me to Mama's suite, as you go. Jenny, come along for Kit, if you please."

Felicity's conversation then was all of fashion, and Clementina listened with only half her attention, as she was led down the maze of corridors. The house was in sad condition, she noticed; Eleonora would have her work cut out, as the new mistress of Wheeling Hall.

Felicity paused and indicated they had found the marchioness’ suite. She then trotted off, her golden head bent over the contents of the bandbox.

Clementina knocked gently upon the door. She entered, gesturing to her maid to follow, on her mother's invitation. Christopher ran to her and she swung him up for a swift embrace. “Off you go with Jenny, my love. I shall see you shortly.” She watched maid and child leave the chamber then turned to her mother.

Elizabeth Reginia Haythe had been a beauty in her day, and was still a fine looking woman. In middle age her figure was statuesque, and her fair hair was fading gracefully to silver, but her blue eyes were still young, and her skin only finely lined. She was gowned in mauve silk with a wide Norwich shawl draped over her elbows.

Clementina was wrapped briefly in a warm maternal embrace, then bidden to sit down. She obeyed, aware that she was being subjected to a careful scrutiny. She spoke, forestalling her parent. “We are very comfortable, Mama; Kit is restored already, as you see. I feared the journey might knock him up; I should have known it would not."

“Your anxiety does you credit. Christopher is a fine child, for you are a good mother. We had a pleasant half hour. But you are my concern at this moment. How are you? Have you quite recovered your health and spirits? That fire was an unfortunate incident coming as it did on the heels of your bereavements."

“I am fully recovered, Mama. When last you saw me I was a little worn down to be sure, but life at Carmelth is pleasant despite the losses we have suffered. I am sorry to have caused you worry."

“Your life has not been at all what I had hoped,” her mother said. “But I cannot regret your marriage. Carmelth was a fine match.” She appeared to reflect on the deceased earl's standing and properties with approbation. “So disconcerting, his passing so suddenly."

Clementina choked with dismay and laughter at this inadequate description of her young husband's accidental death. Her grief had eased long ago, and she could only remark, “Ah well, we can none of us foresee the future. Mama, what of Nicholas? I look at every soldier with hope, every tattered uniform with anticipation...” She was reminded of the big man at Plymouth. She should have asked him his regiment; he might have helped ... he might have known her brother. She had been strangely confused and bereft of common sense she realized, by the chance encounter.

“We know nothing, my dear.” The strain was suddenly apparent in Lady Cheriton's fine eyes. “Your father has tried every means he knows and has been able to learn nothing, but that Nicholas certainly fell at Waterloo, wounded at least.... We must not give up hope, to do so would be to abandon him; he may have been aided—ill—he may still be out of his senses, unable to send word to us."

“Papa?” Clementina put the ‘giant’ aside.

“He tries to believe, tries not to think of the worst, but it wears on him. We shall do better now that you are with us.” The marchioness visibly dismissed her uncharacteristic melancholy, and changed the subject. “I expect Felicity has already poured out her heart to you? She will keep moaning about the Season, and London, as though there would be anyone yet left in town. They've all gone to Paris."

“Except Grandmama Haythe,” Clementina said, consciously willing herself to gaiety.

The marchioness’ face lightened. “Indeed, Grandmama Haythe. How she can bear to stay in the metropolis year about I cannot understand ... especially this year with constant celebrations by the masses.” She sniffed offendedly, and considered the question for a moment. She then dismissed it.

“Clementina, we seem constantly in motion these days; I am sorry there could be no question of our visiting Carmelth. We travel from here to Brighton, where Cheriton has taken a house. The town will be thin of company by the time we arrive, but that will suit our mood. We care little for gaiety just now. Eleonora and I are attempting to settle some plans for her wedding, and Lady Damerham is of little assistance. I had forgot how trying she could be. She has not much changed since we were all on the town, but she has taken an unaccountable fancy to antiquity. She seems to live in the days of King Henry, and is quite intolerant of modern dress and manners. And the house..."

“At least Eleonora will have no lack of tasks to occupy her upon her marriage,” Clementina said with another lively smile.

The marchioness snorted. “Lady Ann immediately put up Felicity's back by commenting unfavourably upon her checked muslin gown. And Louisa! Well the poor child has had a restricted upbringing, but it does not excuse her behaviour. She is rude, and unmannerly. I quite expect she will fall in love with Nicholas when she meets him.” She paused in her quick speech, and closed her eyes, her anguish visible to Clementina's worried gaze. “God grant she has that opportunity.” She smiled with obvious effort. “Susan is the only one enjoying this visit, and that is because she is running wild. I only thank heaven James is not here."

“Mama!” Clementina was shocked by the catalogue of anxieties presented by her mother; that lady ordinarily commanded the family with effortless mastery. She attempted to offer comfort. “I can see I may be of assistance. I shall prevent Felicity from tormenting Louisa, and the reverse. Susan may entertain Kit. Eleonora and Robert will be no trouble, and you can care for Papa!"

Lady Cheriton was moved to a strained chuckle. “You are ever a comfort and a joy. But this should be a diversion for you, a rest and a respite, not a care-filled stay."

“We shall none of us rest easy until we have word of Nicholas. But we shall contrive some diversion for all. Kit will enjoy becoming acquainted with everyone, and just to be relieved of the care of Carmelth is a rare treat for me.” She rose, and added, “I must go and see to my darling now. Have we a nuncheon usually, Mama?"

“Sometimes, my dear, sometimes. It is all extreme variable. And dinner! One night we sat in the dining room for above half of an hour, waiting on the service of the meal. Well, you saw yourself the lack of toast and muffins this morning."

“Something will have to be done, Mama.” Clementina smiled with genuine mischief, and was sped on her way by her mother's understanding and relieved laughter.

* * * *

Major Gideon Rhyle was accustomed to an active life, for allied to his strong and energetic body was an enquiring mind. His injury had forced upon him a degree of inactivity that was disagreeable, but he did not refine upon it.

He determined to fill his days in Sussex with a great deal of reading, such exercise as he could endure, and as much social interaction as he could tolerate. He intended to enjoy comfortable chats with Sir Martin Polegate about farming and estate management, and spend a good deal of time with his cousin's sons. And once he had heard that Lord Valence was in residence at Haldene Priory, he resolved to wait upon that gentleman.

As he could not at present ride, he walked to make his first call at Haldene Priory leaning heavily on his crutch, accommodating to the pain of his leg. He paused once to ask directions of farm labourers, and stayed briefly to chat and rest. The August weather continued dry and hot, facilitating the harvest of oats, barley and wheat. The workers were anxious for London news; he told them all he could, and in exchange heard of hard times, high prices, and low wages.

Rhyle continued on his way with much to think on, but soon pushed it all aside to enjoy the walk along the hawthorn hedge that edged the labourers’ field. He crossed a corner of meadow thick with cornflowers and entered the cool shade of the beechwood that surrounded the priory. A great spotted woodpecker flew across his path to a massive tree far ahead, and soon his insistent drumming echoed through the forest. A grey squirrel was taking someone or something to task somewhere to the east, and a cluster of holly blue butterflies was assembled on some sweet treat that flourished in a slender patch of sunlight.

He reached a worn drive path as the labourers had indicated and followed it from the wood to the sunlight in which basked the ancient Priory. Its aging stones were moss and ivy covered, but meticulous care was displayed in the careful pruning of surrounding shrubs, the sparkling windows and the fresh pigment on such paintable surfaces as offered themselves.

He paused on the doorstep, catching his breath against the pain of his wound, glad to be arrived and hoping he would not be refused entry. He badly needed to sit down.

He plied the knocker with determination and gave his name to the rather solemn retainer that opened the door.

He was kept waiting no more than a moment. The lackey led him to a low-ceilinged withdrawing room. It was apparently in the throes of refurbishment, for the draperies and carpets of the chamber were brilliantly fresh, while the oak and walnut furniture showed the wear of at least a century.

Rhyle straightened carefully after bending his head for the low door frame and greeted his host, who stood by the wide, empty hearth, with the assurance of past acquaintance.

The baron, who might have been called handsome but for the lines of dissipation scoring his pale face, studied him narrowly. “Well, if it isn't ‘the giant of 11th',” was Valence's odd, offhand greeting.

Rhyle snorted; he'd not heard that taunting label for some months.

“I thought that you were dead,” the baron added, as he shook the hand Rhyle offered, and waved him to a seat.

“Many people thought so. I thank God that my friend Torgreave was not convinced of it.” The major sat down with a sigh of relief. “When he had heard I'd been wounded, he quitted his home and made his way to the continent, and the hospitals. He found me with my leg about to be taken off. He refused to let the surgeon continue, and brought me home."

“Unusual magnanimity on Torgreave's part. He and I were used to game, and drink, together. He, like me, cared for no one,” said Valence. “I have heard that he is temperate now, happily sober and wed. And respected by all, though he was no more than a spy these past ten years. How the war has changed us. Here am I restoring the glory of my estate. I made my fortune working as a courier, y'know. The money has bought me much, though not, as yet, respectability."

“The earl remembers you with affection,” Rhyle said with a slight frown. He resented the aspersions cast upon his friend.

“And I him. I forget you and I have not close acquaintance; I intended no disparagement, it is my manner only."

“In fact, my brother is offensive without design.” A light, feminine voice spoke from the doorway. “It is a family failing."

Rhyle rose, with difficulty, to be presented to a lovely young woman, with lustrous black hair, pearl pale skin and a discontented expression.

“Rebecca, this is Major Gideon Rhyle late of the 11th; we met years ago because of mutual acquaintance with the Earl of Torgreave. Rhyle, this is my sister, Rebecca. Rhyle directed the recon officers that I called friends. We continued to encounter each other during the war. He was a valiant career soldier, more admirable than Torgreave or I."

Rhyle could feel himself flush, despite his usual calm. Valence's elegant sister brought to his mind the lady at the Guildford coaching inn. He wondered why, for they were nothing alike. Possibly it was because he had so long been away from lovely women. He cleared his throat then hurried into speech. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Valence. I am staying with the Polegates nearby, and finding you lived in the neighbourhood, I thought I would pay my compliments."

“I am happy you have,” the baron said without artifice. “We are thin of company hereabouts."

“And that company there is will have none of us,” Miss Valence confided, seating herself near Rhyle. She did not appear worried about the fact.

“She speaks of the inhabitants of Wheeling Hall. Viscount Damerham is a very young man, with a very narrow mind,” Valence said. “And I understand at present the Marquess of Cheriton and his family are visiting at the Hall. Cheriton has ever been a high stickler. But the Squire Polegate ... I regard him as a friend."

“And he does you, but my lady cousin will observe only that you are ‘not what she could wish’ in terms of a neighbour,” Rhyle said. His remark elicited laughter from his host and hostess.

“In my experience of Lady Polegate, she talks of nothing but her children. I try to respect that, but try as I will I cannot like the infantry, and so I regard the lack of her society philosophically. In any case, my own home is in Brighton,” said Miss Valence. “I ever prefer the town and the sea, to country society."

“My sister is an original. She lives alone, supports and defends her wicked brother, and entertains a Duke, not Royal but unnamable, whenever he chances to call upon her,” the baron said.

The lady did not blush, but met Rhyle's surprised look and said, “It is all true. I prefer my life in unconventional lines.” She rose, indicating with a wave of her hand that the gentlemen need not rise. “I expect that you wish to discuss the late war; I do not. I shall withdraw, and send cakes and wine to you. I shall look forward to further acquaintance, Major.” Her silver glance was provocative.

Gideon bowed as gracefully as his leg would permit. He experienced no regret at the lady's departure. Her wit and attitudes were cold, and prompted no responsive attraction in him, though her beauty would sway many a more impressionable man. He rather thought she was provocative by habit rather than inclination. The charming lady from Guildford came again to mind.

“I am glad you have come.” Valence settled into a chair as a servant entered with a tray. “It is always welcome to speak of the war with a man of sense, and experience of it. These country squires understand so little. Ah, I offend again."

“On the contrary,” Gideon smiled a little wryly. “That was in part my reason for calling upon you. One can only bear a certain quantity of fatuous comments on heroism, and glory. I sought a little worldly conversation."

“We are nothing, my sister and I, if not worldly. I am in the country of necessity,” Valence said. “I have decided to bring my property into trim with my newly gained brass. But it is not my intention to remain; I am a townsman I confess, and so am glad of your society, whenever whim takes you to visit."

“I am a countryman born and bred; and despite my career my heart is in the country."

“You're a curious hybrid, not a gentleman by the ton's standards, yet lettered and well mannered. And you've friends in many of the strata of society."

Rhyle took no offense at the personal comments. “'Tis all true. You may already know my opinion of titles. They are meaningless, if not allied to commonsense, intelligence and responsibility."

Valence acknowledged the jibe. “Then we have more than a little in common. And shall not regret the lack of hospitality from the nobs at Wheeling Hall.” He lifted his glass in salute.

Rhyle returned the gesture. “Not at all."

* * * *

There was no nuncheon at Wheeling Hall that day. Clementina, descending to the kitchen to find a snack of bread and cheese for her son, had discussions with the cook that were well received and bode well for the household's future comfort. Then she took her son's hand and went for a walk.

In the knot garden they encountered Susan, who had been to the stables, and they wandered at will in the well-ordered lawns and gardens that spread before them. The landscaping had been established by the fourth viscount—Susan confided what she had discovered—and, despite his lady's interference, the gardeners still worked to keep it in trim.

The terraces provided a fine aspect down to a graceful lake, the opposite side of which was adorned by a temple in the classical style. Glass succession houses gleamed to the east of the lawn behind a yew hedge. Goldfinches twittered delightfully from the gardens, and larks soared up into the vault of the cloudless sky.

Susan trotted off seeking, she said, fish in the lake. Kit strained at Clementina's hand and laughingly she freed him. She followed his flashing feet at her own pace, wondering if Carmelth would be improved by an ornamental water. Absently, she watched her young sister and her son laughing together, and was only brought from her reverie when Kit tired of the water and disappeared around the end of the succession houses.

“I shall go and see if Eleonora or Felicity is about,” Susan shouted inelegantly.

“And I shall follow my boy.” Clementina waved to her little sister. “Come back, you little sneaksby,” she called to her son, quickening her steps as she rounded the glass houses.

She found herself suddenly in the kitchen garden. She was astonished to discover the Honourable Louisa Rainley kneeling in the dirt offering a new carrot to Christopher. The younger girl scrambled to her feet, dusting at a faded pinafore that covered a deplorable, snuff-coloured round gown.

Clementina was delighted to see the girl; she very much wished to extend their acquaintance. She had a notion this young woman required assistance more than did any of her own sisters.

“Good afternoon,” she said. “Yes Kit you may have the carrot. They are at their very finest when just pulled. That is kind of you, Louisa."

The girl's apparently characteristic frown deepened. She observed Clementina with suspicion and something of speculation.

“It is all right,” Clemmie reassured her. “I am not very like my sisters except perhaps Susan."

“You are not as beautiful as the other two,” the young girl said, absently brushing the earth from a handful of new carrots.

“I know, and a great relief it has been to me. They spend a great deal of time keeping themselves up to the mark you know. I had rather be doing other things."

A reluctant grin turned Louisa's rather wide mouth, as her frown lightened. “You are different,” she agreed. “And he is lovely.” She pointed to the little boy, who was inspecting a gardener hoeing an extended row of vegetables.

“I thank you. I quite agree, though he can be both messy and noisy!” Clementina laughed.

“Lady Felicity will not like that,” Louisa said.

“Lady Felicity does not much like anything at present. She would rather be in Brighton or Paris. Unless something happens to distract her, she will not like any of us for the next fortnight! But we shall survive, shall we not?"

Louisa laughed outright at that, but shortly stated another grievance. “Lady Eleonora has barely noticed me."

“Now that, I think, is a similar thing. Eleonora, I understand, has barely noticed anything since she met your brother Robert. The most we can hope for there is that a year of marriage will cure them of such devotion!"

“I like you much more than your sisters,” the girl said with innocent candour.

“You will like Susan when you know her better. She is a twin you know. Her brother, James, is at Eton, so she is rather lonely."

“She's just a child,” the Honourable Louisa said with the superiority of seventeen.

“Perhaps,” Clementina said. “But have you seen her ride? I myself sadly lack expertise, but Susan does adore the exercise."

A gleam of interest appeared in the girl's brown eyes. “As it happens, I am myself very fond of riding out. Perhaps Lady Susan would like to see my grey. I chose him myself."

“She will be along momentarily; you might ask her. Do you regularly work in the garden? I have often done so at Carmelth, my home in Gloucestershire."

Louisa was suddenly disconsolate. “Mama likes me to garden, and I am growing to enjoy it, but I should like above all things to go into society. I did hope when Robert wed, his wife might ... but I think it is a hum, for Lady Eleonora cannot abide me.” She stared down at her scuffed slippers apparently embarrassed by her confidences.

“Not if you are rude,” agreed Clementina. “But she is a sweet and agreeable girl, and cannot be unkind to anyone. Perhaps I can assist you in your acquaintance."

“I cannot think how,” Louisa said in a small voice devoid of hope. “It cannot matter. Mama says society is hollow."

“So it is. But it is entertaining for all that. Have you friends in this neighbourhood?"

“I do, but Mama does not visit—even though the Polegates have guests and we have been invited—and my gowns are not appropriate. Mama hasn't the least notion...” She broke off in confusion. “I cannot be at ease."

“Perhaps I can help,” Clementina repeated, already turning over in her mind a variety of plans and ideas. She wondered about the Polegates and their visitors; possibly a young man who might be ensnared by a transformed Louisa?

Lady Susan appeared around the succession houses, and joined them without speaking.

Miss Rainley stiffened. The girls reminded Clementina of two newly introduced kittens, bristling with uncertainty.

“Louisa has just been telling me of her horses,” she informed Susan. She was pleased to see that friendly young lady relax. It was a promising overture.

“You enjoy riding?” the younger girl asked Louisa.

“Rather! I have a grey gelding—should you like to see him?"

Taking her son by the hand Clementina strolled off, leaving the younger girls to explore their mutual passion. There was no reason, in her estimation, that they should not become the best of friends.

Circling the glass houses, she came upon Lady Damerham quite by chance; it was Christopher who first spied her plump form. She was inspecting a grapevine in one of the succession houses, and Clementina could only regard the encounter as fortuitous in light of her discussion with Louisa. As she had a genuine interest in gardening and in antiquities, they fell into conversation easily. Christopher ran to and fro exploring and adventuring, and as Lady Damerham was inclined to view him with indulgence, a pleasant hour passed unheeded.

Before she left her hostess, Clementina had ascertained that there was a tilbury which could be put at her disposal, and that Lady Damerham, despite her oddities of manner, had no objection to Louisa's joining the young ladies for such entertainments as they could devise.

Well satisfied with her accomplishments and still wondering about the Polegates and their guests, Clementina led her son back to the sprawling house, and a quiet hour with a storybook.

CHAPTER THREE

Clementina drank her chocolate with Christopher the next day. It was yet another fine morning and she gazed from the window at the greens and golds of glorious Sussex summer. Her nightdress-clad son happily expounded his opinions on their family members.

“Grandpapa is prime, and Auntie Eleonora and Uncle Wobert.” He gulped deeply in his cup, and his hazel eyes peered over the rim at her. “Grandmama is ... is nice, but magnified."

“Dignified?” Clementina hazarded a correction, choking back a laugh.

“That's right, and Auntie Felicity don't even notice me. Susan is best of all."

“You will like James also; you will meet him at Brighton."

“I like it here,” her son said. “'Tis not as nice as Carmelth, but very fine anyway."

“Indeed, nothing is as ‘nice’ as Carmelth,” Clementina said on a sigh. “But, like you, I find this very pleasant. Now you trot along with Jenny for your bath, and I shall dress and go to see your magnified grandmama."

Her lavender sarcenet gown required little assistance to don, and Clementina joined the marchioness in the breakfast room, where a carefully chosen repast was laid, within the half hour.

The gentlemen had, Lady Cheriton confided, already demolished a sirloin of beef, and had ridden out. “And Louisa and Susan have gone off to the stables in perfect harmony. How you managed it, I cannot think Clemmie, but it is well done."

Clementina seated herself across the table from her mother, helped herself to a selection of food from the dishes present and nodded in acknowledgement.

Lady Cheriton was eating with but little attention. After a few silent moments she said, “I could have wished for a more glittering match for Eleonora."

“Too bad of Robert's uncle to bring him to town,” Clementina said, with a faint smile. The topic took her aback, but she could see her mother had been reflecting on the matter before her arrival. “At least he is the son of one of your oldest friends."

“I know, but your papa always said Lady Damerham had more hair than wit.” The older lady shook her head. “However, he is very worthy and they are devoted. It is not as though Eleonora had as swift an intelligence as one could wish. Ah, here she is.” This she added with a warning glance at Clementina. Eleonora entered the room, blushing and seeming a little flustered.

Clementina, surveying her, suspected she had been caught in the passage and kissed by her betrothed.

Lady Cheriton appeared to entertain the same suspicion, but said nothing of it and cleared her throat. “My dears, I am pleased to meet you both so early, and I think we should spend the morning together. We shall attend to some planning for Eleonora's wedding."

Clementina was disappointed for she had hoped to spend the morning out of doors with Kit. She had much experience of duty however, and assented gracefully.

Her sister slid into a graceful Chippendale chair, her blue eyes bright with excitement and fixed upon her mother with anticipation.

“We have this opportunity, and we shall have to make use of it, for our stay in Brighton will be nothing but a round of engagements,” the marchioness said. “Though how I shall bear it I cannot think, with Nicholas..."

“Perhaps we shall have news by then,” Clementina said. Rising, she rounded the table and bent to hug her mother. “We need not accept every invitation in Brighton. And in a week or two there will be a general exodus to the country from the town. It will be less busy.” She returned to her seat, patting her sister's shoulder as she passed.

The ladies all were silent with thoughts of their beloved son and brother.

“Eleonora has chosen an October wedding day?” Clementina broke the silence.

“Indeed. That is, Robert thinks it best to have the harvest complete,” Eleonora said in her soft voice.

“Very practical,” agreed Clementina with only the faintest quiver in her inflection.

“We shall begin by making lists, for they will serve us well.” A small smile was pulling Lady Cheriton's lips as well. “I shall fetch Felicity. She had as well help us as spend the morning moping in her chamber. You will join me in the drawing room?” The marchioness rose, and after receiving acquiescence, departed.

Clementina ate placidly, certain that Eleonora was about to initiate a conversation.

Eleonora checked over her slim, muslin-clad shoulder to ensure that the footman had left the room. When she was reassured, she speared a piece of egg, and said, “Clemmie, I am worried."

Clementina, whose first thought was of her brother Nicholas, gave her undivided attention to her sister. “What about, my love?"

“Lady Damerham."

“Our unconventional hostess?” Clementina said. She was disappointed to be deprived of opportunity to speak of her beloved sibling but focused her attention on Eleonora. “Now why?"

“She is to live with us, you know. Or we are to live with her, and Louisa. There is not a Dower House, and she has no notion of removing to Brighton or ... or anywhere. How shall I manage? She really does not run the household herself, but perhaps she will not wish me to do so in any event. And ... and I think I shall quite detest Gothic adornments, for this could be such a pretty house."

Her gentleness was overborne by her concern and indignation, so that Clementina smothered a laugh. “You must discuss this with Robert, love; he will know what to do and I suspect there will be no difficulty. He must know his mother very well, and while he honours her, he loves you, and will wish you to be comfortable."

“I will not be comfortable with Louisa."

“Louisa needs only our support and guidance, and she will be another delightful sister to you. Come now, this is unlike you, to worry so."

“I just ... I know Robert loves me,” Eleonora said. She added with some desperation, “Clemmie..."

“Yes?” Clementina could see that her sister wished to express a concern of some import, and laid down her fork. “What is it, my dear? You must not hesitate to ask."

“I ... I ... could you ... Clemmie, shall I mind the ... the ... intimacies of the marriage bed?” Eleonora's pretty face was scarlet with embarrassment. “I beg your pardon, but I cannot ask Mama, and I ... I wondered...” Her voice trailed off to silence in shame.

Clementina recalled with no pleasure the inexperienced, sometimes rough, intimacies she had endured with her young husband. It seemed a very long time ago.

She chose her words with great care. “You have a deep and abiding love. Because of that you have naught to fear. And Robert will not do anything you will dislike, indeed I suspect you will like it very well.” She laughed gently at the almost comical relief of her sister's expression. “I am certain all will be well; and you will be blessed, as I have been, with children. Now, if you have finished your breakfast, will you please to tell Mama I shall be with you all shortly? I must see to Christopher; perhaps he may join us with his paints.” She rose but paused, leaning upon the scrolled back of her chair. “Eleonora, I am so very happy for you. You have every ingredient for a happy future. You speak with Robert, candidly, about his mother, and I shall help you with Louisa. And you will see if I am not right. Come along, we must join Mama."

* * * *

The morning's focus upon her sister's wedding left Clementina sadly out of sorts. She was reminded of her own wedding preparations six years previously, of the hopes and dreams she had indulged during those weeks, and of the reality that had been so very different from her imaginings.

She made her way to her chamber uncommonly subdued, but regained her spirits in company with her son. He had not joined them during the morning's planning, but rather Jenny had taken him for a walk, and he had now to tell her every detail of its wonders. The tales of ducks and frogs and butterflies, as well as two ‘big’ boys that they encountered, aided her determination to shake off her melancholy. As he chattered, she laid him down, complaining, upon his bed for a nap. Then she sat at his bedside, first reading him a story, then mending his small stockings, over the maid's protests. She enjoyed undertaking such small tasks for her child; his welfare, she reminded herself, was her prime goal.

When at last he drifted into sleep, she peered in the mirror, pinched her cheeks to add a much-needed flush of colour, and left Jenny in charge of her child. She had a plan to execute; Christopher's welfare might be her main preoccupation but other members of her family needed her support as well.

She found Eleonora and Robert in the entry hall, and convinced them to include Susan and Louisa in their afternoon ride. “For they are to be sisters you know and must come to some measure of comradeship,” she said. “They have made a beginning and must be encouraged."

Her listeners, being of peaceable natures, quite agreed.

“They may even be brought out together.” She planted the seed of an idea as the opportunity presented itself and was gratified by the attention that her companions gave to the suggestion.

Within the hour, she saw the foursome off on their excursion and returning inside from the forecourt, she intercepted Pate who was likewise passing through the entry.

“Will you have the tilbury harnessed, please?” she asked, speaking very quietly. She had spied her father ensconced in the library and had no wish to disturb him. “I shall not require a groom."

“Very good, my lady,” the butler bowed.

Clementina sped off to find Felicity, who was not in the morning room or the draughty hall, but in her bedchamber grumbling to herself.

“Don your Angouleme bonnet; we shall take a drive,” Clemmie said to her. The beauty's face lit up with the thought of diversion, as Clementina knew it must.

“I must change my gown,” Felicity said.

“No you must not take the time. Kit is laid down upon his bed, the others are gone for a ride, and this is my opportunity to drive out. Besides you look charmingly. When do you not?"

Her younger sister smoothed her gown of primrose lawn with satisfaction.

“Come!” Clemmie said.

They made their way downstairs in charity each with the other. Felicity's happy expression dimmed a little when she saw the small carriage but she climbed into it without comment.

Clementina said, “This is Robert's new tilbury. He does not know that Lady Damerham gave me permission to use it. And I must say one thing for Robert,” she added, taking up the reins and thanking the middle-aged groom, “he does know how to choose horseflesh. One would not expect him to have such spirited animals, somehow."

Her sister giggled. “Sedate Robert really should have sedate horses,” she agreed. “Clemmie, how shall we know where to go; what if we become lost? Should we not take Marshall or one of Wheeling's grooms?"

“The very worst that can happen is that we shall arrive in Brighton,” Clementina teased. “Otherwise we shan't leave the neighbourhood, and I am sure there will be someone always to direct us."

She touched the fine roan horse into a trot down the long drive from the house to the country lane. She might have little skill in the saddle, but Tom Coachman himself had taught her to drive when she had evinced an interest years before. Nicholas, an excellent whipster, had instructed her in the finer points, and none of the family feared to drive out with Clementina.

She regretted her mention of Brighton for Felicity had fastened on the thought of it like a puppy on a bone.

“Brighton is so very close by. Why could we not have settled there, then come here for a day visit? One expects Mama to have more sense."

“Mama does not want for sense; she is overburdened with concerns. She wished you to have a rest before you throw yourself into the delights of seaside society. She also wanted to ensure that Eleonora would be happy living here once she and Robert are wed.” Clementina catalogued the reasons for the marchioness’ decision almost grimly. “Papa and Mama are desperately worried about Nicholas, as are we all. Papa needed a respite after squiring you here, there, and everywhere during the season, and so did Mama herself. This is the only one that offered itself."

Felicity had the grace to look a little abashed by Clementina's pointed remarks.

“Well I am sure I desire to inconvenience no one. I only wished some diversion. Do you never think of what you are missing when you remain at Carmelth all the year? I did envy you becoming a married lady, but I cannot now; to be a widow at three and twenty and stuck in Gloucestershire is dire!"

“Four and twenty,” Clementina corrected her. She added, “But for Nicholas’ absence, I am content.” Her thoughtless sister's words stung, and she was distracted from her driving. “I am not obliged to remain in the country you know; I have made that choice!"

“Were you happy wed to Lord Carmelth?” Felicity asked. She gazed without much interest at the lush summer countryside spread about them. “I scarcely recall him."

“I scarcely knew him,” Clementina was provoked into reply. “And I had rather speak of something else.” She had had enough of introspection for one day.

Her sister lapsed into an affronted silence.

They had left the drive of Wheeling Hall for a narrow country road that curved eastward and rose slightly toward what Clementina felt must be Ashdown Forest. They were proceeding at a clipping pace, when a raking black horse and lean, straight rider, burst from a lane hidden at right angles to theirs and occupied the centre of the road. Clementina, summoning all her skill and strength, stopped the tilbury before the apparently inevitable collision.

The horseman gathered his shaken mount and came to the side of the carriage. He stared down at them with open curiosity. Felicity returned his appraisal discreetly, while Clementina met his gaze.

“My compliments, ma'am, that was the finest driving I have seen for some time.” The speaker was about thirty, and was lithe and broad shouldered. His face was harsh, even dissipated, but there was something about his eyes that Clementina quite liked.

His gaze shifted to Felicity and he seemed to have forgotten Clementina's presence. Despite her irritation with her sister, Clementina was amused to see the past days’ boredom and discontent vanish from her lovely face.

“Clemmie is prone to accident,” Felicity said. “She has need of the quickest of reflexes."

Clementina reproved her sister with a glance. Convention demanded that she drive on, for there was no one to perform the necessary introductions, but she lingered feeling that if the meeting could lessen Felicity's discontent then it would be a very good thing.

The gentleman seemed to share her disregard for convention. “I am Valence,” he introduced himself. “I live at Haldene Priory, one mile west of Wheeling Hall. You must be the expected guests of Lady Damerham."

“Our family is visiting Lady Damerham; my sister, Lady Eleonora Haythe is betrothed to Lord Damerham,” Clementina said. “This is my sister Lady Felicity; I am Clementina—Countess of Carmelth."

He bowed deeply and correctly in the saddle. “Perhaps we may meet again,” he said preparing to depart.

“Lady Damerham does not entertain,” Felicity responded.

As a delaying tactic, Clementina thought her sister's words remarkably transparent.

The gentleman seemed to find them an acceptable excuse however to continue the conversation. “I would not be welcome if she did,” Lord Valence said with a wicked grin, “I am a Bad Man. But perhaps I might have the pleasure of encountering you at some neighbourhood frolic; there are several visitors in the vicinity.” He lifted a hand in farewell, and gave his horse the office to move on.

They, in a surprised silence, watched him disappear.

Felicity turned to Clementina. “Whatever can he have meant?” she asked.

Clementina gave the roan a signal to set forward. “Just what he said, I imagine. He has a disputatious character and is not invited everywhere. I wonder how he gained his reputation."

“What might be his reputation? Is he a libertine, or a rake, or a gambler...?” Felicity was full of speculation.

“I can't imagine. I certainly do not recall seeing him ever before, or hearing of him."

“I wonder who might know. I can scarcely ask Robert, the silly prig, or Papa. Mama would have fits, I expect, if I mentioned his name."

They rounded a curve and in the road ahead walked a lone scarlet-cloaked figure. Felicity was silenced.

“The world is abroad today,” Clementina murmured, dropping the roan to a walk. They drew abreast of the walker, and the woman stepped to the verge, giving them a glimpse of a terrier at her side.

Clementina had an impression of dark hair and pale skin as they passed by, but was occupied with her driving and did not attend overmuch.

“She stared at us,” Felicity said with indignation.

“Indeed? And did you never do so when spying a stranger at home, near Shardleigh? I daresay new faces are uncommon enough hereabouts, despite the proximity to the Brighton road."

“She was very pretty, with the oddest silvery blue eyes,” Felicity said. “Her cloak was sadly outmoded though."

“You must have stared yourself to see so much so quickly,” Clementina said.

Her younger sister tossed her head, but giggled guiltily. Clementina, with all her melancholy recalled, was suddenly impatient, and turned the carriage to return to Wheeling Hall.

* * * *

“I cannot tell you what a joy it is to begin every day with all of you,” Clementina said, and absently sipped her rapidly cooling tea. She surveyed her sisters from the window seat of the breakfast parlour. She had been gazing from the casemented window, appreciating the dewy warmth of yet another beautiful morning. “I have been so much alone at Carmelth; I think I had forgot how wonderful my family is. If only..."

They all recognized her thought, and there was a brief, prayerful pause for their brother.

Then Susan said, “Clemmie, may I come and visit you at Carmelth? Just me? Perhaps this winter? I should like it of all things, and surely when Eleonora is wed, Mama will think me old enough."

“You are most welcome any time my darling. Kit and I will be ecstatic to receive you.” Clementina's hazel eyes sparkled with affection for her youngest sister.

Susan crossed the chamber to perch on the window seat beside her. “You know Clemmie, sometimes Louisa is the greatest fun, and other times she is beastly."

“That is a common behaviour, Susan.” Clementina was watching Eleonora and Felicity. Eleonora was applying herself diligently to breaking her fast; Felicity was pushing a kippered herring about her plate, with a secretive, dreaming look about her.

“I know, but I scarcely know where I am when with her."

Clemmie drew her attention back to Susan. She said, “Louisa scarcely knows where she is with herself just now. She has so many new relations thrust upon her. Think of having four new sisters and two brothers put upon one, not to mention Kit."

Susan appeared much struck by the thought. Her brow furrowed and she tugged a fair curl thoughtfully.

“Perhaps you can help her to adjust,” Clementina suggested. “Perhaps you and I both can make it easier for her."

“I should like to help,” Eleonora said, setting down her toast, and absently licking a drip of marmalade from one slender finger.

Clementina considered her thoughtfully. “Well, my dear, you have unerring good taste. You must find Louisa's appearance a great trial."

“Oh no. That is, I feel quite sorry for her. She cannot dress without ... well, Lady Damerham is pleasant, but it seems to me she does not assist Louisa as Mama does us."

“That is true, I think. But I quite like Louisa despite her odd gowns, and her erratic manners,” Clemmie said.

Felicity looked up from her ruminative silence at the table, and snorted at her eldest sister's comment.

“Do you indeed?” Eleonora was eager to explore with her the temperament of the younger girl. “I must admit she is not quite what I expected; she seems sadly ill-tempered. But I have not got to know her very well as yet."

“She is very kind to Kit,” said Clementina. “How would you feel if your gowns did not fit or suit you, and there was no one to help you know how to go on?"

“Terrible!” Eleonora's lovely face creased in the effort of deep consideration. “Oh, Clemmie, perhaps I could help her to appear to advantage. Do you think Lady Damerham would object? Louisa might then feel more the thing and be more pleasant."

“A very kind and thoughtful suggestion. Would you like me to speak to Lady Damerham? I feel we are on friendly terms already."

Felicity emitted another exasperated mutter, but Eleonora had nodded her head eagerly when a knock sounded at the door. Jenny, Christopher's nursemaid, bobbed a polite curtsey after opening it.

“I've come for the little earl, my lady,” she said, peering into the room.

Swift concern entered Clementina's pretty face. “He is not with me, Jenny. I had thought he was with you ... that you were bringing him to breakfast."

“No indeed my lady; you will recall I went to fetch his smalls from the laundry."

“Yes, but I thought he went with you. I was no more than halfway into my gown though; I could not see."

“He followed me? Then he must have tried to find the breakfast parlour by himself. I'm that sorry, my lady.” Jenny looked near panic.

“Go back to the laundry, Jenny. Alert the staff and speak with Pate!” Clementina was unusually sharp with the girl, and she fled precipitately. Clementina exchanged a worried gaze with her sisters. “It has been nearly an hour; where can he have gone? Eleonora, will you help me? The house must be searched, but we must not distress my mother and father."

“Susan, will you go to Mama on some pretext, and look if Kit is with her, without alerting her to his disappearance? Felicity, will you do the same with Papa? Eleonora, find Robert and enlist his help."

They met within the half-hour in the vast Hall, hurrying in each of them without a small boy in tow. Pate entered with his solemn tread; from his face, Clementina surmised that the staff had had no more success than her sisters.

“He is not found?” She schooled her voice to calm.

“The staff have been most thorough, my lady; he is not within the house."

The viscount rushed into the room, wringing his hands. “No success!” he said. “What shall we do?"

“Don't be a cod's head, Robert,” his young sister, who had followed him closely, snapped. “Susan and I shall ride out and so must the grooms.” Susan nodded vigorously and the two young girls slipped out.

Clementina forced herself to smile in appreciation of her assistants. “Felicity, will you check the succession houses and the gardens? Alert the gardeners my dear.” Her beautiful sister made no protest, but hurried away without thought for fashionable languor.

“What shall I do now, Clemmie?” Eleonora's gentle blue eyes filled with tears.

Despite the cold fear clutching at her heart, Clementina forced herself to think. “You and Robert must stay within doors my love. Lady Ann and my mother and father must not suspect that Christopher has wandered off. Ten to one, we shall discover him in the stables or the gardens. I ... I shall go to walk in the woods. There was a path yesterday..."

She hastened out without finishing her sentence. She choked back the terror that threatened to overwhelm her; surely nothing had happened to her precious child. With her brother in danger somewhere, it could not happen that her son was similarly imperiled.

The path ... the path that yesterday they had found in the woods beyond the walled garden. He might have decided that such a lovely morning needed adventure to fill it. She saw Felicity in the distance in earnest conversation with a gardener, but as her sister did not call to her, there was no good news. She left the door in the garden wall ajar; if the child were abroad in the woods; an open door would lead him home.

Attaining the path, she slowed her pace, searching the ground for clues—she little knew what—perhaps a broken fern or a small footprint in the dew wet grass. She lost track of the time as she walked through patches of sunlight, and deep pockets of shadow. Like my life, bright and dark, she thought with rising hysteria.

She heard her son's laughter before she saw him. A sob caught her throat at the dear sound, and she began to run, lifting up her muslin skirts out of her way.

In a sunlit glade, he sat on a stile, beside a big man standing supported by a crutch.

“Christopher, oh my darling!” She snatched him into her arms without a second look at the gentleman and wept with her face pressed against his rosy cheek. His welcome was as heartfelt as hers.

They both looked up when the big man spoke.

“This is well met indeed.” His voice rumbled deeply in his broad chest. “Kit had wondered how his Mama had managed to lose herself so thoroughly."

Something in his tone warned Clementina not to frighten her son with her tears, and she straightened, lowering the little boy to his resting-place on the stile. She dashed the tears from her face with impatience.

Then she stared in amaze at the gentleman. It was he of Guildford; the injured soldier whose body's every line had spoken of suffering. His pain had eased, she thought in a nonsensical revelation; his strong face was less strained.

“'Tis my giant sojer, Mama.” Kit supplied a sort of introduction.

“Christopher!” She warned that his words were not appropriate and he subsided, abashed, his head on her shoulder. Her arms were tight about him.

“Sir, I am forever in your debt. How did you find my son?"

“He found me, my lady. I was simply abroad for the exercise of my wretched leg, and here was the lad, abroad but uncertain. He thought you had asked for him to meet you in the woods."

“I? Never...” She turned up her son's face. “Christopher, who told you such a thing? I would never ask it of you."

“A boy, Mama,” the little one offered uncertainly. “Ever such a dirty boy; I did not know him. He was in the gardens ... Marshall sent him off."

Clementina shook her head in confusion and put the matter aside. “Sir, I must return to Wheeling Hall. My family is all searching. I cannot express my gratitude..."

“It was little enough, my lady. He has taken no hurt."

Clementina lifted her son against her heart and hurried back down the path. At a turning, she looked back. The big man was still watching them, and he lifted a large hand in farewell.

CHAPTER FOUR

Clementina could not dismiss Kit's ‘giant sojer’ from her mind the next day. Even as she prepared to ride out to Lindfield with a party from the Hall, his image, as she had seen him when she looked back, seemed imprinted on her memory. She sat with the others at a substantial breakfast, thinking of him. He was in her mind's eye as the party gathered on horseback for their expedition.

His pale hair had gleamed in the sun—did the man never wear a hat?—and his tall figure had held so much reassuring strength, despite the crutch on which he had leaned. His kind grey eyes, his big, gentle hands ... every detail was there to be recalled. Who could he be? Why would she see him in Guildford and again here in the Sussex forest? She worried at the questions even as they set out and she talked with her sisters and the Rainleys.

She had been loath to leave her son for this excursion, but she had determined she would not mollycoddle him or herself. She had left strict injunctions with Jenny to maintain a careful watch and had enlisted Susan's assistance as well. Susan had made no demur at being obliged to stay at home with her nephew. Her siblings had been nearly as relieved as Clementina had at her son's recovery, and today the sisters still were shaken. But it was imperative that neither Lady Damerham, nor the marquess and marchioness, should think aught was amiss and so the outing went ahead.

Clementina could not fathom who the boy might have been that lured Kit away from her. Had the large gentleman anything to do with him? She answered her own question ... no, most assuredly the soldier was not part of some odd conspiracy. Kit had insisted a boy had given him a message; perhaps he had not told the truth. If he had wanted to go to the woods, he might have imagined a reason to do so: a boy with a message. It was possible.

She depressed her concerns, distracted herself. It was a beautiful morning: cuckoos were sounding in the wood, busy squirrels were scolding the riders, and the scents of greenery and myriad wildflowers were intoxicating.

Most of the party strove for light-heartedness, and as the ride progressed they, in the main, achieved it. Ahead rode Felicity, Eleonora and Robert. The two beauties appeared to advantage in the morning sun, the deep hues of their riding habits—amaranthus and azure—flattering their colouring. Felicity bemoaned the lack of gentlemen in the party but Eleonora, with Robert in attendance, was content.

Clementina, finding herself unexpectedly displeased with her black habit, moved to draw Louisa into conversation. “I hope I shall not disgrace myself and take a tumble,” she said.

The girl, who was dressed in a shabby tan habit but mounted on a fine grey gelding, directed her a startled, questioning look.

“Oh yes, it is entirely possible. I have never had the knack of a good seat or light hands. I drive to a shade—my brother taught me—but I ride only poorly.” Clementina shook her head and gave Louisa the opportunity to preen herself on her own fine seat. Then she began to talk of riding habits and their merits, and soon had Louisa chattering about clothes.

The topic lasted them the entirety of the short journey. Clementina was congratulating herself on her improved seat and successful handling of her mount as they came upon Lindfield.

The town was a pretty one with tile hung houses and walled gardens. The High Street with its mix of medieval and newer classically proportioned buildings drew favourable comment, even from Felicity. They stopped for refreshment at the Tiger Inn, and duly admired a cottage, pointed out by Louisa, said to have been a hunting lodge of Henry VII. There was little else to detain them however, and soon they turned their rested mounts for home.

On the return journey, again paired with Louisa, Clementina requested that they slow their pace and allow the others to gallop ahead if they wished. “I should have allowed Susan to attend in my place and you might have had a glorious run."

“Susan did want to come on this expedition?” Louisa asked. “I thought perhaps she did not wish for my company."

Clementina sighed; the poor child lacked so much of confidence and poise. “That is nonsense, my dear. She would have willingly come, but after yesterday's fright, I asked if she would stay with Christopher. You like her?"

The girl flushed, and muttered something unintelligible. Her mount curvetted from a tightened hand on the reins, but Louisa handled the mare without difficulty.

Clementina strove to put the girl at ease again. “It must be disconcerting to inherit so many new siblings. I shall not ask your opinion of us! But tell me, are there any more diversions that we might plan in the next fortnight? Shall we have a pic-nic, or visit another local beauty spot such as Lindfield? Surely there must be a ruin, or a folly hereabouts?"

Her efforts were successful; Louisa relaxed into chatter about all the things she had long wanted to do, but had lacked for the companions to undertake them.

The rest of their party had ridden out of sight and they had passed two crossroads, when a gig appeared in the road ahead of them. As they gained upon it, it moved to the verge, its occupants apparently aware of their proximity.

Louisa stared from her saddle with youthful unrestraint, and turned back to Clementina with wide eyes. “It's Lord Valence!” she said.

Clementina turned a friendly smile on that gentleman as they drew up with the carriage, for it was indeed the self-described wicked baron. Then her smile faltered. The driver of the gig was the fair-haired giant, and he was staring at her in a manner that belied his ease of the previous day. He appeared to have been struck dumb.

“Good day, my lord,” she said, achieving a calm that belied her astonishment at seeing the baron in the company of her son's rescuer. He was visiting in the neighbourhood then, the soldier, perhaps with Valence? At least she would at last discover his identity.

Valence quirked a quizzical eyebrow at his driver's sudden silence but responded, “Good day, my lady.” He bowed, and looked enquiringly at her companion.

“May I present the Honourable Louisa Rainley? You are neighbours, I believe.” Clementina came to herself from her surprise, and performed the introduction.

Louisa muttered a greeting in a gruff little voice.

“Ah, a local child brought up in fear of the ogre of the Priory, I take it?"

Clementina took in the averted face of her young associate. “So it would appear,” she agreed.

“May I introduce my friend? Lady Carmelth, Major Gideon Rhyle. Major, the Countess of Carmelth.” He gave them opportunity for no more than a brief greeting, before adding, “It has occurred to me that I know your brother, my lady."

Clementina considered him with sudden, acute attention, hope burgeoning.

“If indeed your brother is Captain Lord Nicholas Haythe, Viscount Elham,” Valence added.

“Oh yes he is. Have you seen or heard from him recently, Lord Valence? He ... he is missing, since Waterloo,” Clementina said.

“I am sorry to have raised your hopes. I knew him on the Peninsula. I have heard nothing of him these two years."

The hopeful glow faded from Clementina's face, and she was aware that the major, who had not spoken since his brief ‘good day', was staring at her.

Valence broke the awkward pause. “Ah, I hear your companions returning for you. Young Lord Damerham disapproves of me exceedingly, Gideon. I shall ask you to drive on so we will not embarrass the ladies with our presence.” Rhyle immediately whipped up the horse to take the left fork that now offered itself before the gig. “I hope that Lady Felicity is well?” Valence called.

Clementina was occupied in choosing the right fork of the tree-arched lane. But she said, “Very well; I shall tell her you inquired."

“Do that,” his lordship said, somewhat enigmatically, as the roads separated.

* * * *

As they awaited the announcement of dinner that same evening, the marchioness quietly congratulated Clementina on the improvement in Louisa's spirits, and Felicity's. Clementina could scarcely tell her mother that the betterment of Felicity's temper—if indeed such amendment existed—was due to discovery of an attractive gentleman in the neighbourhood. So she only smiled, and told Lady Cheriton of her plans for their entertainment after they had dined.

They all retired to the Hall after the meal; Cheriton and Damerham did not even linger over their port. Clementina settled Lady Damerham, Louisa and Susan to playing at cap verses. Lady Damerham displayed an unexpected turn for the amusement, and Susan and Louisa soon were allied by their delight of her aptitude.

Eleonora drew Clementina aside. “I spoke with Robert as you suggested two days ago. He was wonderful,” she said, surveying her betrothed with content. “He quite understood my concerns and spoke with Lady Damerham immediately. He told her that he and I did not so much care for the Gothic influence. She said she had quite tired of it herself!” Eleonora's gentle face beamed. “And she said she hoped I would please to take over the household as soon as we are wed and do as I wish, so that she may concentrate on her interests."

Clementina smothered a wayward smile. “That is just as it should be."

“And it is all down to you. Thank you Clemmie. Do you know this evening reminds me of Shardleigh when Nicholas was at home? Before you married, and we came out ... it is so pleasant."

Felicity wandered up. “It is boring. You cannot compare an evening of family music and games with a ... a concert at the Pavilion in Brighton."

Eleonora stiffened.

Clementina said, “I find it to my taste. Until we know where Nicholas is, I cannot wish to racket about."

Felicity had the grace to colour with embarrassment over her lack of concern for her brother. “Do you think, Clemmie, that he will return to us?” she asked with an abrupt change of mood.

“I think I would know if he were ... dead. We could ever sense each other's presence and well-being.” Clementina rose, intent upon dispelling the melancholy that had settled over them.

She urged Felicity and Eleonora to the piano, to play at duets with Robert in attendance as page-turner.

The trio playing at cap verses broke up and Lady Damerham moved to the marquess’ side. She rambled in quiet conversation, apparently unaware that he was occasionally dozing.

The marchioness, seated on a wide, rather worn sopha, gathered her youngest daughter on her right side, and the daughter of her oldest friend on the other. Louisa, she had agreed with Clementina, would benefit from exposure to the quiet evening gatherings and learn a little how to conduct herself in adult society. And she had decided that Susan would benefit from the same experience. She was engaged now in instructing the two young ladies not to stare about a strange room, and how to enter and leave it gracefully. Louisa appeared resentful at being lumped with her younger visitor.

When Clementina gave her an encouraging smile, she responded with a grudging sort of grin and abandoned Lady Cheriton and Susan to come to speak with her. “We were unfortunate to encounter Lord Valence today. Mama says he is a bad man. She has said I should not talk to him. She said..."

“You are wise to do as your mama tells you,” Clementina interrupted. “I, however, need not. Let us not mention our encounter with his lordship. Have I your word?"

With round eyes the younger girl promised. “Must I not mention Major Rhyle either?” she asked, scenting a secret and a mystery.

“I think Major Rhyle is altogether too large to be concealed. If he is a guest of Lord Valence, however, he should not too often be discussed."

“Mama said Lady Polegate has visitors.” Louisa offered that news after giggling over Clementina's mild jest about the major, and she returned to the marchioness with an elaborately unconcerned manner.

Clementina thought the girl's nonchalance more obvious than her worry had been. She thrust aside speculation about Major Rhyle and strolled to the pianoforte to examine the music that the young ladies had available to them.

“We experienced a chance encounter this afternoon,” Eleonora said.

Clemmie concealed a start of surprise at her sister's words. Chance had played a large part in the afternoon's outing, it seemed.

“With Sir Martin Polegate, our neighbour,” she explained in the face of Clementina's blank look. “He says that he knows Papa, from some club or such. Clemmie, do you think Papa will call upon him?"

Felicity joined her sisters’ conversation. “He looked beastly dull and underbred."

Annoyed out of her usual forbearance, Clementina snapped at her younger sister. “Hold your tongue. He is to be a neighbour to your sister, and he is probably a friend to your prospective brother-in-law. At the least he is due a modicum of civility."

Felicity flushed, her slender hands clenching in the folds of her gossamer shawl.

Robert looked gravely at Clementina. “I thank you for that defense. Sir Martin is no doubt a little dull, as I am myself, for a young lady such as your sister, but he is a good and worthy man. I am not ashamed to call him friend."

It was a long speech for the usually inarticulate young man. Eleonora put a comforting hand on his superfine sleeve.

Clementina said, “In answer to your question, Eleonora, I am certain Papa will do whatever is proper; I shall ask him."

She crossed the room to the side of her father who was looking a little more rested than when she had first seen him a week earlier. He was observing his family, much as she was herself. Lady Damerham had wandered out the terrace doors into a hasty, sunset breeze. If the windswept clouds could be trusted, the weather was due for a change.

“Well, Papa?” Clemmie asked, ignoring the beckoning gardens.

He did not hesitate to answer her. “Well enough, until your brother comes home. I am minded that you would know had aught happened to end his life.” He shot his eldest daughter a keen look from under bushy brows.

“I believe so Papa,” she said, with an attempt at tranquility.

“I hope so. Your mother is concerned about you girls, as well as about your brother. I said there is nothing wrong with you. Eleonora is in love, Felicity is tetchy, Susan's playing least-in-sight and Clementina has something up her sleeve; nothing unusual in any of that."

“Papa!” Clementina laughed in mock reproach. “I've nothing ‘up my sleeve'."

“Well you have us all well organized already; the meals are certainly improved. Not lost your touch stuck out at Carmelth, have you?"

“I cannot feel isolated at Carmelth. It is Kit's inheritance, as you well know, and needs guidance."

“I do know it. I haven't seen the little lad for two days,” he added. “I should like to spend an hour or so with him tomorrow."

Clementina was delighted to acquiesce. If her son was in company with her father, she need have no fears of his safety. Though nothing had befallen him when she had been absent with the riding party, her thoughts had not been far from him. “You shall have his company whenever you wish. I have not wanted to plague you is all, Papa."

“My family don't plague me. ‘Tis all the other thousand and one things that are the devil's own vexations."

Clemmie patted her father's hand. She knew only too well the demands of an estate and family; she could only imagine the obligations of government. She hesitated before asking, “Do you know Lord Valence, Papa? His home, Haldene Priory, is nearby."

“Is it indeed? I had forgotten that. Hmmm, I know him a very little ... knew his father better."

“He is not well thought of here. What can you tell me of him?” Clementina waited hopefully.

“He has sowed a few more wild oats than most, and gotten a bad reputation. That's what women stop at—reputation—never look behind or beyond it. Now in my youth there were some very Bad Men amongst the titled.” He looked as though he would reminisce then came to himself. “That's not for a young woman to hear however. But Valence has done nothing like that. He does gamble to excess however, and has fiddled away a sizable fortune. He enjoys his reputation, and does naught to disprove it. His father was the same, but would have had difficulty disproving it. Seems to me there was a daughter there too somewhere, a sister to Valence."

Clementina shook her head; she had never met or heard of the same.

“Valence ‘d make a poor stepfather to Kit,” her father ventured.

“Papa!” She was shocked. “I have no such interest or intention. I doubt I shall ever marry again; I will not leave Kit's inheritance untended. What gentleman would neglect his own concerns for those of a stepson?"

“A problem indeed my dear, but t'would be a shame were your capacity to love never tapped again. I'll confess, though, to relief that you've no interest in Valence."

“There is another neighbour here, Papa, a Sir Martin Polegate. Perhaps you might pay him a call in company with Robert? It would please Eleonora, and ease her path. As well as offering us all some possibilities of entertainment, which could only improve Felicity's spirits.” She smiled at her father's understanding glance.

“Very well, minx; I too shall be managed by you. Now be off, and leave an old man to doze."

Clementina dropped a kiss on his graying hair, and joined Lady Damerham on the terrace. The breeze tugged at their silk skirts, and Clemmie's cap ribbons took to dancing. It was a refreshing zephyr however, without malice, and neither lady paid it much heed.

“Lady Damerham, are you acquainted with the Polegates'? Your near neighbours?"

“Of course I am. Though I see nothing of them. I am done with socializing.” She gave Clementina a surprisingly keen look. “Lady Polegate is a good enough woman. She has a cousin staying with her I think. Some sort of soldier ... wounded I believe.” Uninterested in the subject of her neighbours, she voiced concern about a plant in her succession house.

Major Rhyle? Clementina wondered, then immediately chastized herself for her interest. Lady Polegate's cousin—possibly the major—could not matter to her, the widow of Carmelth. Aware that Lady Damerham expected some response to her gardening problem she drew her mind to the conversation and allowed herself to be led off toward the glasshouses. Her own ruminations would have to wait.

* * * *

Gideon Rhyle was invited to dine at Haldene Priory. He had dined twice in the company of Miss Valence and Lord Valence, against the wishes of his cousin; they were providing a welcome counterpoint to the sedate happenings at the Squire's residence. He was deep in thought as he strode the lane from his cousin's residence to the ancient, transformed monastic house, ignoring a sharp breeze and the gathering clouds that presaged overnight showers.

He was moving with much more ease, he assured himself. He walked as much as he could manage every morning, and his leg was getting stronger. The driving he had done had not bothered him at all; it was a great relief to feel himself on the mend.

His walks had done more than benefit his leg. It was on such an outing that he had encountered the child, Christopher. Rhyle had been amazed to see him; such coincidence was as rare as it was unexpected. He was glad to have previously encountered the little boy; the recognition on both sides had served to ease his distress.

He had wondered at a mother and father who could so misplace such a bright and charming child, but had suspected that a search for the lad would have been launched. He had been happy to comfort the lad and distract him with idle chat as they awaited discovery. The temptation had been there to pump the child for information about his family, but Gideon had banished it resolutely. They had spent the time talking of dogs.

He had not expected that the child's mother would herself discover them. She was as lovely as he remembered from Guildford, even with tears filling her hazel eyes, and her lacy cap askew. She was gowned again in grey, he had noted with a leap of hope; a bereavement ... the husband? He had immediately berated himself for such a discreditable wish, and banished her, as soon as she departed with her son, from his thoughts.

But then he had encountered her riding with the young lady from the Hall—that had been serendipitous indeed. He had taken up Valence in his gig, for a trip to see a cricket match in a nearby village. The encounter—whether it be for good or ill—had startled him into utter silence, and the discovery of her identity had not improved his spirits. He did not recognize the name of Carmelth, and he envied the unknown earl.

He slowed his limping progress so that he might remember every detail of the afternoon's encounter more clearly. Lady Carmelth was not a sanguine rider, that much had been immediately evident. Her black habit had concealed her magnificent form, but the plume of her severe hat had curled among auburn ringlets, and teased the corner of her generous mouth. And her eyes ... beautiful hazel eyes ... He curtailed his thoughts abruptly. He had never before lusted after another man's wife, and he was not about to begin. He might admire her, but he would allow himself nothing more. But it was three times now he had been required to watch the woman of his dreams hurry away from him, back to her husband, her family.

The days, which had been slipping by easily for him, were taking on an added interest with the encounters with the party from Wheeling Hall. His ruminations were interrupted as he was admitted to the Priory. He did not realize he had knocked.

He was led to the drawing room, where Valence greeted him with characteristic sarcasm. “Good God, Rhyle, I had no notion you were without social graces. You converse readily enough with my sister. Why said you nothing this afternoon after my introduction?"

Rhyle frowned in self-disgust. “My wits deserted me. I have met that lady twice before, and was—surprised—to see her yet again. ‘Tis a long story, and a foolish one."

“You already knew the lady?” Valence said.

“Her face, but not her name. How came your acquaintance?” He found himself jealous of Valence, which was completely nonsensical.

“A chance encounter a day or two ago, when she was driving with a sister, a glorious golden angel of a sister. I was riding. I know nothing of them but that they are Damerham's guests ... Cheriton's offspring. Perhaps Rebecca knows more of the lovely countess; she has told me of Cheriton."

They did not stand upon ceremony at the Priory. Miss Valence appeared with surprising suddenness, and as suddenly took part in their conversation as she immediately led them in to dinner.

“I have told Eric the little I know and I shall repeat my information for you, Major. The Marquess of Cheriton is a brilliant parliamentarian, and has far too many beautiful daughters. And a couple of sons, I think."

Rhyle was concerned that the conversation might be lost in the flurry of dinner service, but Valence picked up the thread minutes later without faltering as he addressed himself to his soup. “We had another encounter with the Wheeling Hall party this afternoon, Rebecca. The Countess of Carmelth and the Damerham child. Rhyle has met the countess three times and I—twice."

“My, my, we are traveling in exalted circles."

“Says she who, ah, consorts, with a duke,” Valence jibed.

Rhyle, though a man of wide experience, found the sniping distasteful, particularly as it concerned the lady's intimate acquaintance. “We were speaking of one son—the heir, Elham—just this afternoon,” he said rather more repressively than he intended.

“Have a care, Rebecca, we are offending the major."

His sister paid Valence no heed. “Elham was quite attractive as I recall, and not above himself. I have had the distinction of being cut by the marchioness, though."

Rhyle disregarded that flippant remark altogether. “Have I this correctly? Cheriton is a marquess, his eldest daughter is a countess, and his heir is Elham who is of the 10th Dragoons, one of Prinny's Own?"

“You have it.” Valence waved away a footman placing an offering of fish at his elbow.

“The countess might be a widow,” Rebecca said. “I know there has been a flurry of deaths in that family. Carmelth—yes, it seems to me that the earl is presently a child."

Rhyle stifled an ignoble leap of hope. “The countess does wear greys and blacks to excess."

Miss Valence observed him over her serving of poached hake with malicious enjoyment. “Have you an interest in the—possibly—dowager countess, Major?"

Rhyle schooled his voice to indifference. “Rather above my touch, don't you think? No, I was wondering if Cheriton might need assistance to locate Elham."

“I haven't a notion. Too many good men were lost at Waterloo; I hope not Elham too.” Valence was observing a dish of roasted goose with disapprobation.

“No, the countess did say this afternoon he was missing. They have had no confirmation of his death, I think."

Miss Valence addressed herself to a morsel of goose, and added some braised carrots to her plate. “Ah well, offering help is of all things the best way to ingratiate oneself."

Rhyle bit back his annoyance and schooled his face to impassivity.

The baron considered his friend, and his sister, for a long moment and seemed to come to some decision. “Shall we have some picquet this evening?” he said pointedly.

CHAPTER FIVE

Mid-morning next day found four of the young ladies quietly occupied in the morning room at Wheeling Hall, a charmingly sunny, un-Gothicized retreat with broad windows which revealed a view of the park where a pair of pristine white peacocks strolled. It had rained in the night and the scene was verdantly green and freshly washed.

Clementina was seated with Eleonora and Louisa in consideration of the latest issue of La Belle Assemblee. Felicity was engrossed in thought, staring at the empty fireplace, her expression varying between discontent and consideration.

Louisa was suspicious of any overtures from either of the golden-haired beauties, but after receiving an encouraging smile from Clementina, she allowed herself to discuss the latest fashions. Clementina had her own reasons for considering the fashions portrayed in the journal; it was past time, she had decided, to leave off her blacks.

The paneled door opened to admit the marchioness, followed by Susan with Kit in tow. The young ladies looked up in surprise at her entrance.

“It is a lovely day my dears. And I have a plan!” Lady Cheriton announced.

All but Louisa brightened. She looked dubious. Susan drew Kit to the window overlooking the lawn and pointed out the peacocks.

“I have ordered a carriage. Run and fetch your bonnets. We are going to explore the wonders of East Grinstead. Bring your pin money."

A wave of interest ran through the room as the young ladies stirred themselves.

“Lovely,” murmured Eleonora with her usual happy acceptance.

“At least it is something,” Felicity said, with a show of reluctance.

“You must come too, Louisa. Though we will be a little crushed in the carriage, we will be none the worse for it,” Lady Cheriton said.

Clementina nodded approvingly at them all. “Very wise, Mama, distraction before revolt breaks out!” she said.

She could see it was on the tip of Louisa's tongue to refuse to join the expedition. Then, reading the girl's expressive face, she divined that Louisa conceived an ignoble desire to spoil Felicity's day by accompanying them.

Clementina's smile approached a grin as she passed her mother to fetch her bonnet. Her mother tried to look disapproving of such levity.

“Perhaps Susan will play with Kit?” Clementina added.

“She will indeed; she has informed me that nothing could persuade her to enjoy a crowded carriage ride for the dubious pleasure of exploring some shops. She has plans in hand for a day most agreeable to her and Christopher.” She smiled at her youngest daughter who grinned and winked at her nephew.

Clementina embraced her son, and smiled over his head at her young sister. “I am asking so much of you, love. You must tell me what I can do to repay you!"

“You may bring me out!” Susan said, with a pert grin that told of her teasing. “No, in truth, I had rather fish and ramble with Kit, than sit bodkin in a coach, and look at muslins and ribbons in the town on arrival."

Clementina laughed and with a clear conscience made her way upstairs. When Louisa approached her minutes later in an upper corridor, Clementina immediately discerned that the girl had had second or third thoughts.

“I do not after all wish to come,” she said in a sullen little voice.

“Why not?” Clementina thought she knew. “Because your clothes will be shabby next my sisters and your hair style is outmoded? I have spoken with your mama, very first thing this morning. She is most happy to have us bring your wardrobe up to the minute and turn you out in trim. So go and slip on your very best day dress, and we will choose some goods to replace it. And indeed I could use your assistance for it is high time I leave off my blacks. I shall not wear them in anticipation of bad news regarding Nicholas, and I am come to the end of four years of mourning. Tell me, is there a competent seamstress hereabouts?"

“In Lindfield,” Louisa said. “Oh yes there is!” The girl's dark eyes widened with excitement and she pranced off.

“And if you wish when we return home, my Jenny might cut your hair. She keeps me in the first stare of fashion. Now hurry!” Clementina admonished. She could not tell the girl Lady Damerham's exact words. They had been ... “I have no notion of fashion, and little patience with it. But if new clothes will make the child happy, and improve her temper, I have no objection to it. Turn her out as you will."

Clementina had lost a little of her respect for her hostess during the conversation. She felt it showed a lack of motherly concern that did the lady no credit. But she had achieved her objective, and had gone away determined to do her best for Louisa.

One half hour found them crowded in the old-fashioned landaulet which had responded to Lady Cheriton's request for a carriage. Felicity and Eleonora faced Lady Cheriton. Clementina and Louisa were squeezed with the marchioness onto one seat with their backs to the horses.

The acknowledged beauties made a lovely picture. Their golden curls escaped from their jockey bonnets, and the sun warmed their rosebud complexions. The ribands of their pale muslin gowns fluttered in the breeze, and it was unfortunate, Clementina thought, that there was no one about to appreciate the picture they made. She smothered a smile, knowing that Felicity was conscious of the same feeling.

“Whose home is that?” Clementina asked. They had left the drive of the Hall, and had traveled north on the lane to East Grinstead for about two miles.

Louisa responded with alacrity. “That is the home of Sir Martin and Lady Polegate. We have spoken of them, you will recall. He is the squire. They have two sons, little boys, and a daughter and a baby."

She said nothing of the soldier, Clementina noted with disappointment. She chided herself for her interest.

The marchioness said, “Ah, Cheriton is to visit Sir Martin this morning, in company with Robert."

“Who else is in your neighbourhood? I have heard of a Priory have I not?” Clementina asked. Her query was casually put, but from the corner of her eye saw Felicity's expression quicken.

Louisa followed Clementina's lead and kept the secret of their meeting with the baron. “Haldene Priory,” she said. “Lord Valence lives there and his sister with him, sometimes. He is a Bad Man, Mama says. I am not to speak with him; I have seen him though.” She darted a conspiratorial look at Clemmie by her side. “He looks sinister, but dashing as well. I do not know what Lord Valence has done, Mama would not say. His sister is kind though Mama says she is ‘beyond the pale'."

The marchioness, who had been observing the passing scene, entered the conversation. “Valence is not at all the thing,” she said. “I do not scruple to tell you that he is a libertine, though the word may shock you. I wish you will have nothing to say to him should you encounter him, my dears. He is not generally accepted by the ton; he is a gamester and a wastrel. I know something of this sister; I would not repeat it."

The young ladies exchanged sidelong looks. Kind and even jolly as their mama sometimes was, she was a stickler for proper behaviour, and intolerant of those who deviated from it. Clementina, who prior to her marriage had time and again incurred her parents’ censure for her disregard of convention, knew that the marquess shared his wife's formality. She regretted it heartily for it seemed to her to display a narrowness of mind that she found unacceptable.

Louisa was chattering on, unusually animated because she was imparting information that only she could provide. “You've not been to East Grinstead,” she said. “It is a charming little town, and as it is larger than Lindfield we do much business there."

The ladies smothered smiles at this condescension.

“The daughter of the vicar, Caroline, is my friend. We are very low of company hereabouts, and of course my mama does not entertain.” She flushed an unbecoming red at the thought of her mother's oddities, and subsided into silence.

“We are not all of a sociable turn.” Lady Cheriton offered solace to the girl. “And your mama was sadly bereft by your papa's death. It must be difficult to carry on without one's lifelong helpmeet and confidant.” She made it clear she would hear no criticism of her friend from the daughter.

The marchioness’ conversational efforts took them into East Grinstead. They marveled obediently at the Jacobean elegance of Sackville College as Louisa pointed it out. The town was small but neatly laid out, worthy of a modest exploratory drive.

When they drove down the high street, Clementina smothered a smile as Felicity displayed an immoderate satisfaction at the knowledge that they were causing no small degree of sensation. Heads turned at the vision of loveliness the two young ladies presented. Clementina suspected that the fact that the carriage's inhabitants, but for Louisa, were unknown figured large in the interest they stirred. The flutter of curiosity expanded as they were handed down from the landaulet, and discreetly stretching their cramped limbs, began to explore the shops.

The establishments were of no great magnitude but they offered three hours’ entertainment. Two lengths of demure muslin were selected to be made up for Louisa, and the purchase brought a glow of pleasure to that young lady's face. Clementina chose a lilac silk, a mull muslin in pomona green, and a length of Spanish fly kerseymere for a new riding habit.

Felicity discovered a milliner who had, she declared somewhat exaggeratedly, a Parisian touch. Her satisfaction was ensured by the purchase of a straw bonnet lavishly trimmed with silk flowers. Eleonora was happy to simply browse among the stock and Clementina wondered, not for the first time, what occupied the mind of her kind, beautiful sister.

She was herself impressed with offerings of the milliner, and purchased, not without feminine satisfaction, a gypsy hat and a Rutland poke bonnet trimmed with silk leaves and green feathers. To her mother's enquiring look, she said, “I have worn mourning long enough, and I will not wear it yet for Nicholas."

“Thank you, my dear,” the marchioness said, with a shimmer of tears in her fine eyes.

For the party's last stop, Clementina suggested the stationer-bookseller, for she wished to purchase a storybook for Christopher. As they made to enter, a shopman pulled open the door from the inside, and a gentleman, upon seeing the ladies, stood aside for their ingress.

“Thank you, sir.” Eleonora smiled, sweetly absent-minded.

“I thank you.” Felicity was mildly flirtatious, and Louisa hurried in after her.

Lady Cheriton nodded with condescension, and Clementina followed her mama. She began to thank the gentleman, but her words died in her throat as she recognized Major Rhyle.

His glance was warm and appreciative, and though most gentlemen were awestruck by her lovely sisters, his smile was directed only at her.

Clementina responded with confusion to his open admiration. His gaze made her feel for the first time in a very long while, young and attractive; reminded her that she was only four and twenty, though a widow and a mother. Finally she smiled at him.

On this meeting, his dress was formal though he still did not wear a hat; his bearing was confident but not proud. He leaned on a Malacca walking stick.

“Good day,” she said, wondering if he was yet tongue-tied as he had been when with Valence.

“Good day to you, my lady.” His voice was as deep as she remembered.

“I am so happy to see that you are able to discard your crutch."

“The stick is more to my taste, thank you, my lady. We seem fated to chance encounters. How is young Christopher?"

“Very well, I thank you.” Clementina was aware that her mother was glancing back curiously.

Rhyle must also have been aware of it. His bow was impeccable, but he did not linger.

Clementina, as she appeared to peruse a table of stationery laid before the window, watched the gentleman disappear down the high street. He still limped very badly, and he leaned on his stick heavily. She wondered at him, for to be a friend of Lord Valence and a cousin of Lady Polegate indicated an advanced degree of diplomacy. She discovered that she was staring still at the perfect set of his corbeau-coloured coat across his broad shoulders, and the brilliant black sheen of his top boots.

She shrugged bewilderedly over her preoccupation, and rejoined her family.

* * * *

On the third Sunday in August, Major Rhyle accompanied his cousin's family to holy services in Lindfield.

The parish church was a small Norman building with some fine later details that Rhyle considered absently as they entered the narthex. Monuments to Damerhams and Polegates of the past crowded the walls—both plaques and reliefs—and on the stone floor, brasses commemorated yet more of the prominent locals. Squire Polegate, broad and florid, boomed his greeting to the black-robed vicar, and Gideon was introduced to the clergyman. They spoke only briefly before the vicar excused himself; Gideon had the impression of a man of sense and compassion.

Lady Polegate, with a son gripped firmly by each hand, led the way down the aisle. Rhyle followed the squire who had scooped up his small daughter. He was conscious of being the object of much interest to the congregation as he limped to the Polegate pew.

He seated himself with little attention to the discomfort of the unforgiving wood, and stared abstractedly before him. He found himself still preoccupied by the coincidences of the previous days. After their first meeting he had not expected that he would ever again encounter the lady who had smiled at him so delightfully. Yet their acquaintance was continually enlarged, and she was married, and so should have no place in his thoughts. Perhaps he might hope that Rebecca Valence was correct though; Lady Carmelth might be widowed. He shook his head in self-reproach, but could not deny to himself that now that he knew her to be in the neighbourhood, he watched for her everywhere.

They had been settled for only brief minutes, when his cousin leaned across one of her sons to hiss, “Across the aisle ... that is the party from Wheeling Hall."

Gideon started and stared at his little cousin, wondering if she had somehow discerned his interest. But she returned his gaze with innocent brightness. He shifted to glance, apparently carelessly, across the dim, cool interior of the church.

He recognized the ladies he had encountered in the high street of East Grinstead the previous day. The mother, the two younger beauties, the nut-brown Damerham girl: his grey gaze hastened along the line of handsome profiles presented to him. An older woman he did not recognize, and another girl—a Haythe if her fair incipient loveliness was a true indicator. The gentlemen of their party had elected not to attend services, he deduced, for there were none present.

At the end of the pew he discovered the Countess of Carmelth. The young ladies seated with her were more beautiful than she; he acknowledged it with cool detachment. She was the more engaging. Intelligence, kindness and some elusive quality of compassion enhanced her fine features. His admiring look took in the small boy at her side. And who was the husband then, he wondered, the earl that did not care enough for those two to join their traveling? A wastrel gaming away the family's fortune at the Regent's tables? A serious property owner at home on his estate? A soldier still in the Low Countries? He conjectured with himself on the point for several minutes, and noted with some hope that again the countess was gowned in dark grey. Perhaps her husband was deceased.

Finally he withdrew his gaze, lectured himself on the baseness of hoping for another's demise and confined his attention to the sermon. Later, he could not recall the text, or indeed a word of the homily.

Following the service, in the old churchyard of tipsy headstones, Gideon found himself introduced by Sir Martin to the gentry of the neighbourhood. He leaned on his stick patiently as the squire conversed with his neighbours, and he responded abstractedly when spoken to. He was occupied in watching his cousin, as she sought out the ladies from Wheeling Hall.

He discerned which was Lady Damerham by his cousin's animated greetings. As he watched Lady Polegate was introduced to the handsome eldest lady of the party who was undoubtedly the marchioness. She seemed more inclined to conversation than was her hostess. Their voices came to him on an errant breeze.

In response to Lady Polegate's enthusiastic questioning, Lady Cheriton said, with pleasant reserve, “We are enjoying our sojourn in your fine country, and the warm weather."

The auburn haired countess, in her grey gown made high about her throat, was standing some distance away, conversing with the other young ladies of her party, and holding her little boy by the hand. Though intensely aware of her, Rhyle forced his attention back to his mouse of a cousin.

She was in a flutter, Gideon observed with amused understanding, and rushing into discourse. “We are delighted to have you and your family in our midst. Friday week, my lady, Sir Martin and I are to be honoured by our neighbourhood's attendance at a small get together at our home. My cousin, Major Gideon Rhyle, is visiting us. We should be so delighted if your entire party would join us."

Gideon heard his own name with resignation. Lady Damerham looked annoyed, taking no pains to conceal her boredom. It seemed, however, the marchioness saw no harm in his thin, nervous cousin or her small party.

“Lady Damerham is not inclined to entertainment,” Lady Cheriton declined for her friend.

Gideon observed Lady Damerham to look thankful for this statement. Lady Polegate's face crumpled in dismay.

But the marchioness was continuing. “My family however would be delighted to attend. We move on to Brighton the Monday following but would be pleased to be acquainted in the neighbourhood before our departure."

The excitement in Lady Polegate's face was reward for the marchioness’ condescension. Gideon almost laughed aloud.

“I should have no hesitation in declining most invitations,” Lady Cheriton was adding. “I wish to avoid a busy round of local engagements. My son, the Viscount Elham, is missing following the action at Waterloo, and my younger daughters are resting, having enjoyed a demanding Season. However your gathering will be a welcome diversion."

Lady Polegate was effusive in her thanks, and was only kept from becoming a nuisance to the marchioness when one of her sons fell climbing a dramatically tilted headstone and set up a roar. Rhyle, nearest to hand, restored the child to his feet and dusted him down. His cousin bustled over and took charge of her son, reading him a scold in a ferocious undertone.

Gideon was well-satisfied by Lady Polegate's successful invitation. When Lady Cheriton and Lady Damerham very shortly led their party to their carriages, he bowed politely as they passed him. He smiled with unaffected pleasure at Lady Carmelth, and she returned his salute courteously while a betraying colour crept into her smooth cheeks.

The child, Christopher, grinned engagingly at Rhyle and at the oldest Polegate boy, who stood beside him. Gideon, experienced in the ways of children, winked unexpectedly at the little boy. He was rewarded with a chuckle as Christopher trotted after his mother.

As though suddenly aware of his reluctance, Lady Carmelth looked suddenly down at her son, and then back over her shoulder, at Rhyle. So, unselfconsciously and with a mischievous smile tugging at his lips, he winked at her, too.

* * * *

The wink resonated through Clementina's life for the next several days. She had heard Lady Polegate extend her invitation, and her mother accept it, with secret delight. In fact, she was surprised how much pleasure the engagement gave her. That her pleasure derived from the opportunity to meet again with Major Rhyle, she would not admit.

He had winked at her! She tried her best to be outraged. A man might wink at a ... a barmaid or a flower seller, but not at a countess. The soldier was no gentleman at all, she told herself. But try as she might she could not sustain indignation. She found herself, whenever she thought of the wink, wanting to giggle like any schoolgirl. The major apparently esteemed convention as little as she did herself.

As the Polegates’ evening party would be her first in a very long time, she was determined to appear her best. Her motives, she thought, did not bear examination, so she merely laughed at herself and took to planning.

One morning early in the week, she edged her chair in the breakfast room more closely to Louisa's. Eleonora and Felicity were happily arguing about bride clothes, and bride trips. Susan and Christopher were planning a fishing trip.

“You must take a footman or Marshall, and tell Pate and Grandpapa before you go.” Clementina was not so preoccupied that she forgot her responsibilities.

Susan agreed happily and took Christopher off. Louisa glared at Clementina. “Susan and I were going riding!"

“She must have forgot,” Clementina said. “It is of no consequence, for I should like to plan your day."

Louisa peered at her suspiciously from beneath a fringe of overlong brown curls.

“This afternoon we shall attend upon your seamstress; we'll take the tilbury, and our fabrics. Perhaps she may work at lightening speed and have us both up to the mark in no time. And later, let us have Jenny cut your hair as we discussed; a crop would become you very well. You shall be very modish, and by the evening of the Polegates’ party, you shall astonish everyone."

Wide-eyed, Louisa turned to her and ventured a smile. “Oh, I should like that. I was grumpy, but indeed ... indeed, I do not mean to plague everyone. Life is just so ... so..."

“Unrewarding? Uninspiring? Never fear, we shall change that,” Clementina said. “Now, Robert tells me that you knew how to handle the reins; indeed that you drive very well."

Louisa looked at her small capable hands shamefacedly. “I thought I would not tell you,” she said. “I saw you drive out with Felicity and you handle the ribbons splendidly."

Clementina chuckled. “My brother Nicholas helped to teach me. I have my own phaeton at Carmelth. I would be delighted to polish your skills..."

“Yes, please!"

“We shall practice then, and you may take the shine out of everyone, including Felicity."

“I should like that!” Louisa's cocoa-hued eyes gleamed with unexpected humour, as she cast a sidelong glance at Felicity who was chattering to Eleonora all unaware. “Very much indeed. May we leave now?"

“Immediately,” Clementina said.

It was no more than half an hour before they were on their way to the seamstress who occupied a small house in one of Lindfield's few streets. The drive took only twenty minutes and though Clementina kept the reins in her own hands, she discussed every point of her actions.

They spent an inordinately long time discussing wardrobes with the woman, who sensed substantial custom. The lady had an eye for style and colour, and boundless enthusiasm for her work. She had in her workroom a gown of naccarat cambric muslin which she had made up purely on speculation. Its deep orange-red colouring suited Louisa remarkably. Clementina purchased it on the spot and presented it to her young friend who was speechless as it was fitted. And there was another gown, almost complete, of peach-coloured jaconet that she coveted herself; it required a little alteration and was promised for the morrow. The cloth purchased in East Grinstead was commissioned for garments and Louisa chose ribands and trimmings that showed a remarkably refined taste for one so young.

Well-satisfied with the seamstress, each other, and their morning, Clementina and Louisa set off for the return to Wheeling Hall. This time Louisa drove, and Clemmie offered a litany of approbation and suggestion. The girl's skill was impressive and Clemmie decided to show her how to catch the thong of her whip. They drew the tilbury to a standstill in a leafy glad for a brief discussion. Suddenly two small fat ponies appeared around a curve fifty feet away and carried two young boys past at a lively canter. There was time for no more than a cursory glance.

“Polegates,” Louisa said just before a gig drawn by a fine chestnut appeared, at a walk.

Clementina recognized Major Rhyle. As he drew abreast of them, his strong face held a quizzical expression as if to question Clementina's memory and manners.

She remembered the wink, and coloured. “How do you do, Major?” she said, repressing a frisson of pleasure and displaying that her memory and manners were both impeccable.

“Very well thank you, my lady.” His bow was polite and elegant as he reined in his horse.

“Good day,” said Louisa in a small, uncertain voice.

“It is a fine day.” The major seemed disposed to socialize; his manner was assured, and easy, but today he challenged no conventions.

The discovery gave Clementina pause, and she determined to extend the encounter and converse.

“Our acquaintance increases, sir."

The major bowed again, and he smiled in a way that Clementina found most charming.

He said, “In a restricted neighbourhood it is inevitable. Your family attended at divine services; you have no gentlemen in your party, but for Viscount Damerham?"

Clementina did not find the question impertinent. “My papa was resting, my younger brother is at Eton, and my elder brother is ... is..."

“Ah, missing ... yes, I remember. Your brother has not rejoined his regiment since Waterloo. It does not mean the worst you know. The chaos was indescribable. He may be unable to advise you that he is wounded but recovering."

Tears rushed to Clementina's eyes. To have a military man confirm her dearest hope touched her beyond explaining. “Thank you, Major Rhyle. You cannot know what it means to have you say that."

“Would you consider it impertinent if I put a few inquiries of my own afoot?"

“I would consider it nothing but a wonderful thing,” she said, deeply moved by his obviously genuine concern. “Thank you."

He waved aside her thanks. “I understand you are to attend my cousin's evening party, Friday week?"

Clementina nodded her confirmation. “We look forward to it."

“Then we shall have opportunity to further our acquaintance. Now I must follow the boys; they are my cousin Polegate's sons. Good day to you."

Clementina was possessed of the wish to have him remain, but she was reminded of her companion. Louisa said, in a small voice, “Good-bye, Major."

“Good day, Major Rhyle. Enjoy your drive.” If there was a touch of extra warmth in her voice, she was glad of it, she told herself defiantly. The major had offered to help; she was indebted to him. And Friday she would see him again. She prodded Louisa to touch up the bay in the shafts.

Louisa was peeping over her shoulder. “He is watching us,” she hissed to Clementina.

CHAPTER SIX

“Clementina!"

Clemmie turned on hearing her mother—with impeccable gentility—call her name as she crossed the entry hall in preparation for walking out alone. Lady Cheriton gestured for her close attendance.

She obeyed with an inward sigh, though she begrudged her mother nothing.

“You are to be congratulated, my dear.” The marchioness was laudatory. “Young Louisa's appearance is much improved and the mode of hair dressing you have chosen suits her admirably. She will never be a beauty but her colouring is rich, and her features good. Lady Ann is astonished by her duckling's emergence as a swan.” She chuckled at the memory. “I should not have thought of dressing a young girl in such strong colours, but pale ones would not suit, I can see it.” Louisa had appeared the evening before with her freshly cropped hair curling riotously, and feathering against her flushed cheeks. The naccarat muslin gown had been a small sensation, and her transformation had been applauded by all.

“Twas the seamstress’ idea; the woman is a treasure. She promises my new gowns, and more for Louisa, within days—her daughter helps her sew—and has some further fabrics and designs she has vowed to look out. She wishes to make a green spencer that would complement my gowns. I am quite caught up in excitement."

“And you deserve to be. You looked very lovely last evening; sorrow has not dimmed your bloom, but enhanced it. I am concerned for your future, my dear. You must know that your happiness, your affairs, are of importance to me."

Clementina interrupted, a little flushed. “Mama, I have no affairs that need concern you. I am having a pleasant holiday at present. I am content to be Kit's mama, and do what I can for the people of Carmelth. I seek no further diversion in life."

“Humph!” The marchioness snorted inelegantly. “I am not convinced that you should not spend the Season—next spring—in town with us. You have spent enough time at Carmelth and suffered enough tribulations."

“Surely, Mama, I am best judge of that."

“Perhaps ... in any event, I am glad you are content here. Dear Kit does you credit, and he is enjoying himself. You are doing wonderfully well diverting Felicity. Please to continue for I can still do nothing with her. Her attitudes are all negative; she likes nothing, and attempts to like nothing. At this moment she probably has Eleonora in tears; she had yesterday afternoon. Have you the intention to go walking this morning? Will you take Felicity with you?"

Clementina, who had paled at her mother's mention of the Season, sighed inwardly, but smiled outwardly. Her solitary excursion would have to be foregone.

Lady Cheriton was hurrying on. “Have you seen Papa, my dear? He is more worried each day about Nicholas."

“He was here just before you called to me; he was in company with Robert. Damerham required some advice in the estate room, I believe. As for Nicholas, I am convinced he will return to us, but there must be some serious reason for his delay.” Clemmie remembered Major Rhyle's kindness.

“I think so too. Cheriton is worn down and fears the worst. He will be pleased to be of assistance to Robert; we wish to ensure Eleonora's future happiness."

Clementina nodded, and returned to the marchioness’ query. “I shall find Felicity. Where are Susan and Louisa just now?” she asked.

The marchioness was on the pointing of departing to seek out the marquess. “They are with Christopher in the stables. Cheriton thinks the head groom a good, agreeable man, and as they are horse mad they have permission to spend some time there. I said Kit might join them; I hope I did right?"

Clementina appreciated her mother's sensitivity in matters pertaining to her grandson, and nodded her approval before her mother disappeared. Felicity descended the staircase before Clementina could begin to search for her.

“Clemmie, do you care to go walking?” she asked, without preliminaries.

“I have my bonnet and boots; you find me in readiness,” Clementina said, noting her sister was as well prepared. She wondered about that degree of preparedness. They left the house by the terrace door of the Hall, and Felicity, it seemed, had definite ideas on the direction their expedition should take. From the terrace, she chose a path that skirted the lake and passed the little temple, before entering the woods.

“Have we a destination?” asked Clementina, sniffing the moist morning air appreciatively. A few soft clouds hinted at the possibility of showers later in the day, but for now the sun brightened every garden and glade.

“Of course not,” Felicity assured her a shade too airily. “But we must not go too far, for I am told Haldene Priory lies in this direction."

Clementina was enlightened. And it appeared Felicity had been told aright, for not ten minutes later, Lord Valence appeared leading his tall, black horse.

“Well, what a coincidence,” Clementina said, settling her cottage bonnet with its grey and white silk flowers more securely, to better inspect the arrival of Lord Valence.

“Lady Felicity, Lady Carmelth, what a pleasant surprise!” His pleasure was obvious, but his hard eyes were veiled.

“Indeed it is!” Clementina spoke before Felicity, who had blushed adorably, could open her mouth. “My sister would walk the other way, but I said no, this path looked particularly pleasant."

Felicity gasped at the fib.

Lord Valence laughed, not understanding, but enjoying the interplay. “Indeed, I must be happy for your stubbornness in overcoming your sister's reluctance."

Felicity was feeling rather left out. “A lovely day, is it not, Lord Valence?” She gestured at the peaceful, verdant green of forest and field around them.

“Indeed, but the closer view is the lovelier."

Felicity blushed beautifully again at the fulsome compliment.

Clementina, unimpressed, raised delicately arched, auburn eyebrows.

Lord Valence grinned at her skepticism, lifting years from his hard face, and said, “Life in the country can be dull, my lady."

“Particularly if one is more suited to life in town,” she agreed. “I however find town tedious after a time, and so if I dawdle to enjoy this pastoral scene to the full, you two must not mind, but walk on."

“I can show you a delightful patch of lady's slipper,” Lord Valence said, his eyes on Felicity's rosy face.

“My sister would enjoy that,” Clementina said. “Do go on; I shall follow."

The couple was out of sight when she paused to admire a fine old apple tree thick with fruit. Suddenly a piping voice near her elbow offered, “Cousin Gideon says that's a Howgate. He knows all about apples."

Clementina look down to discover a small boy of about nine years and unmistakably mousy coloration at her left elbow. She had seen him before in the company of Rhyle. “Ah, a Polegate,” she said.

“Here how do you know our name?” A similar voice, slightly belligerent, demanded from her right side.

Surprised by the protective fervour in his stance, she opened her mouth to reply but was forestalled.

“Mind your manners, the pair of you. This is the Countess of Carmelth, who is visiting at Wheeling Hall; make your bows.” Major Gideon Rhyle appeared, limping, from the woods. His own bow was brief, his greeting quizzical. “Abroad again, my lady?"

Clementina, who could freeze pretension with a glance in a manner learned from the marchioness, found no quarrel with this familiarity. She found herself regretting that she wore her grey nainsook gown; she wondered, absurdly, what he would think of her in colours.

She remembered, suddenly, the wink and blushed. “Yes, indeed.” To banish her thoughts, she hurried into speech. “I had not thought we would meet until Lady Polegate's party, sir."

“I can only be happy that I have not to wait until then,” he responded. “You are alone?"

She shook her head, colouring more deeply at his plain speaking. For that, she was certain, it was ... not at all the flattery it might appear.

“I am accompanied,” she said, annoyed by her discomposure. “By my sister, who is ahead with Lord Valence. We have met him apparently by chance, but not I think without some connivance on her part. At any rate, they seem both of them delighted by the encounter."

He chuckled as she had intended. “Up the tree you go, boys. Pick us some fruit; I've no idea whose land we are on, but it's obviously a forgotten, or chance-grown tree.” He turned back to Clementina.

She met his admiring look evenly though the colour still tinged her smooth cheeks.

“Nurse will complain of their nankeens, but boys must climb trees,” he said.

“In our family, so too did the girls! Of course my son is only a beginner, but I have hopes of him.” She was unaware that he directed her a keen look.

“Have you seen lady's slipper this morning?” Clementina asked, watching the children.

“I have; if that is where Valence is taking your sister it is not far. I count the baron as a friend; he is a gentleman.” His reassurance was subtle.

Surprisingly Clementina trusted it, and said, “I appreciate your candour, and your understanding. Have we met in town, Major Rhyle? Should I know your family?"

“My family? No!” He rumbled a laugh, to her bewilderment. “Ah you are thinking because I claim a baron as friend I must be well connected? But in fact, my father is a farmer—a very good, yeoman farmer—in Norfolk."

“That information only causes more impertinent questions to spring to my mind,” Clementina's hazel eyes sparkled with rueful laughter. She noted that the major leaned heavily on his stick, and wished that they both might sit down.

He did not speak of it however, but said, “I can answer the questions without your asking. I have not the least objection. My father fancied education for his eldest son, and sent me to a fine academy in Norwich. I was army-mad when I finished my schooling, and continued so until he bought me a commission. I attained the rank of major, but I was invalided out of His Majesty's army two months ago."

They exchanged a smile. An errant breeze stirred the auburn curls escaping from Clementina's bonnet, and ruffled the major's flaxen hair. He neither wore nor carried a hat.

“Will you satisfy my impertinent curiosity?” Candidly, he sought information of her. “You wear blacks. Whose passing do you mourn?"

She did not resent his question; it was her opportunity for frankness. “I am in the process of donning colours again. It was my mother-in-law who recently departed this earth,” she explained, and fancied a flicker of regret crossed his face. She found herself hastening to add, “But I am a widow. The Earl of Carmelth died nearly five years ago."

The major seemed to find the information interesting, though he made no comment on it. “You have only the one son?"

She confirmed his statement with a nod.

“But a fine family of sisters and brothers."

A shadow crossed her face.

“I have brought your brother to mind. I have written letters, but have had no responses as yet.” He did not allow her to dwell on her concern. “You cannot impress me with your quantity of siblings. I have five brothers and three sisters. I am the eldest."

“I am outdone,” she said. “We are to be enlarged however. My sister Eleonora is betrothed to Lord Damerham. That is the purpose of our visit. We are to move on to Brighton in a sen'night."

He said nothing in response to that but she fancied he was attentive to her words.

“I cannot long stand in one place. Should you object to walking a little?” he said.

She agreed to it readily, and asked, as they trod down the ferny path, “You were badly wounded?” Her concern was genuine, and her curiosity was tempered by compassion.

“I was. I tangled with a sabre in Belgium. But for the intervention of a friend, I should have lost the leg to a zealous surgeon."

They turned and walked back to the apple tree and beyond it to the hedgerow. The major leaned against a nearby stile.

Clemmie untied her straw bonnet as the breeze died away, and after only a moment's hesitation she removed it. “I did not properly thank you when you had found my son, several days ago. I am very grateful."

Rhyle made a dismissive gesture. “I count it an honour to be of service,” he said, his steady gray gaze on her face. “Did you ever find the deceptive boy?"

She shook her auburn head with its lacy cap. “It is another mystery. We have been prone to accident, my son and I, these past months. He had a fall downstairs last month before we began our journeying. It might have been serious but for the lazy presence of our old wolfhound at the foot of the steps. We suffered a broken trace on the journey here that nearly tangled the leader and sent us over into a steep depression. And a year ago there was a fire in the nursery wing at Carmelth."

The major, whose face had sobered at this list of casualty, asked, “An excess of coincidence, surely?"

She began to answer the question but was interrupted by her own name, querulously spoken from the other side of the hedgerow. In a moment Lady Felicity and Lord Valence appeared at the stile.

Major Rhyle straightened, and the men greeted each other with the ease of friendship.

Clementina performed the necessary introductions for her sister, and was amused to note that young lady's usual discreet scrutiny of another eligible male.

With a whoop, the forgotten boys swung out of the nearby apple tree, causing Felicity to start and frown, and the others to laugh at their antics.

“You'll never catch us, Cousin Gideon!” They screamed with laughter, and tore down the hedged track, disappearing around the curve.

“I must tender my apologies and my farewell,” the large gentleman said, his eyes on Clementina's face. “They like their jest; taunting a cripple. They'll be waiting round the bend."

She smiled in appreciation of the joke. Before she could say good-bye he had set off, unselfconsciously limping, after the wayward children.

Felicity ignored the departure. “The flowers were very lovely, Clemmie,” she said. She lifted melting blue eyes to Valence's attentive face, as he helped her over the stile.

The smile that quirked Clementina's wide mouth changed to one of cynicism. It was always Felicity's habit to concentrate on the gentleman in whose company she was, rather than worry about those who departed.

“I am sure they were my dear, but we must walk on. We must have our exercise before our return to the Hall,” Clementina said.

“And I must continue on my way to my farmer down the track. Good day, Countess. Lady Felicity I thank you for your charming company."

Felicity blushed once more, and murmured her farewell.

They separated and if Lord Valence looked back, it was undetected, for good manners forbade either lady to do so.

It was quite five minutes before Felicity sighed and said, “Is he not exciting, Clemmie?"

“Just like Lord Byron, love,” Clementina agreed. “Mysterious, dramatic, bad perhaps but not, I think, mad or dangerous to know. He seems a very nice man, who has seen the difficult side of life. Major Rhyle is his friend, and thinks well of him."

“Who is this Major Rhyle?” Felicity demanded dropping her languid air. “He is very large, and though not handsome, rather fine looking."

“He is ... was a soldier,” Clementina said. “And he is the son of a farmer. Beyond that, I have no information."

Felicity made an unattractive face. “How vastly under-bred. How could you converse with him? You were very at ease in his company."

“He is a sensible, thoughtful, educated gentleman. I do not poker up because a person is not endowed with title and estate. And as the widow of Carmelth I am not some green girl; I hope I can converse with anyone!” Abruptly and swiftly Clemmie walked on.

Felicity had perforce to trot to keep up with her.

They had not gone two hundred yards before they were met by Susan and Louisa, swinging young Christopher between them. After the greetings, the three young ladies walked on as Clementina chose to stroll with her son.

“And how do things go on in the stables, my love?” she queried ruffling his curls, before taking his small, warm hand into her own.

“Very well, Mama ‘cepting only that great grey horse that tried to step on me."

Susan overheard. “It was a new horse, Clemmie. Marshall was trying to bridle it, and it took exception to our presence. Kit was well-protected by a stablehand."

“And Mama, Marshall says I may ride before him on one of Uncle Wobert's prime goers, p'raps even the new one, any time I wish. ‘Deed, I might have gone just now, but Susan said I ought not—that I must ask you first."

Clementina blessed her youngest sister while cold fear clutched her heart. “No my dear, you may not ride with Marshall.” Her blood ran cold at the thought of entrusting her precious child to a groom. And what danger had he been in only minutes past in the stable? She discovered her words had been too abrupt for her little boy was staring up at her in surprise. “I had rather you take such a ride with Uncle Robert, or perhaps we shall wait for that treat until Uncle Nicholas, or James may take you up."

“I should rather not wait, Mama."

Clementina sought to control the unreasoning distress that threatened to choke her words. She had an odd desire to tell Major Rhyle of the groom's offer, and her overwhelming fear; surely he would tell her she was being nonsensical.

“I know, my love, but will you give your word that you will wait, please?"

“Yes, Mama, I promise.” Sensing something of her distress, the child tucked his thumb in his small mouth, something he rarely indulged in any longer. In silence, they walked on.

* * * *

The next day but one, Clementina, in her new green riding habit, was crossing the entry hall stealthily in search of a solitary hour when she was halted by her father's voice.

“Clementina, where are you off to?"

She sighed, halted and flung the tail of her habit over her arm. The marquess trod slowly down the last of the broad staircase.

“I thought I would ride out, Papa. It is a fine day, unlike yesterday. Kit is in the care of Mama; I have evaded all of my sisters, and Louisa. I wish only for a little solitude."

Her father smiled at her quizzically, from his position on the bottom step. “You so seldom ride, and even less often ride alone. You must be quite desperate."

She shrugged a little embarrassedly. “I have become accustomed to privacy at Carmelth; there is little to be had here. After the busyness of the past few days I feel the need to be companionless. I may ride farther than I can walk. I have even the intent of dismissing Marshall from my side."

“Your groom? You should not, my dear. But I shall not interfere, if you will not venture over a trot."

She promised, and he patted her shoulder before they each continued on their way.

She kept her pledge; the solitude was blissful once she had dismissed Marshall. All went well for some time. The mare that the groom had chosen for her was well-mannered and had a smooth walk, and a comfortable trot. She congratulated herself on her improved seat, and her confidence increased. She briefly, despite her promise to her father, contemplated a canter.

The day was charming, sunlit and fragrant, though some chill edge to the breeze indicated that autumn would not be long in coming. Clemmie lifted her face to the sun and spoke aloud a small prayer that her brother might also be feeling its life-giving warmth this day.

Whether it was the unexpected sound of her voice, or some other inexplicable event, her mount—engaged in an even trot near the fringes of the lake—reared and bolted.

Had she been a better equestrienne, Clementina might have kept her seat, or even brought the mare under control. Such was her lack of skill however, that she tumbled into an inelegant heap on the ground, fortunate not to have been tangled in the sidesaddle by her trailing skirt.

After several stunned moments, Clementina pulled herself to a sitting position, winded and aching. She pulled off her hat, which hung gracelessly, with its jaunty plume broken, over her left ear, half her hair tumbled down with it. Her pleasure in the day destroyed, she watched the mare circle the lake like one possessed.

She must walk back to the Hall, she supposed, though she was jarred in every joint. Her crop had fallen several feet away, and she stretched to reach it. In doing so she leaned upon her right wrist. Immediately, with a shiver of exquisite pain, she fainted.

A cool dampness bathing her face brought Clementina back to her senses, and discomfort amid comfort was her chief sensation. She ached abominably but her head was comfortably resting on a broad shoulder and a strong arm was supporting her.

“Nicholas?” she murmured, struggling to open her eyes.

It was not Nicholas’ lean face above her anxiously, but Major Rhyle's increasingly familiar one. His broad forehead was creased with concern, and his heavy flaxen brows drawn together in worry. He was bathing her face with a snowy handkerchief apparently dipped in the lake.

“My lady!” His deep voice revealed his relief. “There is naught to distress you. How do you feel?"

“Wretched,” she said, surprised to her that her voice was weak. “That blessed horse! Riding is not my forte, but I was doing very well. The miserable animal bolted..."

His gaze sharpened at her words even as he continued to survey her with concern. “Bolted!? You were alone? Where are you hurt? I will take you to the Hall, but not before I know how best to avoid further injury to you."

Gingerly Clementina drew herself up from his marvelously comfortable shoulder.

“I ache in every limb but only from bruises, I believe. Except my wrist...” She lifted her right arm and experienced agonizing pain as she tried to move her hand. She swayed in sick amaze.

Rhyle, biting off an exclamation, supported her with care. “'Tis sprained at least. We must hope it is not broken. Close your eyes and rest against me, my lady.” With one hand, he ripped off his impeccable cravat while keeping anxious eyes on her white face. He released her to fashion a sort of sling to support her arm and hand.

His coat, she realized with a dullness she could only attribute to shock, was already about her warding off any chill.

“I wish I could carry you, but I can only support you up to the Hall, my lady.” He stood stiffly, then bending his long length, helped her easily to her feet.

“I am no featherweight, sir, you could not convey me anyway.” Her wrist was stabbing her with pain.

“My wound is mostly healed, but not enough. It will prevent me from proving you wrong.” He smiled down at her a gently teasing gleam in his eyes.

She let his strong arm support her. It was over a half-mile back to the Hall, and Clementina concentrated on his large hands as she determinedly held back tears of pain on the walk. He said nothing, but his eyes were full of reassurance as he glanced down from time to time.

When they reached it, the great oak door to the Hall stood open. Lady Cheriton was visible within, Christopher at her side. She was in urgent conversation with Pate and the groom Marshall.

The marchioness uttered a little shriek as Major Rhyle loomed up in the doorway with his white-faced companion.

Little Kit ran to his mother. “Mama, mama,” he wept, clutching a fold of her habit.

“Clementina! Find his lordship, Pate, quickly, and your mistress.” After her first shock, the marchioness, always a sensible woman, recovered her composure. “Bring her in here, sir.” She led the way to a cushioned sopha in the gloomy great hall.

Clementina smiled reassuringly at her child, but swayed into a faint again, as Rhyle eased her down very carefully.

Lady Cheriton loosened the throat of her daughter's riding habit while saying, “Mama is all right, Christopher; be calm my dear."

Rhyle stepped two paces back, leaving Clementina to her mother's ministrations.

Lady Cheriton said, “Her mount returned to the stable of its own accord, riderless, sir. I had just been apprised of the fact. Where did you find her?"

“I was walking and had strayed unconsciously to Damerham land. Her ladyship was by the lake; she had fainted after being thrown, I believe. I think she had not been there long. I believe her right wrist to be sprained, perhaps broken."

“And you are?” The marchioness demanded the information with cool superiority.

“Gideon Rhyle, late of the 11th Light Dragoons, cousin of Lady Polegate.” He offered his name with tense civility.

“Well, I thank you, Mr. Rhyle. We are most fortunate that you happened on the scene. If you would care to wait, I will see that your coat is returned to you; your cravat, I am afraid, is beyond salvation.” Her tone was a precise mixture of condescension and reserve. “The marquess, I know, will wish to speak with you. If you will excuse me..."

Clementina moaned.

Rhyle retired to a window embrasure across the hall, urging Christopher to join him. The child was reluctant to leave his mother, but listening to Gideon's murmured assurances, allowed himself to be persuaded.

As they withdrew, the chamber filled with people. The girl Rhyle had seen at Sunday service—Rhyle heard her called Susan—arrived and, despite her tender years, competently assisted the marchioness. A young woman with a strong resemblance to Lady Felicity settled by the sopha with the appearance of a ministering angel.

Shortly after, he watched his coat born away by a footman, who nearly collided with Pate in the doorway. The butler was bearing an immense salver with a bowl of water and some soft cloths, and a brown bottle, probably sal volatile. Gideon recognized Lady Damerham, helplessly wringing her hands, who followed him. A burly gentleman of a certain age—unmistakably the marquess—strode in.

Little of the quiet conversations reached Rhyle as he entertained the small boy at his side, and reassured the child that his mama was well enough. Christopher stopped crying, and after a few minutes, he carefully perched on Gideon's good leg. He confided that he did not trust horses anymore, and told—between hiccoughs—about the grey trying to stamp upon him.

Rhyle heard the somewhat garbled story with concern and tucked it away to consider later at leisure. At length the young lady who resembled Lady Felicity was sent away, Lady Damerham was encouraged to see Cook about supporting broths and draughts and she departed, and the butler retired. Susan came to Rhyle and with a roguish smile, took Christopher's hand and led him away to his nurse.

The marquess finally crossed to Gideon's window and said, “I am Cheriton, Mr. Rhyle.” He did not offer his hand, but inclined his head.

Gideon rose, not without difficulty, and responded with a bow that was polite but in no way subservient. He noted a watchful gleam in the marquess’ keen eyes, but asked only, “Is the young lady improved, Lord Cheriton?"

“She is. It appears only her wrist is injured, as you thought. We have sent to the surgeon. I would thank you, sir for your assistance. It is not often that Clementina requires a knight errant; more often she is aiding others."

“That I can believe, my lord. It was little enough that I did. Ah, I believe the countess's crop, her hat and my stick are still by the lake's edge."

The marquess summoned a footman and instructed him to follow Rhyle's direction to retrieve the forgotten items.

“Soldier were you?” Cheriton asked after seeing the servant off.

“Major, my lord. At least I was until I received a wound at Quatre Bras."

“Serious?” The marquess’ face was grim and not without a hint of kindness.

“Serious enough to end military service for me, and leave me the devil of a limp.” Rhyle shrugged. “My presence here is in the nature of a recuperative holiday, as the Polegates’ are my cousins, and this is pleasant country."

They were interrupted by Pate who was carrying the major's coat and assisted him into it. Shortly the footman returned and handed Clementina's crystal headed crop and her bedraggled hat to the marquess, and Gideon's Malacca stick to him.

He leaned on it gratefully. “I will be on my way, my lord. I hope the lady's injuries are quick to heal."

“Thank you! On all accounts, Mr. Rhyle. We stand in your debt."

Rhyle doubted the sincerity of the marquess’ words, but he merely said, “Thank you, Lord Cheriton.” He shook the marquess’ suddenly proffered hand. He would then have left, but he was called back.

“Major Rhyle?” Clementina's voice was a little thin but was determined.

He limped across the room to where she lay, pale and appealing, swathed now in a Norwich shawl. Her mother was ruefully observing her eldest daughter's typical determination.

“Thank you, Major,” Clementina said. There was no doubting her sincerity.

“You are most welcome, my lady.” Conscious of her parents’ presence he made no attempt to resume his easy manner of previous meetings. “Good day."

A tiny flicker in her eyes told him she was as aware of the restraint as he as she said, “Good bye."

* * * *

“So the charming countess has had an accident.” Lord Valence was seated in his parlour with a substantial glass of brandy in his hand, regarding his visitor incuriously. The ancient leaded windows had just been closed, for a sharp, short shower of rain had cooled the temperature, confirming the hint of autumn that had been in the air earlier in the day.

Major Rhyle was taking his ease in a wing chair that comfortably accommodated his massive frame. His words were deliberate. “Not an accident, no.” He stared into the small fire on the wide hearth, and then lifted his gaze to his friend.

“But you just said that she had a fall while riding.” Valence frowned.

“I don't think it was an accident."

“You are telling me that someone is trying to kill or injure the Countess of Carmelth?"

“And her son.” Gideon had given the matter a great deal of thought on his walk from Wheeling Hall to the Priory.

Valence laughed harshly. “Were you struck in the head by the sabre butt after it cut your leg to ribbons?"

Rhyle frowned at hearing his suspicions belittled. “Her fall is the latest in a long series of incidents.” He laid out the accidents that had befallen Clementina and Christopher in the past two years—Kit's fall, the fire, the carriage accident, just as she had told him. To it, he added, the child's luring into the wood, his encounter with the grey in the Hall's stables, and the countess’ riding disaster. “I am telling you what I suspect to be true. Can you imagine such a catalogue being chance?"

The baron stared at the drink in his slender hand. “I think not. But why?"

Rhyle shrugged massive shoulders and picked up the glass of brandy that stood on the polished table beside his chair. “The succession? Harm the mother and the child is vulnerable. Kill the child and you inherit the earldom."

“Who stands to inherit?” Valence asked.

“My cousin holds a Burke's in her library.” Rhyle exchanged a wry grin with his companion; Burke's Peerage was a required reference for anyone interested in the high society of the country. “According to it, the heir is one Paget Wolseley, a cousin of the little earl's father."

“I've heard the name. I've no face to match it. I wonder if Rebecca knows of him?"

“If you can ask without arousing suspicion, do so. But I think we should tell no one, not even her, our suspicions."

“Cloak and dagger, indeed. Takes me back to my Peninsular days. Very well, I shall be discreet."

“Good. We need to determine Wolseley's situation, his whereabouts and his indebtedness. We must also keep a watch on the countess and the little earl."

“We? Surely it is for her parents to protect Lady Carmelth."

“They have a large family, and an overwhelming preoccupation with their heir's whereabouts. They see only a spate of accidents involving their daughter and grandson; I'd prefer they remain oblivious for now. We can handle this. You have an interest in the Haythes, I believe; a daughter named Felicity?” Rhyle lifted a flaxen brow. “And like me, you will have substantial difficulty in convincing the stiff-rumped marquess and marchioness that you are eligible to entertain that interest. You stand to gain by helping me."

Valence laughed. “You have me assessed to an inch. But I thought we were helping them to find Elham?"

“I certainly am—I was not aware that you were. You are welcome to assist though. One more good turn must be to our advantage. But I am not doing this to further my own ends. I am undertaking to prevent a tragedy ... a tragedy by anyone's standards."

“Yes, I would help you in any event whether or not it redounded to my credit; the thought of such villainy turns even my stomach. I've no experience with the infantry but, pah, to kill a child ... or endanger his mother..."

“I thought you might see it so. Now, this is what I think we might do..."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Clementina was comfortably established in the great hall before the majority of the household departed for divine services the next morning. She was tucked up with shawls and nostrums, books and flowers and Kit had brought a quantity of toys and his own books to entertain himself, and her.

As he busied himself, she indulged her thoughts, although she would not allow herself to consider Major Gideon Rhyle. But she would admit that she had been happy she was wearing her new habit when Major Rhyle had found her after ignominious fall.

She shook her head and rather, turned her mind to consider her son, and his inheritance, Carmelth. How were they managing without her she wondered, her devoted and kindly staff, and the elderly grandmother of her late husband? She must not be too long away, she decided, but return to her solitary life held not the appeal it once had.

Her thoughts wandered on. In passing, she considered Louisa, whose happiness daily improved, and to Susan, at last beginning to set aside childish pursuits. To her dearest brother, Nicholas, she sent prayers; surely he would return to them. If only they all could be as happy as Eleonora and her Robert.

Her thoughts slid back to the major. Would he look for her at the ancient church in Lindfield today? There was only one week left of their visit in Sussex. She could wish, now after her accident, that she had not agreed to travel on to Brighton with her family. She had just as soon return to Carmelth to recuperate.

Where would life lead Gideon Rhyle after his visit with his cousins? Before she could pursue that immaterial thought, her ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of her sister, Felicity.

“I thought you were gone to services!” she said.

Felicity was aglow, fairly dancing in her blue silk slippers. “I told Mama I should be good company for you and Kit. And so I shall ... I have so much to tell you.” She settled into the least unwelcoming chair nearby, wriggled herself to comfort, and continued, “I had a most interesting day yesterday while you were about your accident. Well, it did not appear at first to be fortuitous ... it began wretchedly. Things do come about surprisingly sometimes, do they not?” She pondered that oddity for a long moment.

Clementina choked back a chuckle.

“Lady Damerham enlisted me—me!—to accompany Louisa to the vicarage on an errand. Eleonora and Susan were with Mama, Robert off somewhere, and you were nowhere to be found. So was I entrapped.” She dwelt a moment upon the injustice.

Clementina's sympathies lay with Louisa.

“The drive was mercifully short, though I must say the child drives tolerably, but when we arrived, we stood in a nasty little wind, chattering. Louisa soon went off with the vicar's wife and daughter upon whatever silly errand we were to be about, and someone arrived to see the vicar. I said I would be most happy just to look about the rose garden. It at least was sheltered from the wind. I had been there only a very few minutes when suddenly I turned about and there he was, Lord Valence. He said he felt fortunate to encounter me.” She blushed at the remembrance. “I told him I was surprised to see him. Everyone had told me that he was a Bad Man and here he was visiting the vicar. Do you know Clemmie, he said such a curious thing. He said, ‘The vicar is an old friend. He played with me when we were lads, disapproved of me in our youth, and has been my salvation as a man.’”

Clementina shifted on her sopha and winced as pain lanced through her wrist. “I thought Valence could not be as unpleasant as portrayed."

“Oh, he is not unpleasant at all. He told me the vicar trusts him, and asked if I would trust him. I said I would, and he gave me this.” Felicity opened her hand to display for a moment a pale pink rosebud rather the worse for wear.

Clementina's eyes widened. “Felicity, that is most..."

“Improper. I know, but it's also delightful, and surely meaningful.” Felicity paused, a secret, contemplative smile turning her full, rosy lips. Then she shook off her thoughts. “Kit, my love, should you like to go for a walk, and let Mama rest?"

Before Clemmie could speak they were gone, and she was left to reflect on her sister's words. She had done Felicity a vast disservice in introducing her to the baron, if his intentions were dishonourable or base. She reflected on what she knew of the man and eventually decided that her sister would come to no harm from him. She had confidence in his direct gaze and self-deprecating manner.

The rest of her day was busy, with the entire household making its best efforts to alleviate her discomfort and distract her from her sufferings. They were so successful that the next day, she went abroad to discover some peace and quiet.

It was an oppressively brilliant day; there was a threat of thunder in the air. The humid heat had engendered a sense of disquiet about the Hall. The budding friendship between Lady Susan and the Honourable Louisa had been disrupted by some tiff and both young ladies were in the sulks in their respective chambers. Lady Damerham had found the heat burdensome and had retired to hers. A lack-lustre game of bowls was underway on the lawn. While Robert assisted Eleonora with a not-very-difficult placement, Felicity was drifting about with a secretive smile on her face. Even Lady Cheriton was somnolent on a chaise just inside the terrace doors, and the marquess had disappeared into the library.

Clementina walked around the lake, with a footman to carry cushions and Christopher to assist with her books, to the little Grecian folly where a chaise and chairs were installed, as well as a spacious round table. She settled things to her satisfaction, dismissed the footman and surveyed her eyrie. With a contented sigh, she picked up a new novel while Kit perused a book with engravings of Arabia.

A blackish-blue cloud built unheeded in the southern sky. The air grew yet more oppressive. Christopher had left Clementina to join those nearer the house when the first rumble of thunder turned all faces to the suddenly threatening sky. There was a general scurry for cover from the lawn and terrace, as the first drops pattered down. There were some anxious glances toward the folly as the family sheltered behind the terrace doors.

Clementina was unconcerned. She was protected from the rain as it strengthened to a steady downpour, and she settled in peace to enjoy her solitude.

“Your pardon, my lady.” A deep voice spoke from the back of the little folly.

Clementina twisted in amaze, for Major Gideon Rhyle stood at the top of the little building's steps, slightly damp, with raindrops glistening on his flaxen hair.

“Do come in,” she said, quite forgetful of her strong desire for seclusion.

“I have no wish to intrude,” he hesitated.

“Good gracious, Major Rhyle, it is pouring with rain. You must intrude!"

He chuckled deep in his broad chest and limped within. “I have strayed again on to Damerham land."

Clementina waved him to a seat wordlessly, and noted as he crossed the stone floor that his limp was less pronounced.

He settled into the sturdy teakwood chair with a sigh and a smile. “I was used never to tire. Now I find myself happy to rest even though there is no challenge in walking Polegate's property. My cousin's husband has ordered his holdings too well; there is no wildness, no natural growth left."

“Whereas Lady Damerham has a Gothick tangle over all the land that Robert—the viscount—will permit. It must be a challenge."

“A welcome one; my cousin would wrap me in cotton wool.” He shook his flaxen head. “I was in fact going to Wheeling Hall to enquire after your health. But I can see for myself that your accident has not injured your characteristic bloom."

Clementina felt no outrage at his easy familiarity, but coloured faintly. She achieved a severe look. “What can you know of my ‘characteristic bloom'?” she asked.

“We have met six times. I am an acute observer,” he said. “The first time I saw you at Guildford, I envied your unknown husband his good fortune."

Clementina felt her blush deepen, and said, “But I am a widow."

“I could not know it then; I confess to a certain ignoble relief at learning it.” He hurried on before she could speak. “Your son is a sturdy child. I have three nephews and two nieces, and I must admit to enjoying their company."

Relieved of the need to respond to Rhyle's comment about her widowhood, Clemmie seized upon the topic of children. “Christopher is a dear good boy, though perhaps he has been a little lonely, at Carmelth."

“He will have many cousins I expect."

That comment gave Clementina pause for thought.

If Rhyle sensed that he had disquieted her, he said nothing of it. “You will have difficulty in riding now?” he asked.

“I have always difficulty in riding,” Clementina said with a rueful laugh. “That is what caused me this accident."

“You are certain of it?"

She was puzzled, but shook her head. “I am not, as it happens. I have never been adept, but I was managing well. The mare was startled, but I don't know what frightened her. I did speak aloud—a habit I occasionally indulge—but not loudly."

“She seemed a sensible beast; I doubt that would cause her reaction. You have many accidents my lady."

“I do?” Clementina was further puzzled. “Oh, you are thinking of Christopher's solitary walk."

“And the trace you told me of; and his fall down the stairs at Carmelth, and the fire."

Clementina's eyes widened. “Oh, but—surely—they are widely separate incidents of unknown happenstance."

“Are they?” He was quiet and calm, but had obviously given the matter some considerable thought.

Clementina could not entirely discount his suggestions. “Why should anyone wish to hurt me or my son? It is nonsensical."

“Were you always prone to accident? Before your husband's death, before your marriage?"

Clementina did him the courtesy of considering the matter with care. Then wide-eyed, she said, “I can recall nothing of note."

The major did not seem to pursue the subject with his next comment. “You are settled here,” he said, considering their surroundings.

“I looked for refuge ... solitude. The entire household is caring for me. Yesterday Susan was begging grapes from the head gardener ‘just for me'. Eleonora had me critically assessing her needlework, and Lady Damerham brought a very sustaining posset. Papa had a book on estate management he felt it would be useful for me to read. He forgets that I have been managing Carmelth these five years. And Louisa informed me that Eleonora has helped her to choose three more new gowns to be made up and one will be ready for Polegates’ evening party; she wanted my opinion. Today I determined to be alone."

“I think you should not. You are remote from the house."

“You think someone is trying to harm me?"

“Perhaps."

Horror dawned on her face. “Not Christopher ... oh, my dear God, a horse nearly trampled him in the stable the other day. I told you ... but surely that could not..."

“It might. I think you should take every care that another accident does not occur. And if I may I should like to help you."

“Why should I trust you? I have never thought of these things before. Perhaps you are the author of my misfortune.” Wildly, fighting panic, she tossed out the accusation.

Rhyle took her left hand in his.

She wore no gloves and shivered at the touch of his hard, strong fingers.

“You cannot believe that, but it is true you do not know me. I would correct that. And I would ask you only to think on what I have said and have a special care for a little, while I make some inquiries."

She stared at his calm, open face, with its steady blue eyes and she wished, feeling the cold pressure of fear, for Nicholas’ presence.

“Do not be afraid."

“I am not ... not of you. You are not, somehow, a stranger."

A shout from near the terrace alerted them that the downpour had eased and that a rescue party, under umbrellas, was marching across the lawn.

“I will go."

“Stay and meet my family."

“At my cousin's gathering; it will be more appropriate."

“I may not now attend ... my wrist..."

“That would be a great pity.” Rhyle limped inexorably to the steps of the temple. “And would quite spoil the event for me.” He laid a slim volume on the round table as he passed it, and said, “Perhaps I could leave this with you?” He smiled at her and winked once more, drawing a responsive smile from Clementina. “You will take care?"

“I will,” she said, the warmth of his solicitude comforting her, even as the wink confounded her.

He was quite suddenly gone, and Louisa mounted the steps to the folly moments later. “The rain did not penetrate; I thought it would not. We are to gather for tea in the hall. Will you join us? Or do you wish more solitude?"

She was followed by Christopher, Felicity and Susan who milled about the steps, peering within.

“Not at all; in fact, I should be delighted to return to the house.” Clementina shivered, remembering the major's words, and slipped the slim book into her reticule. The sun shone fitfully as they crossed the lawn, and the grass shimmered with crystal rain droplets. The oppression of the day had vanished from the atmosphere, but it had invaded Clementina's spirit. She pushed away the fear, trusted in the major, and took up her son's hand.

* * * *

She stayed in company for the remainder of the week, resting her left arm but busying herself with a myriad of tasks. With a shiver, she had dismissed all desire for solitude. There were gowns to prepare and fittings to endure with the seamstress before Lady Polegate's evening party, and there was packing for Brighton to be considered.

She did not go again to the temple, but endured the bustle of the family at the Hall. She was happy to be diverted whenever possible from concern over the major's implications, but she spent anxious hours in the still of the night considering them.

She regained some use of her wrist, decided that it had not been broke, and she walked out nearly every day. She was never alone during her walks for she kept Kit by her, and Susan often joined them. The other young ladies were less frequent companions. Louisa came when she could, and Clementina found her daily more witty and assured. Eleonora was her least common attendant, but Felicity often exerted herself not, her older sister suspected, for joy of her company but for hope of encountering Lord Valence.

Most often it was only her son who joined her and it did not seem surprising that they occasionally encountered Major Rhyle and his young nephews on these walks. Neither did it seem remarkable that the two parties should combine. Kit, Clementina told herself, enjoyed the company of the Polegate boys.

“He is a fine lad,” the major said one day as Kit took a tumble, and ignoring it, brought his mother a small flower he spotted while on the ground. “It must have comforted his father to be leaving such a son with you."

Clementina's chin came up for the comment was personal and while she enjoyed the major's company, they had not broached such topics since their conversation in the folly.

“The Earl of Carmelth was killed instantly on a fall from his hunter, while I was still in a ... a delicate situation. He never knew his son.” She spoke the facts baldly.

Rhyle seemed unaware that she did not wish to discuss the matter. “Well, he would be proud of the child."

“I do not know that he was particularly interested in children.” She was betrayed into an awkward confession.

Rhyle looked inquiring.

“I think I did not know him well at all,” she said. “We were married less than a year at the time of his death. We were very young. I...” she halted in embarrassment and distress.

“I am intrusive and impertinent. Forgive me,” he begged. “Now you shall ask me personal questions if you wish.” He grinned with engaging openness.

Clementina was surprised by her eagerness to accept his invitation. “Your limp has lessened over these past weeks; has the pain diminished also?"

“It has. It has subsided to a generalized ache which is not surprising, could you but see the ugly scar which remains."

She was agitated by the thought, and her shocked hazel gaze flew to his face. He looked amused, but did not comment on her embarrassment.

They walked on, the summer breeze scented about them, carrying the shouts of the small boys. Clementina removed her gypsy hat and enjoyed the cooling wind on her flushed face.

Rhyle added, “My own mother was distressed by the scars, and she has seen many injuries during her busy and active life."

“She must have worried about you.” Clementina thought of her own emotions at the suggestion that her darling son might be in danger. “I know my mother fears for Nicholas."

“Mothers are the same, whatever their rank,” he said. “Sons always selfishly disregard their wishes and worry them to death."

“And does your mother worry about your future?"

“I expect so. I know that I do."

Clementina conveyed her curiosity with a lift of her delicate arched brows.

He offered further explanation. “The only life I have ever known is that of soldier. I have been prudent and I have a pension, but that will not keep me in any comfort for long. I have need of making a living."

“That is something on which I can offer no advice."

“You have no experience of the necessity, have you? Well, I have been offered a position in the Foreign Office that I may accept, although I should dislike it if I was required to travel abroad. I have had my fill of foreign places."

Clementina was rendered speechless by the realization that she soon would see the major no more. Even more shocking was the revelation that she would sorely miss him. “I have no wanderlust, I confess, so I may say I can understand,” she managed at last to respond.

“Well, I will go where I must. But there is another possibility; an investment, with a friend,” he said, apparently unaware of her turmoil.

“Oh,” was all she could manage, assailed for the first time in five years, by a sudden, inexplicable loneliness.

“What shall the future hold for you?” he asked. “You have left off your mourning, and are very lovely in colours."

She blushed, and shook her lace-capped head slightly, as though to clear her thoughts. “I cannot tell, or—stay—perhaps I can. Simply, Carmelth."

“The support of a husband would perhaps ease that burden,” he said.

Clementina hesitated before responding. “I shall not have that luxury; I can ask no gentleman to give up the guidance of his property to oversee my son's inheritance. I do not expect to marry again."

He stopped walking, and she perforce did as well. “That would be a great pity,” he said deliberately, eyeing the widow's cap with disfavour.

Her eyes widened at his tone.

“Young Kit should have brothers and sisters to torment, and treasure, and you ... you should be...” He broke off suddenly, and limped on.

She hurried after him, wondering and fearing what he had been about to say. But he did not speak again.

“My wrist is so much improved, I have decided I will attend Lady Polegate's evening party,” she said, to distract them both. “Though I have been of two minds. Christopher has had difficulty sleeping through the night of late; I should wish to be there if he needs me."

“I shall be glad of your attendance.” He paused and smiled at her in a manner she had come to welcome. “But I must ask, can you trust your nursemaid?"

She shivered at the import of the question. “Her family has served Carmelth for generations."

“And?"

“And I believe her trustworthy."

“Then ask her to have extra care, and confide your concern to her without intimating your suspicions. Christopher will manage without you.” He added, “Your devotion as a parent is admirable, but you might be even a better mother if you considered your own life as well."

She stiffened. “I find your remarks impertinent, sir,” she said. “You have no children, no experience on which to base such comment."

He showed no remorse for his words, but there was regret apparent in his expression. “You are right. Though I look forward to raising my own children and have given much thought to the subject, I should not presume to advise those with experience in the matter. I beg your pardon, and I beg your understanding."

She slipped her gloved hand within the crook of his strong arm unbidden, and met his surprised look with a rueful one of her own.

“I cannot think why, but you have it,” she said with a smile.

* * * *

The Wheeling Hall company, when prepared for Lady Polegate's evening party, was a handsome one. The marchioness and the countess chaperoned the four younger ladies, and the Viscount Damerham escorted them all. Lady Damerham and Lord Cheriton elected to remain at Wheeling Hall.

Clementina considered that her protégée, Louisa, looked her best in a gossamer satin gown of palest cream trimmed with a flounce of filet lace and an embroidery of deep peach roses. The braided ribands that Jenny had fashioned lay twisted in her wood-brown curls, and excitement sparkled in her slender face. She stood conversing in a whisper with Susan who, after serious consideration, the marchioness had allowed to attend. Susan was gowned very simply, as became her youth, but was content for she had been given a pretty rainbow hued scarf from Clementina's box to enliven her demure pink nainsook gown.

Clementina had agonized over her own choice of ensemble. She had attended little in the way of social gatherings over the past five years, hampered by mourning and a disinclination for society in the vicinity of Carmelth.

The seamstress had delivered a beautiful gown of bellefleur silk, softened by an overdress of cream coloured British net. Clemmie had donned it without question at first. But it had seemed so very odd to look in the glass and see the old Clementina, the one who was used to laugh and flirt and enjoy life, that she had been tempted to strip it off and don her black peau de soie.

But she did not. Jenny had clasped about her slender neck the delicate emerald necklace that made her hazel eyes shimmer greenly; she had not worn it since her husband's death. She had replaced her cap with a cream silk toque twined with gold trimming, and she had wondered at the wisdom of it all. She had thanked Jenny, kissed her sleeping son, and hurried down the broad stairs before she could change her mind.

After considering the young ladies she looked to the marchioness, who was handsomely gowned in lilac lutestring, for approval.

“You look very pleasing, Clementina,” her mother said. “Neither girlish nor old cattish, but with a lovely maturity. Felicity, Eleonora, you will do very well."

This was a motherly understatement, as the beauties drew exclamations of admiration from all assembled. Their golden colouring was enhanced by shades of blue and rose, and their slender figures adorned by shimmering clouds of tiffany over taffeta.

Damerham appeared to advantage in evening dress. His pantaloons revealed a good leg, his breadth of shoulder was handsome enough. Clementina noted approvingly that Eleonora had eyes only for her betrothed, but she spied discontent on Felicity's lovely face.

She had a thought for her son as they entered the carriages. She had confided her concern to Jenny, and had been assured of the girl's undying devotion and unfailing guard. With that, she had to be content, for she could not stay at Wheeling Hall and forego the opportunity to be in Major Rhyle's company.

When Clementina entered the Polegates’ drawing room the first thing of which she was aware was the appreciation in Major Rhyle's quick gaze. He stood with his cousin and her husband, receiving their guests.

He was very fine, very large and very fair, in dark evening dress ... more gentlemanly than his host and quite half the company assembled. He greeted her pleasantly and enquired politely about her wrist, giving no clue that they had met more than once since her accident. She coloured slightly meeting his grey gaze, and passed into the drawing room in the company of the marchioness.

The gathering was limited to local worthies; a baronet, the vicar, the physician, several landowners each with their spouse and hopeful families in tow. Clementina met Lord Valence with surprise, and with dismay observed the eagerness with which he greeted her sister. For the rest, the young people were very young, and the only mature unattached gentlemen present were the baron and Major Rhyle.

The marchioness was watching the two gentlemen, and the viscount's avoidance of them. “Some may consider Damerham overly nice, but his instincts I think are correct. One man suffers lack of birth, the other lack of breeding,” she said.

“You are harsh, Mama,” Clementina said, as they were seated comfortably after being introduced to several local matrons.

“I am practical. The ton will not tolerate low birth despite that the major is intelligent and well-mannered. And a rake displays an ungentlemanly lack of discretion and moderation that shows want of breeding. I am surprised to discover Lady Polegate supporting his presence."

Clementina was surveying the squire gravitating to the gentlemen. “I expect Sir Martin insisted on his inclusion. Miss Valence is not here I believe.” She glanced about the chamber with discreet curiosity.

“Even Lady Polegate must draw the line somewhere!"

A trio of strings had been hired to play, and they, supplemented by the pianoforte, provided music enough for the young people to dance a little at one end of the spacious but fussily decorated chamber. Conversation occupied the remainder of the company, with the countess and the marchioness quite besieged by the Polegates’ neighbours.

At the end of a lively country-dance, Louisa slipped to sit at Clementina's side. “My gown takes the shine out of everyone,” she said a little breathlessly. “Even Victoria Wellsey's, though she says hers came from London. I am having the most wonderful time; I have danced every set. We are wondering if we may waltz, and everyone's mama is buzzing. Caroline Leconfield says the vicar will not countenance it, but I daresay Mrs. Leconfield will convince him otherwise."

Susan scampered up, her pink gown in harmony with her rosy face and her bright expression.

“We may practice at waltzing! Lady Polegate says she can see no harm, and the vicar agrees, if Mama assents,” she said. “If only there were more young men."

“We have always been woefully short of them,” Louisa said. She blushed deeply as a very young gentleman came to claim her hand.

The marchioness appeared to approve. “I have no objection to the waltz, and Louisa may benefit from the practice but you Susan will watch. It would not be seemly for you to do otherwise, and you have romped quite enough,” she said in a gentle scold. She indicated that her youngest daughter should sit down beside her. With ill-concealed reluctance, Susan did so.

Clementina smiled sympathetically at her mother and her little sister, understanding the emotions of both. She rose and moved to watch the dancers. Louisa, her gloved hand upon her partner's arm was radiant. Clemmie smiled approvingly. Despite her own worries, Louisa's happiness was a joy to her.

Major Rhyle limped to her side.

She looked up at him with her customary openness.

“I wish that I could ask you to waltz,” he said, his manner oddly wistful for a man so large.

“I had not thought you would be an eager dancer,” she said, nodding at Louisa who was floating by.

“I have never been adept, and now never will be, but it would be paradise to dance with you in my arms,” he said. His meaning was plain, his grey eyes intent upon her face.

She smothered a gasp, and with a force of will prevented a tide of colour from surging into her face.

“Sir!” she said in a low voice of unconvincing outrage. “You are too familiar."

“I am honest,” he said.

Clementina felt her distress fade and knew it had been spurious. She remembered with a flush of warmth the safe haven of his strong arms on the day of her accident. “You may be,” she said, “but I wish you will not say such things, and jeopardize our friendship."

He appeared to accept her rebuke with equanimity.

“Shall you be glad to move on to Brighton?” he asked, not pursuing the dangerous intimacy.

Clementina was relieved by the change of topic. “I scarcely know. I have within a sick worry for Nicholas that dulls every enjoyment; and now I wonder about Kit's safety,” she admitted.

“I regret that I added to your burdens, but my suspicions are not unfounded, and you must take care."

“Well, if I can set it all aside, a little society will offer a welcome diversion, and new sights have a pleasure that is always satisfying. I believe Christopher will enjoy the seaside."

The waltz came to an end, and Louisa came to rest nearby.

She smiled a greeting at the major with an ease that made Clementina proud of her. But looking beyond her, Clemmie drew in an outraged breath.

“Louisa, walk with me, my dear. Felicity has gone out on the terrace with Valence. It will not do. I think no one else has seen them go.” Clementina, filled with concern, smiled dismissively at Rhyle.

He moved to speak but she shook her head. “No Major, you must do nothing. If you accompany me to the terrace, the company will truly be put on end. I am able to deal with this.” She linked her arm with that of her young protégée. Her instinct was to run to protect her sister's reputation; she curbed it. Sedately she and Louisa made exit of the room.

At the far end of the terrace, Valence was kissing Felicity's hand. He stared challengingly at Clementina as she approached.

“It is delightfully cool out here,” Clementina said. She directed her sister a warning glance, and leveled a stern glare at her sister's companion. “But, Lord Valence, I think I must ask you to return to the party."

The baron accepted her direction with good grace, and without embarrassment or remorse apparent, reentered the house.

Felicity pouted. “You need not have sent him away,” she said.

“I had every need,” Clementina said. “How could you be so unwise as to retire out here with Valence?"

“Oh it is so boring in there; such a lot of toadies and squires."

Louisa moved to dispute this indictment of her friends and neighbours.

Clementina quelled the younger girl with a look. “You are become distastefully high in the instep,” she advised her sister.

“You are not,” Felicity countered. “I saw you speaking with the major."

“We were speaking of your ill-advised departure from the drawing room.” Clementina's colour heightened.

“I was unobserved. And I am safe with him ... safe and yet I have little chills down my spine in his company. Mama says he is Bad yet I cannot fear him.” She lowered her voice. “Clemmie, he kissed me."

Clementina was horrified that the flirtation she had facilitated had gone so far. She was momentarily bereft of speech.

Louisa was not. “Shame on you, then, for he is a libertine and cares no more for you than any other woman."

Felicity blazed with anger at the girl. “Be silent; you know nothing of it.” She slanted a challenging look at Clementina. “You need not look so; he will not seduce me ... he said so. And you may believe it for I know a trick or two as well."

Clemmie found her voice. “Have a care what you are about. He has seen every artifice and wile."

In silence she accompanied the two younger ladies back into the candlelight of the party.

“Where have you been my dear?” the marchioness enquired when Clementina at last rejoined her.

Clemmie had released Louisa to her friends, placed Felicity in Eleonora's care, and given Lord Valence a minatory glance.

“Felicity tore her trimming,” she said, thanking her good fortune that her mother had no notion of the true circumstances of her absence.

“I see. Well, I am very pleased for Eleonora; the neighbourhood seems most well disposed to Robert's marriage. He has many good, dependable friends here."

“They will be Eleonora's also, won over by her gentle kindness.” Clementina observed her lovely sisters conversing with Damerham and the vicar. Eleonora glowed with placid happiness; Felicity did not trouble to conceal her boredom.

“Indeed,” agreed Lady Cheriton. “And you my dear? You were speaking with Major Rhyle?” She did not wait for Clementina's response but continued, “He tells me he is considering a career in the Foreign Office. A suitable employment for a person of his standing I believe; his father is a farmer."

Clementina thought things of her mother's prejudices that she could never have uttered, and wondered at her own urge to defend the major's character and background.

But her mother had no more to say about the major. “I regret that Felicity accepted the waltz with Lord Valence. Had I been close enough, I should have prevented it."

“I think they have much in common—” Clementina said. “—a love of gaiety, a dislike of solitude, a fascination with society."

“That may be, but it will not do. No daughter of mine will marry a rake."

Clementina sighed. Her hazel eyes searched out the major, towering head and shoulders over the local lady with whom he was making polite conversation. Her mother did not appear to notice, but Rhyle seemed to sense her gaze and looked up to meet it. The warmth in his intent regard calmed her temper and turned her thoughts. A smile involuntarily trembled to her lips.

* * * *

The morning after the Polegates’ evening party the clouded sky mizzled with rain. In a fret of restlessness Gideon Rhyle donned buckskin breeches and a frieze coat. He chose a low crowned beaver and catching up his Malacca stick, limped out of the house without breakfasting, with no more than a few words to his cousin's butler.

He knew very well the cause of his inquietude, and he thought to walk it off in the chill, damp morning. He tramped the hedgerows ‘til his wounded leg ached, and only then did he pause for reflection.

He realized he was near the Priory, and male companionship appealed to him. He knocked and was admitted to the house and to Lord Valence's library, a dark paneled chamber resplendent with fine bindings. Lord Valence was present, drinking coffee, and Rhyle gratefully received a cup after the maidservant bore away his damp hat.

“I thought you might still be abed after the dissipations of last evening,” Gideon said.

Valence snorted. “That was a quiet evening indeed. The place was overrun with infantry. Your cousin lays a fine table however."

Gideon laughed. “She does! That sort of gathering has its own security, very welcome after the abominations of battle."

“Hmmm,” Valence regarded his cup. “As a courier I saw few horrors, and nothing of conflict. The party was but dull. I attended for one reason only."

“That was very plain, at least to me.” Rhyle countered a keen look from Valence with blandness. “Lady Felicity is very beautiful."

“She is.” Valence stared into his cup. “And the Countess of Carmelth, while not her equal in looks, must be counted a very fine woman."

Gideon could only agree. He smiled ruefully. “I think we both imagine ourselves exceptionally discreet."

“We can only hope others are less discerning of our pursuits."

“Whom are you now pursuing, my dear?” The entrance of Valence's sister startled them. “Or can I guess?"

Rain beat against the window as Miss Valence crossed restlessly to it.

“You may play guessing games if you wish,” Valence responded in a brotherly fashion. Then he addressed himself to Rhyle. “The Corsican's defeat has deprived us of activity."

“At least it has not deprived us of livelihood. The byways are full of poor beggars without means to live. The nation honours its soldiers well,” Gideon said.

“He has republican leanings,” Valence said to his sister.

“In this, I would agree with him. Something should be done.” Miss Valence considered them both from the window embrasure.

“Yours is the ruling class,” the major said. “Speak with your duke, and ensure that something is done.” He challenged her with a sharp glance.

“Enough! Cry truce.” Valence said. “Rhyle, speaking of the ruling class, have you any word of Elham?"

“Nothing. Witnesses to say he fell abound; no one has seen him since Waterloo. I've friends who are looking though."

“Poor devil. I've heard nothing from my sources either,” Valence said, stretching his long legs to the fire.

“Would I could do that,” said Gideon, watching his host. He ruefully rubbed his injured thigh. He returned his attention to the lady who stood at the window watching the rain. “You were not in attendance last evening, Miss Valence."

“My brother has strength enough to withstand disapproval and disdain. I prefer to avoid situations where I may be offered a slight.” She crossed to the doorway. “I shall have refreshment brought to you. Good-day, Major Rhyle."

“Thought she'd never leave,” Valence said with brotherly unconcern. “Now we can smoke,” he added, offering Rhyle a cheroot.

Gideon accepted and there was a pause as they lit the tobacco with a spill from the fire.

“I have information about Paget Wolseley,” Valence volunteered.

Rhyle pinned him with an acute look.

“He is by all accounts an irreproachable citizen of his neighbourhood. He holds a small estate in Lincolnshire. In town, he likes to think himself up to the mark, runs with an expensive crowd. But he's never shown the slightest interest in the possibility that he might inherit the earldom."

“In public,” Rhyle added.

“In public,” agreed Valence.

They smoked in silence for long minutes.

“I've not been able to find the boy who directed the child astray,” Gideon said. “And Damerham's stables are well protected. I could not find if the countess’ mount had been struck with anything to make it startle. She has a groom there; to all accounts he's reliable, been with her staff these three years. But there was that incident with a restive horse."

Valence looked up with interest. “I'd feel better if he'd been with Carmelth for twenty years."

“I thought the same. He's worth watching. The nursemaid is long time family staff ... born at Carmelth. Can we obtain a reckoning of Wolseley's finances?"

“I have a friend who could manage it."

“Good. And I have a couple of men—ex-soldiers—whom I trust. I have writ to them. One will watch Wolseley, and one Carmelth ... just for a time."

“And who watches the countess and the child?"

“I do,” Rhyle said. “Nothing will touch them."

He left the Priory as the rain was stopping. He spent another hour walking in the woods, deep in thought, before turning his steps towards Damerham land. He saw Clementina before she saw him, and waited in the shadows for her.

Clemmie was wandering at the edge of the ornamental water most distant from the Hall, enjoying the sounds of summer—the occasional plop of a fish or frog and the hum of insects—and watching the flight of a lark.

She left the brilliant sun for the cool shade of the forest's edge. She had only just thought of her isolation, and the major's warning, when he spoke from the wooded shadows.

“May I join you, my lady?"

She calmed a flutter of pulse and paused before speaking. “Your company is most welcome, sir. In fact, I had just realized I should not venture so far alone."

He limped from the trees, and though he smiled, she found him more solemn than she had yet seen him. He enquired after her health, but in a manner she found abstracted.

As his mind seemed elsewhere, for the first time in his company she laboured to make conversation. “You made yourself most agreeable to my family at Lady Polegate's evening party, sir."

He seemed to recover his equanimity, and replied, “They are an affable group. The company was most impressed and honoured."

“You however were not?"

His strong face was calm, but shuttered. Clementina could not read his expression and their intimacy on the night of the party at his cousin's home might have been imagination. They strolled on under the shelter of the oaks and chestnut trees of Damerham's woods.

“I am not impressed by title and standing. The Marquess of Cheriton has my respect for his work in Parliament and his good husbanding of his inherited land. Nothing else. The marchioness is a devoted wife and mother. The viscount, your brother, was an excellent soldier. These are admirable virtues in folk of any rank."

“I am proud of my family for these reasons."

“Despite their affability however, their condescension in attending such a party was much felt by all present."

She felt his remarks keenly, and the justice of them, and could not whole-heartedly defend her family. She sighed. “What you say is true, and I hope I have not that fault of pride. If I have avoided it, it can only be ascribed to my Grandmama Haythe, who holds advanced views on nearly everything."

“I think you do have that fault, for you could never consider me as anything more than friend could you?” He was uncommonly emphatic, and stopped walking to consider her.

Clementina could scarcely assimilate what he was intimating, such was her chagrin over his first words. “You are unjust,” she said.

“Then envisage me as more than a friend,” he challenged.

She stared at him, absorbing his strong-boned face still lined with suffering, and his massive shoulders, long arms and square, capable hands. He was wrong; she could very easily imagine him as a part—an intimate part—of her life. She shivered, meeting his intent grey eyes at last, but could not speak.

He offered his arm and urged her to stroll on at his side. “I am too precipitate. You journey tomorrow to Brighton, do you not?” He did not wait for answer. “My cousin's family departs for that town the following day. I have decided to accompany them."

Clementina was conscious of a surge of pleasure at the news. “I shall be happy to see you there,” she said. “Eleonora was just here with me. She tells me that Lady Damerham has been invited to Hesford House—long-standing friends—and though she has not taken a journey these three years, she means to go! That leaves Louisa alone and so, as I told Eleonora, we must take Louisa to Brighton as well. We shall be a very large party and I shall look for escape."

The major seemed gratified by her honesty, but he seized on her last words. “There is safety in numbers and you must take advantage of it. I have not forgot the suspicions I advanced to you; there have been no further accidents?"

Clemmie's happiness was tempered by concern. “Ah, I have neglected to tell you ... the groom, our groom Marshall, offered to take Christopher up before him, to ride out."

“You must not allow that.” Rhyle's response without hesitation.

She was taken aback. “I did not and I will not. Ah, if only Nicholas were here.” Unwelcome tears flooded her wide eyes; she dabbed at them angrily, resenting the weakness.

“Consider me his substitute, if you will. I will allow nothing to happen to either of you or your son."

The child appeared running across the lawn, and hopped up to his mother. “G'day, Major,” he said.

Rhyle returned the greeting gravely.

“Shall you be in Brighton, sir? My grandpapa promises me a new top. I should like to show it to you. And I shall have my hoop there; I am quite handy with my hoop. Shall Tom and Edward be there? I should like to go seabathing. Perhaps they would like to go bathing with me? Would you sir? I ‘spect you're a capital swimmer; would you teach me? Mama could have no objection?"

Clementina encountered his sideways glance and shook her head. “Enough my love. The major has his own family to care for."

“I would that were true,” he said gazing at her son steadily. “As it is, they are only my nephews. I borrow other people's children."

She coloured, perceiving nuances in his words.

“I should be delighted to teach you to swim, young Christopher,” he said bending to the child. “And yes Tom and Edward will be there. Will you lend your Mama to me from time to time in Brighton? There are people I should like her to meet."

“Of course. Mama likes you; I asked her."

Clementina's colour deepened as the major straightened to meet her eyes with his direct gaze.

“I am glad,” he said extending a large hand to take one of hers.

“Mama!” Kit caught her muslin skirt in one small hand. “Grandmama requires you."

“Oh Kit you should have said that immediately. Major, we must go."

Rhyle pressed Clementina's hand then released it slowly. He tweaked Kit's nose gently. “Good bye young fellow-me-lad; I shall see you within the week. My lady, until we meet again."

Clementina could not have denied that her gaze followed the major as he strode away.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When her mother's fine post chaise drew up before a tall, slim house in the Marine Parade, Clementina welcomed the end of the journey from Wheeling Hall to Brighton. The trip had been pleasant enough and not overlong, but coach travel with a lively child was at its best a penance.

Christopher had been entertained by the sights his mother and his grandmother had pointed out, but his need for exercise could not be met. Despite Kit's demands, Clementina had made a point of observing the passing scene—the rolling downland, its fields and patches of verdant forest. It was her first trip through the South Downs to the southern seacoast and she found it delightful. The Prince Regent's favourite town, with the old cottages and alleys of the fisherfolk and its sparkling new homes and crescents, also gained her approbation. She stepped from the coach admiring the sea's proximity across the Parade with a hand shading her eyes, and sniffing with pleasure the salt-laced air.

“Are you weary, Mama?” Clementina asked, turning back to her mother upon hearing that lady sigh as she was handed down from the coach.

“Only with the burden of concern,” the marchioness said. “I hope your Papa may not have found the journey taxing. I did think he should not ride."

Clementina was prevented from answering as they trod up the spotless stairs in Christopher's wake and entered the rented house. In the entry hall they could only stand and stare in amazement at the confusion.

Portmanteaux and trunks were stacked everywhere, and servants and family milled about confusedly amongst them. Christopher's spirits had soared upon his release from the carriage, and he gazed with delight upon the disorder. Clementina knew the signs; she reached out and caught his small hand.

She opened her mouth to begin to organize the chaos, then closed it firmly. She was so accustomed herself to direct and command that sometimes she forgot that it was not her place to do so in her parents’ home. Instead she looked to the marchioness to instruct her household, but discovered Lady Cheriton was seeking her assistance.

“I think I shall take your papa to the library, Clementina. He is looking weary. The servants must have been delayed on the road. Will you help Silver to deal with this?"

She did not wait upon Clementina's reply but took the marquess’ arm and led him to the door that her butler, major domo of Cheriton House in London, held open.

Clementina shook off her fatigue and released her son. He danced off with delight.

When the butler approached, she said, “Silver, we have not met these five years; it is a pleasure to see you."

The short, stout man permitted himself a warm smile and invited her instructions.

“We must do something to organize this.” She waved comprehensively, and he bowed in agreement. “Will you fetch Mrs. Harpe? She has, I hope, had opportunity to look over the bedchambers."

“I am here, my lady.” The housekeeper was at the countess’ elbow, her round face lit by a smile Clemmie remembered well. “'Tis a happiness to us to see you again Lady Clementina, Countess I should say. About the house ... the chambers are not as many as we might like, but they are mostly large, and I believe you may be very comfortable."

After a little conversation, Clementina requested the housekeeper to clap her hands, to gain everyone's attention. She obtained it, but before Clemmie could speak, a knock hammered upon the door behind them.

Everyone in the hall turned as Silver trod to answer it. On the threshold, when the door was swung open, stood a slight young man with a strong resemblance to Lady Susan.

She, who stood at the top of the first flight of stairs with Louisa, shrieked with excitement. “Oh, famous! James!” She hurtled down the stairs to be hugged by her twin brother.

His siblings crowded about the new arrival. Clementina was among them, to exclaim over how her youngest brother had grown, and to present him to Christopher, and to Louisa.

In the uproar Silver, in consultation with Mrs. Harpe, organized the two footmen and two housemaids who stood among the baggage. By the time the family had finished greeting James, the hall was, in the main, cleared of trunks and servants.

Clementina raised her voice to be heard over the hubbub. “I know we are all delighted to see James, and we shall hear all about Eton and his journey at dinner in an hour. Just now we must find our chambers, and he must go to Mama and Papa ... in the library, dear.” She pointed out the door.

Her stripling brother moved to obey her, with a wink and a grin. “May I go with him, Mama?” Kit asked.

Clemmie smiled at her son, recognizing hero worship already shining in his eyes. “You must wait, Kit. Your job shall be to discover Uncle James’ bedchamber and guide him to it later."

The small boy beamed, and scampered up the stairs after the housekeeper provided him with directions.

“Now, Mrs. Harpe...” Clementina bent over the list in the housekeeper's hand. “Ah, there is a large chamber on the second floor that appears to have been a nursery. Christopher and I will share that. Louisa and Susan, there is a pleasant chamber on the third floor, facing the seafront which you may share. Take your bandboxes and try can you find it.” The youngest ladies departed.

The housekeeper spoke quietly to the countess again. They were interrupted as the knocker of the door was again applied firmly. Silver trod majestically to it and admitted Lord Damerham.

“Good gracious, Robert already,” Clementina murmured to herself.

Eleonora rushed to the side of her betrothed.

Clementina raised her voice. “You have found your lodgings then, Robert. And you will stay to dinner? Good, well, it will be a little time yet, for half the staff was delayed on the road by a lame horse. Eleonora, will you take Robert to the drawing room, and discover if everything is as it should be. Someone,” she glanced at the unknown footmen, “will bring in Papa's box of papers, and you may both help him organize them presently.” Mrs. Harpe took the young couple up the stairs to the drawing room.

Clementina breathed a sigh of relief. Only Felicity, still holding a bandbox and wearing her bonnet, remained in the entry with her. She looked indignant and rebellious.

“There must be two empty chambers, my dear, besides Mama and Papa's suite. One will be my nursery, the other yours to be shared with Eleonora. Do let us go and find them. A change of gown and a rest will refresh us."

She moved up the stairs with alacrity.

Felicity followed her. “You might not have left me until the last, Clemmie."

Clementina kept close hold of her temper, and reminded her sister, “Someone must have that honour, and I share it with you.” The sally coaxed a reluctant smile from the spoiled beauty.

Felicity became more animated before the door of her chamber. “Did you note the pleasant aspect of the town as we entered, Clemmie? It is of all things wonderful to be here. The shops—did you note the shops?—look fascinating. And the Pavilion, despite the workmen, is charming."

“I think we must have taken a different route from that of your coachman, love,” Clementina said. “I did not see the Pavilion or the shops, but I am delighted by the sea. Do you go in and I shall see you at dinner."

It seemed only minutes before she was back in the corridor, knocking at her sisters’ door to accompany them to supper. She left Kit—fully involved in a bowl of bread and milk—in Jenny's care in their spacious chamber.

Dinner was a quiet meal, with weariness making conversation a rarity. Damerham took his leave shortly after dinner. Cheriton and his younger son retired to the library. The ladies withdrew to the drawing room.

Clementina listened with wandering attention to the younger girls chattering of the delights of the town, and watched her mother consider the blue and gold decoration of the rented house's reception room. She sighed deeply, without being aware of it.

“What is it my dear?” Lady Cheriton asked.

“Something and nothing,” Clemmie forced a laugh. She was sorry to have attracted her mother's discerning attention. “Everything has changed, that is all. I thought I would return this summer to the bosom of my family, and all would be as it has always been. But it cannot be, of course. Especially with Nicholas missing."

“Change always is disconcerting. And it is the only constant in life,” her mother said.

“Papa's ill health; I do not remember him ill before. Nicholas’ absence; he is so much a part of us all. Eleonora's betrothal, and Felicity ... Felicity...” She faltered for she could not divulge Felicity's very new relationship.

“And you?"

“And I ... I cannot easily regain the role of daughter. I am too much a mother, and a widow. I am too used to organize, arrange and instruct,” she said, thinking aloud. “Everyone thinks I am strong, and seeks me to help them. Louisa and Susan, Eleonora and Felicity, now probably James. You depend upon me, and—others—look to me when in difficulty. But I ... I have Kit, and problems of my own."

“Of course you do. But Clementina, you are strong.” Her mother sat beside her and tilted up the oval face before her. “If your courage fails you from time to time, it is not surprising. You have dealt with so much trouble that I wish I could have spared you. But you cannot answer all problems presented to you. You can only resolve your own, and lend a hand elsewhere as you can. That is all any of us may do. When you are able, confide in me. You are always in my thoughts; I know that your position is not easy."

A burst of laughter drew their attention to the young ladies.

“I am afraid I shall have to ask you to help me with these children!"

“Well, some problems I cannot solve, but that I can do, Mama!” Clementina said, with renewed confidence. “I shall keep them busy, with pleasure. The social round will soon pall. I know I shall dislike my place in society. Being a wealthy widow is not an enviable position.” She touched her lace cap ruefully.

“There may be someone ... do you remember Lord Richard Childe? Some correspondent mentioned he is to be here in the town.” Lady Cheriton looked hopeful.

Clementina managed a laugh. “Mama, Lord Richard was a suitor of six years ago. I doubt that he has the same feelings now that he did then. I know I do not. Although I would at least have the comfort of knowing he is not after my jointure.” Clementina sighed again. “You must not depend on my rejoining the ton, Mama; I enjoy my life at Carmelth."

Even as she spoke Clementina knew her words to be only partly true. She could no longer reconcile herself to contented widowhood, and existence at Carmelth looked empty and even lonely. Neither life in the bosom of her family, nor the society of Brighton was responsible for this change in her feelings. She had given the matter much thought, and she was aware that the change had been wrought by one person only, Major Gideon Rhyle.

* * * *

Clementina encountered her young brother in an upstairs corridor early the next morning. Kit could be seen, and heard, clattering down the classically detailed staircase with unreasonable haste.

“He's hungry,” James said, by way of greeting. “By Jupiter, my nephew is a game ‘un, Clemmie. He has told me of the disasters and adventures you've had in the past while. He's quite unruffled by it all."

Clementina knew an urge to pour out the whole tale to her younger brother, but restrained herself reminding herself of his youth. She could not confide in him, and burden him, as she might her older brother.

“We indeed seem accident-prone. I could use your good offices in keeping us both under your eye, preventing our carelessness.” She permitted herself the careful request.

“I am at your service.” The young man bowed with over-elaborate elegance. “You learn how to look out for yourself at Eton. Might as well make myself useful here. Lor’ but it is pleasant to have a room to m'self again."

When Clementina had stopped laughing, she thanked him. She said, “You sound the most content of us all. I am comfortable, but Jenny tells me that Susan and Louisa had a fierce discussion over who should have which side of the bed and the chamber. Felicity in the meantime is ‘miserably crowded'—her own words—though Eleonora, bless her, notices nothing."

They continued down the stairs to the breakfast parlour, but were interrupted in the entry by Silver. He presented Clementina with a silver tray on which reposed a letter. She thanked him with a smile.

Her brother teased idly, “Love notes, Clemmie? We've been here but a day!"

She quelled him with a blighting look and paid great attention to breaking the seal, with one-handed awkwardness. “It is from a friend merely,” she said with dignity. “Presenting compliments."

Silver opened the breakfast parlour door and they passed within.

“I wish to hear every detail about Eton,” she said to her brother before inspecting the full plate to which her son was addressing himself.

“You sound much like Grandmama Haythe,” said her mother who was seated at the breakfast table and overheard her daughter's remark. The marchioness accepted her son's salute on her cheek. “It is delightful to have you join us my dear,” she said to him. “I have had a letter from your grandmama,” she added.

“How does she go on?” asked Clementina.

“Very well. She has lost nothing of her acuity. She is suspicious because she has heard nothing of Nicholas this age. You know your father decided not to tell her of our fears and suspicions. She writes of her belief that he should be settled and wed; she is thinking of the succession, the title. God grant he has that opportunity."

The usually composed marchioness allowed a crack to be perceived in her mask of composure. Her youngest son stared at her in concern.

Clementina laid an impulsive, comforting, hand on her mother's arm. “He will, Mama, I am certain of it."

The marchioness composed herself, and spying the parchment in Clementina's hand asked, “Letters already, my dear?"

“From a friend, merely,” Clementina repeated. She spoke nothing but the truth. But the note was from Major Rhyle. He presented his compliments cordially and, with them, his direction, and his hope that he would soon be in her company. She tucked the paper carefully in her reticule, its presence a warm talisman against her fears.

When Felicity entered the chamber moments later, she was carrying the Herald. “We missed the Prince's birthday celebration, as I expected. It was last week.” She tossed the newspaper onto the table, and turned to her older sister. “Clemmie, we have received a host of cards and invitations. Mama, shall we look at them now? Lady Jersey and Lady Sefton have already left for their estates, but Countess Lieven and Mrs. Drummond Burrell are in residence. Half the world is here at least."

“I shall consider the invitations, Felicity,” the marchioness said. “It will not be appropriate for us to undertake a ceaseless round of entertainments. Your father and I have not the heart for it."

Felicity permitted herself a small pout, and twitched her eldest sister's sleeve. “Very well, Mama. Clemmie, do let's go out and explore the town."

Clementina put aside her concerns. “Let's,” she said. “But first, have some breakfast. Will you cut my gammon?"

The sun was sparkling warmly on the sea by the time the ladies, dressed in pale muslins and the most fashionable of Angouleme and cornet bonnets, emerged from the house. Clementina held Kit's hand securely, for the bustle of carriages and coaches, curricles and wagons in the Parade was prodigious. She thought of Major Rhyle's strictures on safety as she gazed about, and could not but be happy that she had subtly enlisted James’ help. Though it was difficult to imagine that anyone should wish them harm, anxiety defined her days.

Before she, her sister and her son had crossed the road to the south side, they had been overtaken and left behind by their juniors. Louisa, James and Susan scampered down the steps to the beach and tore along the seafront. Kit pulled at his mother's hand, but she did not immediately release him.

“Children!” said Felicity with lofty disdain. “The girls should not behave like hoydens."

“I wish I might join them,” Clementina said, bowing politely to an acquaintance passing in a carriage.

“Clemmie!” Felicity was horrified. “You cannot mean it. But, the balls, the promenades, the parties, the gentlemen...” She smiled sweetly at her sister as a trio of dandies passing stared in admiration. “Besides everyone we know is here. Good heavens, oh indeed, everyone!” Her tone changed and she stared determinedly out over the sea.

Amused, Clementina abandoned her regrets, and looked to see the cause of her sister's disdain. Strolling towards them, recognition on their faces, were Sir Martin and Lady Polegate.

Clemmie brightened at the encounter, introduced her son with pride, and made animated conversation after the initial greetings. “And your little boys, they made the journey with you?” she inquired, for Kit's sake as he listened patiently.

Flattered by the remembrance, Lady Polegate flutteringly replied, “Oh of course, I could not have left the dears behind. And my cousin, Major Rhyle, has traveled with us. He has them sea-bathing at this moment."

“He said he would teach me,” Kit's small voice piped.

Clementina concealed her dismay at his revelation. She hurried to answer the Polegates’ surprised looks. “We met the major by chance on expeditions near Wheeling Hall."

“Of course!” Sir Martin nodded without surprise or interest. Lady Polegate, pursuing her own thoughts worried, “He assured me there could be no danger in sea-bathing."

“I am certain Major Rhyle will take the greatest care of them.” Clementina was relieved that no notice was taken of Kit's interpolation. She found herself the recipient of a sharp, discreet elbowing from Felicity. “We really must be going; we are placing a subscription at Donaldson's you know."

They exchanged polite bows, and walked on. Clementina's spirits were unaccountably lifted. She searched the beach for her younger sister, brother, and Louisa. They spied her wave, and obeyed her gesture for them to rejoin her.

“Did you have to be so pleasant?” Felicity asked, as they waited for the younger set.

“Yes,” Clemmie said. “They are, after all, to be Eleonora's neighbours. We do not want them thinking her to be high in the instep.” By way of distraction, she said, “I had not thought the sea air would be so fine; and the light ... it is most beautiful the way it glimmers on the sea."

“So, that soldier is with them,” Felicity said, as they turned the corner into the Steyne away from the sea.

Her diversion had been unsuccessful. “He is Lady Polegate's cousin,” Clementina said, irritated by the distaste in her younger sister's tone. “His military service, if nothing else, deserves your respect."

Felicity seemed surprised at her sister's pointed emphasis. She opened her mouth to pose questions Clemmie did not wish to answer, but she was interrupted.

Louisa called out, her face alight with joy, “Oh, Clemmie, is it not the most delightful place? Indeed, it is beyond anything fine. I cannot thank you enough for including me in this visit."

“I like it exceedingly myself,” Clementina said, smiling at the youngsters.

“Come along; we are looking to find a lending library,” snapped Felicity.

The younger group moved ahead, only to be back moments later. “Clemmie, there is cricket on the upper Steyne. May we go and watch? Please?” All three youngsters looked at her with pleading.

“May I go with them, Mama? Please?"

Clementina hesitated thinking of Major Rhyle's cautions. Her son's small innocent face was so very eager.

“If Susan will hold tightly to your hand every moment."

Her youngest sister nodded without hesitation.

“We will have every care for him,” James said with a new maturity.

“Very well then,” she said. “Have you your timepiece, James? Come to meet us in half of an hour. There is the library!” She gestured across the street where an elegantly lettered sign proclaimed ‘Donaldson's Circulating Library'.

The youngsters walked off, and Felicity pulled at Clementina's sleeve. “I wonder if Lord Valence has yet arrived in town,” she said.

Clementina sighed inwardly. She found herself with little patience for Felicity's moods, and her constant need for variety and excitement. She wondered if she had done the right thing in allowing Christopher to go with his cousins.

She forced her attention back to her sister. “Good gracious, who can tell? We may enter Donaldson's and there he will stand. Besides have you not enough to occupy you? We have so many invitations: a musicale at the Pavilion, and an assembly at the Old Ship rooms, a rout, a ball. You have your heart's desire, do you not?” Looking at her younger sister's beautiful face, she questioned whether that heart's desire had changed. Surely Lord Valence was not the only thing that now could content her?

They entered the door at Donaldson's and Felicity smothered a gasp. The circulating library's desk was already besieged despite the early hour, and on the perimeter of the bustle stood Lord Valence, his weary cynicism evident on his dark face.

Clementina—thinking herself a prophet—was startled by the glow his presence brought to her sister's face and was also surprised by Valence's expression. It was quickly schooled, but she rather thought it showed a remarkable depth of feeling.

As both parties were speechless, it fell to her to supply the greeting. “Well met, Lord Valence. All the world is here it seems.” She gestured to the crowd about them.

“Countess, Lady Felicity!” He bowed over their hands.

Clementina thought he retained Felicity's overlong.

“My sister enjoys the town more when the ton goes away, but I think I find more of interest with the ton in attendance,” he said.

“I think I should like to meet your sister,” Clementina laughed. “But I suspect my sister feels as you do."

Felicity had recovered her voice. “I do. I confess to an enjoyment of parties and balls."

“I share it,” Lord Valence said.

Clementina jumped, startled at a touch on her arm. She turned and discovered Major Rhyle standing behind her. She was disconcerted by the quick pleasure flooded her at the sight of his strong features and massive frame.

Though he bowed politely to her companions, his attention was all for her. She coloured as he took her gloved hand. “My lady,” he said.

She wondered if she imagined a subtle inflection in the two simple words. She very much hoped she did not.

“My cousin told me she had seen you; I hoped for the same coincidence. You received my note?” he asked.

“I did,” she said. She allowed her gloved hand to remain in his.

“And you are well? Your wrist?"

She gestured with the bandaged member. “It scarcely pains me now, but is most inconvenient. And you? Your injury?"

“The journey was only a little difficult, for it was mercifully short. The leg continues to improve. Seabathing helps, I think, though the saltwater irritates the scars."

The intimacy of their conversation occurred to Clementina and she blushed as she had not since her comeout. To conceal her confusion, she looked about for her sister and Lord Valence.

“They retired upstairs,” Rhyle volunteered, finally releasing her hand. He took pity on her embarrassment and asked, “Does Christopher enjoy the seaside?"

“He does, bless him,” she smiled at the thought of her boy. “The children keep him occupied with them. My brother James has joined us and is become his nephew's ardent protector. Kit has not forgot your promise however."

“I shall keep it,” he said. “Perhaps your younger brother may join our bathing expedition."

She smiled at him, in delight of his kindness. “I shall speak of it with him."

“Have you many invitations?” he asked, seeming loath to end their conversation.

“Dozens, but we shall accept a limited number of engagements. Though Felicity longs for society, Mama and I find our taste for it reduced by our continuing concern for my elder brother. I shall find it rather amusing to reacquaint myself in society,” she said. She spoke her thoughts aloud. “I have a very different view of it now, than I had six years ago. It will be trying though; I should not wish a complete and permanent return to its rounds."

“Then remain on its fringe, with me,” he said, with an inviting laugh. She stared at him, recalling their last conversation at Wheeling Hall.

“Perhaps I shall,” she retorted. She paused, thinking about her words. “Good gracious, I was flirting. I thought I had left flirtation behind me years ago."

“It becomes you,” he said, his smile full of understanding. “But I hope you will indulge in it sparingly. Only in my company, perhaps?"

She was blushing again, and sought escape from the intimacy of his glance. “I must go to my sister. She has been with Lord Valence long enough."

He seemed accepting of her need for retreat.

“You will excuse me?” She was loath to part, though she felt she must.

“We will meet again, soon,” he murmured, his deep voice tender. Then he bowed politely and very properly. “If you will, tell Valence I shall see him within the next day or so, on the front."

With a quickened pulse and teeming thoughts, Clementina moved smartly up the stairs to join her sister.

She found Felicity, with Valence, near a dust-filmed window through which the seaside sunshine made an effort to sparkle.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Very well,” Felicity said dreamily.

Lord Valence removed the entranced expression from his face, and looked haughtily at Clementina.

She stared back at him unflinchingly. “If you wish to form an alliance with my sister, I have no objection, my lord. I think you are a good deal less wicked than you are represented. However, you shall have to prove yourself to my parents and clandestine meetings with Felicity, of any sort, will not accomplish that. You had best establish your credibility with them, and be very circumspect in your dealings."

Valence's eyes narrowed, then he laughed. There was no humour in the sound. “You should advise my friend Rhyle the same, Countess."

She caught her breath at the implication.

“But you are right and I shall take your counsel."

“Your friend Rhyle asked me to advise you that he expects he will see you on the front some time soon.” Clemmie remembered the major's message.

Valence bowed.

Piqued at having his attention withdrawn, Felicity offered, “We are at Number 11 Marine Parade."

Valence lifted a black brow, his focus returning to her, even as Clementina urged her away. “Then we shall indeed meet often, for my sister's house is in Broad Street just off the Parade. Around the corner from you, in fact."

* * * *

Gideon Rhyle took to walking the front every day, sometimes on the Parade, sometimes on the beach. His leg was only slightly troublesome now. He carried the Malacca stick more for show than for insurance, though he found it a comfort while standing.

Four days after they had arrived in Brighton, he encountered Lord Valence on the Marine Parade.

“Well, what's to do?” Valence asked, without preliminaries.

Rhyle could see that he was preoccupied, probably by the attractions of Lady Felicity Haythe. He knew he was himself unable to disregard Clementina's claim to his thoughts. “Have you a footman or two whom you trust?” he asked. “This town is busier that I had thought it must be; the countess and her son should be watched."

“My sister must be willing to devote some staff to the cause of her brother's courtship,” Valence said. Falling into step the two men followed the Parade eastward. Their passage was constantly interrupted by courtesies to acquaintances, and the sheer quantity of pedestrians.

“Courtship?” Rhyle allowed himself to be distracted from his concern for Clementina and Christopher.

“Yes I think so; I believe it is a courtship,” Valence admitted in some apparent surprise.

Gideon did not pursue the matter; his friend had obviously to give the matter more thought. He said, “I have managed casual conversation with the countess’ groom, who traveled from Carmelth with her. By his accent, he hails from the north ... Lincolnshire perhaps."

Valence caught the possible connection with Wolseley, as Rhyle had intended.

“He seems a good enough sort, but there is something of him I cannot like. I cannot say what though—a furtive humour—"

“As though he shall have a trick upon us all?"

“Something of the sort,” Rhyle said, his mouth set in a grim line.

“I shall set two men on a watch,” Valence said. The traffic had thinned and they turned and started to walk back towards the town.

After striding in silence for some moments, Gideon asked, “Were you acquainted with Carmelth?"

“Carmelth?” Valence showed no surprise at the question. “I was older than he. I don't remember him at Eton or Oxford. We drank, gambled and wenched together from time to time in town, as one does."

Rhyle kept to himself the thought that not every man possessed the means or the inclination to spend days in idleness and lechery in London town.

“He was a good enough man but, as I've come to know her, he was not the equal of Clementina in anything other than consequence,” Valence continued. “You may be her equal in everything but consequence. Anyone who pays court to her, the widow of an earl, runs the risk of being considered a fortune hunter. And will have to reside at Carmelth, stepfather to an earl. Not an enviable position."

“It will not concern one who truly loves her,” Rhyle said.

Valence shook his head, and after a little more desultory conversation, he excused himself. His destination, he said, was the Prince Regent's lavish Pavilion.

Gideon made his hesitant way down the beach steps, and paced the shingle. The tide was now out and he bent his head to study the exposed sea creatures and such items as the waves had left behind.

He did not lift his head until he heard a piping voice shriek, “Major! Mama, there is the major!"

Rhyle was conscious of a great surge of pleasure and content. Lady Carmelth and her son were become his chief concern and his great joy. He looked up to see Clementina, in a foam green muslin gown that echoed the colours of the sea and a wide-brimmed straw hat tied with sea-foam ribbons, smiling at him with unreserved delight.

“Major, it is a prime day for paddling is it not? Mama, may I remove my boots, and my stockings?” Christopher was torn between his desire to remain close to the major and close to the water.

Rhyle watched as Clementina teased her son, pretending to consider the sky and temperature seriously. He added his own plea for the child. “Surely, Mama, such pleasure must be permitted?"

The child watched them both hopefully and, when Clementina nodded with an indulgent smile, he plumped down upon the sand, and began to tear off the offending garments.

Rhyle offered his arm, and Clementina placed her gloved hand on it hesitantly, though not reluctantly.

“The other children are with us,” she warned him. “Somewhere...” she waved comprehensively to the east. “Louisa has forgot her scowls and megrims in the joy of new adventure, and James’ presence has alleviated the tensions that arise from time to time between the girls."

Her conversational efforts wandered to a halt, and they stared at each other speechlessly for a long moment. Then Clementina released Rhyle's arm to bend to pick up Kit's boots with her good arm.

“How do you go on?” he asked, his grey gaze searching her oval face, lingering on her russet curls.

“No accidents,” she said. “I am in love with the sea, and its bracing air, and I already tire of the social round. I am ... very pleased ... to see you. We have not met socially. Have you been busy?"

He took her son's footwear from her, and carefully bestowed her hand with its injured wrist back upon his arm. “I have,” he said. “Though not as much as my cousin would wish. And I think it is not surprising that we do not meet at evening parties, or afternoon calls. The Squire Polegate's acquaintance must differ greatly from that of the Marquess of Cheriton or the Countess of Carmelth."

Clementina was silenced considering, he hoped, the truth of his words. The young ladies were advancing toward them along the water's edge accompanied by a young man Rhyle did not know. He detected a strong family resemblance however and determined that this must be James.

The lad, on seeing a stranger with his oldest sister, came to her immediately.

“This is James, Susan's twin,” Clemmie said with great affection. “This is Major Rhyle, James. We met him in the neighbourhood of Wheeling Hall; he assisted me when I fell from my horse. But for Nicholas, you are the last of the family to meet him."

Rhyle was aware that the young man was assessing him narrowly, and was pleased to discover the lad's handshake was firm.

“James, the major is going to teach me to swim. When will you teach me, sir?” Kit said, and was softly reprimanded for the interruption.

“I promised, did I not?” Rhyle bent to the child. “Perhaps you and your Uncle James will join me tomorrow, at the bathing beach at ten o'clock."

The little boy beamed. “I shall, if Mama permits. Shall you come James?"

Clementina smiled her permission as her young brother agreed to the pastime.

“There's Tom and Edward; they are with their mother,” Rhyle pointed across the shingle with his stick, having just seen his cousin. “Why don't you introduce James to them?"

Kit ran off but James lingered. Susan and Louisa were mounting the steps to the Parade.

“Were you injured in the war, sir?” he asked eyeing Gideon's Malacca cane and his dependence upon it as, in standing, he favoured his leg.

“I was at Quatre Bras,” Rhyle replied. “I left the conflict on a hurdle."

“What ... how?"

“I had the misfortune to be occupied hand to hand with a French officer, though we both were still mounted. There was a Frenchy with a sword who was unhorsed and not otherwise occupied, and he made a fair mess of this leg before one of our chaps dispatched him.” His face was sombre, but James’ was alight.

Clementina intervened. “That's enough James. Please keep an eye on Kit.” She sent him away to the child to his obvious disappointment. “I am sorry,” she said. “He has a thirst for stories of the war. He will not see the tragedy of it though, his own brother is missing."

“You cannot imagine the tragedy of it, unless you have seen it.” Gideon was very quiet. “And he cannot comprehend that the viscount might not return."

“Nicholas will,” Clementina said. There was no doubt in her voice.

“I believe you,” Gideon responded, meeting her hazel gaze with a level stare. “My friend Torgreave ensured that I did; the viscount is likely in someone's care at this moment."

“The Earl of Torgreave?” Clementina asked.

“The same,” Rhyle confirmed.

“I made his acquaintance, I believe, during my first season."

“You would not forget him. He is handsome, dashing and—was—intriguingly wicked. He is now recently married and content."

“How come you to be his friend?” she asked, her gaze direct, her question robbed of discourtesy. “You cross barriers I have sometimes questioned. I cannot understand your station."

“Does it matter? Should it matter? I am just a man.” He watched her ponder that as she turned to stare into the sun-dappled reaches of the sea.

Then she said decidedly, with colour rising in her smooth cheek, “I must disagree. You are a very special man."

Gideon made some sudden gesture, his hopes rising, his breath catching on a choke of sea air. But the boys were returning; there was no time for further conversation.

Clementina suddenly withdrew from him, as though recalling some vow to maintain a ‘suitable’ reserve. She waved to the youngsters, and said, without meeting his eyes, “We must go."

“We shall not always be interrupted,” he said. His cousin was gesturing at him with some urgency, though her sons were still playing happily at the water's edge. “I shall see you tomorrow at the bathing beach.” He spoke to James and Kit who had joined Clementina. “Have a care for your nephew, young James,” he admonished the older boy.

“Yes, sir,” James agreed, without understanding.

The countess’ gaze thanked Rhyle for his direction to James even as the parties separated. Gideon limped down the beach to his cousin with Clementina's precious words lingering in his thoughts.

CHAPTER NINE

Clementina was informed of every aspect of the swimming party at the nuncheon she shared with the children next day. Every detail of Gideon Rhyle's instruction and conversation was recounted by James; Christopher could not refrain from chattering about his affection for his Giant.

This led Susan, James and Louisa to discuss the major, and everyone's opinion was aired and thoroughly considered. There developed a consensus that Gideon Rhyle was a great gun. Though Clementina deplored the terminology, she privately agreed with the sentiment.

With regret however, she had to suggest to all the youngsters the necessity of not discussing Rhyle with Grandmama and Grandpapa. She disliked instructing them to mislead the marquess and marchioness, but comforted herself that their elders’ own pride made the prevarication necessary. If they would but ignore society's artificial strata, and accept a good man's merits, she would not be forced to such straits.

Clementina was relieved when the light meal was over and the young people scattered about their various activities. The two young ladies joined Felicity and Eleonora in the entry hall and were soon gone to visit the shops; Damerham arrived to bear James off to attend at a cricket match on the upper Steyne.

With the half hour, Clemmie had the rare comfort of solitude. The marchioness had convinced Cheriton to drive out to enjoy the bracing seaside air, and Christopher begged to walk out with Jenny.

As she enjoyed the peace, Clementina turned over her delight in Major Rhyle's company. It seemed to her that no one she had met in recent years presented himself with just that degree of honesty and courage that the major did. She examined her partiality, and told herself that she simply appreciated his fine qualities. He was a decent man, one that she might consider a friend. The young people evidently agreed given their conversation at table, but she vowed not to be put in such a situation again. If she could, she would keep the major and her family quite apart—at least for the present.

Having settled the matter to her satisfaction in her own mind, she established herself in the quiet drawing room to await her son's return for his nap. She was inclined to drowse but found herself thinking of the major, the way his flaxen hair curled ever so slightly about his well-shaped ears, and the comfort of his strong arm under her hand.

Her peace was short-lived; she was wide awake in a moment when Jenny burst in after an abrupt tap on the door.

“Is he with you, my lady? Oh he is not!” The girl was distracted, and wringing her hands.

Cold fear clutched Clementina as she sprang to her feet. “Can you mean Christopher? Jenny, what has happened?” She had to restrain herself from catching the distraught girl's shoulders and shaking her.

“I took Master Kit out as you bade me. I turned away for only a moment, my lady...” The girl was anguished. “I purchased him a cake he fancied. When I turned back he was gone."

Clementina knew the maid's affection for her young charge to be genuine and her care for him exemplary. She could hardly fault the girl for this occurrence, but she knew cold, frantic fear. “Where were you, Jenny?"

“I'll show you, my lady.” The maid was holding back tears with a ferocious will and departed at a run. “Only across the Parade, and west a little. We were going to the beach."

Clemmie followed her and sped down the stairs, preparing to leave the house without pausing for bonnet or wrap. “That is where he will have gone,” she said to reassure herself. “Just to the beach."

“Unless someone has taken him.” The maid spoke their fear aloud. “Oh, my lady, I could not see him—not at all—I did look."

The knocker was plied but Clementina, her hand already on the handle, waited on no servant. Silver appeared from the back of the hall accompanied by a footman, concern writ large on his face. Clemmie paid him no heed and flung open the door.

Major Rhyle stood in the aperture with Kit on his broad shoulders. The child was wet and his lips trembled. Rhyle was reassuringly calm, his grey gaze understanding as he took in Clementina's distraught expression.

She burst into tears at the sight of them, and accepted her son down into her own embrace. She stood still, her face buried in his tender neck, her shoulders shaking as she struggled for composure. At last she regained command of herself and lifted her head after setting her child on his feet. He clung to her skirts. At her gesture, Silver and the footman withdrew.

“How can I thank you?” she said to Rhyle, one hand resting on her son's curly head. She noted that the major looked rather pale. “Your leg ... you should not have carried him! Jenny, take the major into the library, get him some wine. Then go to the kitchen and prepare a tray for Christopher. I shall put him in his bed and ring when I require you."

“I do not wish to go to bed,” Christopher said, his pink lower lip outhrust.

“Do as your mother tells you,” the major said to him with calm resolution. “You ran away from Jenny and you paddled in the sea alone. You have caused great concern."

“I beg your pardon, sir,” the child said. “And yours, mama, and Jenny's.” He stood, his small back very straight. “There was a boy..."

Clementina glanced involuntarily at Rhyle; he shook his head a little and she thought he meant he had seen no other child.

“Was it the boy who spoke to you at Wheeling?” she asked.

The child's little face crumpled and he wept. “A different boy; he said James was his friend and we went to the beach. But he left me, and I gotted wet an’ then the major came."

“Do rest yourself, Major Rhyle; I will return shortly,” Clementina said with a polite, tremulous smile.

She led her son upstairs and comforted Kit as she removed his damp clothes and put him in his nightgown. She lectured him with gentle persistence as she tucked him into his bed. He must not speak with strangers; he must not listen to strangers; he must not follow a stranger. But he had seen the error of his judgment, and was only too happy to agree to all her strictures. He relaxed under her loving ministrations and, with the comfort of her presence, slipped into sleep.

She sank down on her own high bed, her trembling knees refusing to support her any longer. Her gown was damp; she should change it. But she could not be concerned about such a trifle. Rhyle was right; someone had treacherous designs upon her precious son. What should she do—where would they be safe? Her hands clenched on a wave of panic, and a noise in the doorway pushed her suddenly to her feet.

She whirled ready to protect her child, but it was Gideon who was there. Her eyes drowned again in tears though she lifted a shaking hand to dash them away. He limped to her side, and took her in his arms, and it seemed the most natural thing on earth to lift her face to his and be kissed.

The child slept and the kisses deepened until Clementina found what her marriage had lacked, and discovered the depth of emotion maturity could bestow. At length she turned her face into Rhyle's broad shoulder, and managed to say, “You should not have carried him, and you should not have come upstairs—your poor leg—"

“I wanted to know that you and he were both recovered from your fright,” Gideon said, one big hand smoothing her bright hair. Her cap had somewhere been lost.

“We mustn't ... I was distraught—I spent half the afternoon convincing myself you were naught but a friend.” Flustered now, Clementina tried half-heartedly to move away, and discovered herself held by a strong arm about her waist.

“I think we just proved ourselves well beyond friendship,” Rhyle said with a loving smile. “And you cannot blame this interlude on distress. Let us stay here; there is much to say.” He drew her to the only chair in the room, a broad wing chair, and settled himself with a sigh. He drew her down to his lap.

Clemmie could not summon the will or the wish to deny him. She wriggled to comfort, careful of his injury, and leaned against his broad chest.

“I love you,” he said, cradling her face with infinite gentleness in his strong hands. “I have since the first time I saw you, in the inn yard at Guildford. I thought then that you were wed—unattainable—and I was grieved.” He feathered kisses across her brow, her eyes, and along her jaw.

Clementina closed her eyes on a delectable surge of ecstasy, as his lips found hers again. She gave herself up to sensation, and glimpsed at last the sweet desires that the intimacies of the marriage bed could fulfill.

It was he who drew away this time, shakily and reluctantly. She gazed dazedly across the room at her sleeping son, and back to Rhyle's strong face and the passionate flame in his grey eyes.

“Gideon, I cannot...” She could not bear to leave go of him, and grasped his hands tightly, despite the pain in her wrist. “I had no notion of love before. This is ... I do love you.” She bordered on incoherence in her joy, she was aware, but had to continue, “I had no notion of loving anyone, ever, when I left Carmelth a month ago; I was content. Then gradually I was no longer complacent. I could not imagine what had changed my feelings until I saw you again in the circulating library here. It was you. My love for you had changed me."

“At our first meetings, I knew you did not think of relationships, for you had security in your position as a widow. You treated every one you met with the same kind friendliness. And still you believe you must not remarry."

She coloured deeply, and said, “How can I? I must not leave Carmelth; it is Christopher's inheritance."

“We still may wed. Though it may appear my motives are less than pure, I am not a fortune hunter.” A warm understanding smile curving his shapely lips.

“I cannot allow you the sacrifice of your future.” She made to rise and he released her reluctantly. She paced in agitation. “For you to be the pensioner of Carmelth is unthinkable."

“I would not be. I have wanted to tell you; I am going into the canal business, with Torgreave. I will explain later, but I shall be financially independent. I should do my best to raise Kit in an understanding of his inheritance."

“The inequality in our station will stand between us. We do not meet in company: our parents, our expectations, our acquaintance are so dissimilar."

“Do you believe there is inequality between us?” He rose also, but stiffly. His grey gaze was intent. “Are we so very different? We have met in company; our parents all are no more than decent people, who want the best for their children. We ourselves expect a long life and desire happiness. As for our acquaintance ... we know the same people. I call Torgreave a friend and Valence. He, whether you recognize it or no, is courting your sister Felicity."

Clementina's hazel eyes widened in dismay.

He prevented her from speaking by the expedient of gathering her in his arms. “Let us discuss it no more at present. The future will unfold as it should, and we must discover who seeks to harm you, and Kit before aught else can be explored. Let us enjoy this moment of discovery."

“You need not prove your worthiness to me.” Clementina's voice was muffled against his broad shoulder.

He again stroked her auburn curls lovingly. “I know; that is not my objective.” He bent his head to kiss her ear, and murmured, “I wish only to keep you safe. And I would display that we have no fundamental differences, something I shall have to prove to your family."

“And what now shall we do? How can I protect Kit?” She lifted her head to meet his grey eyes steadily, looking to him for guidance.

“We will protect him. And I will cherish you both. I have taken Valence into my confidence. Two of his footmen watch you and Kit at all times. That is how I knew that Kit had wandered off—how I found him so quickly. In fact, they are in pursuit of the boy—yes, I'm sure there was a boy—Christopher does not lie. We are close to solving the mystery."

“Truly?"

“Truly. We shall meet whenever I have news. Beyond that, when you feel confident of our connection, I will ask you to marry me."

“I cannot see how we may.” Clementina bent to kiss her son. She hoped to conceal her concerns, but Rhyle's hand on her back told her that he knew what she was about.

“You must not worry.” He drew her to face him once more.

She straightened with a rosy face, for his arm gathered her very close. “There are other difficulties for, as you said, Felicity is being courted by Valence, and Nicholas.... I must help my siblings where I can."

“I know,” he said.

He released her slowly after a last kiss, and Clementina pulled the bell to summon Jenny.

On the maid's arrival, Clemmie bade her sit with Christopher. The maid, who expressed no surprise at Rhyle's presence, tendered her apologies yet again.

Clementina accepted them with only a word of caution. “You will understand now, why we must be vigilant."

“He shan't leave my sight, my lady. Not again, not ever,” the plump maid vowed.

Clemmie smiled, and drew Rhyle away. “We must go down.” In the corridor, she added, “I cannot know when we shall be private together again."

The major followed her. “I am a patient man,” he assured her. “And well accustomed to overcoming difficulty."

* * * *

Felicity whisked into the morning room. She interrupted Clementina and her son without hesitation. “Clemmie do let's go to the circulating library. I long for a new novel..."

While she aided Christopher's work with a dissected map, Clemmie had been thinking of the major. Their encounters were less than satisfactory, but at least they were frequent. Rhyle took his young relatives to walk on the Steyne early every day and in the Parade every afternoon. Clementina and her party of youngsters often encountered them in both places. The young people enjoyed the major's stories and the little boys enjoyed the boisterous games the older children devised.

The meetings were uncontrived and so innocent that Gideon would growl to Clementina that he should go mad if he could not soon take her in his arms, and kiss her. She found the same urgent desire within herself, but she always blushed and hushed him.

She was trying to carry on as though nothing had happened. She did her best to display a serene aspect to her family, mediated the squabbles of her younger siblings, and took such burdens as she could from her mother's shoulders. Lord Cheriton was not recovering his energies as they hoped, and there was no word of Nicholas. Christopher she kept close by her or, failing that, she ensured he was hedged about by the other members of the party.

Always with her was the dear knowledge of Gideon's love; it alleviated the cloud of fear that had closed in upon her, and was a warm delight. She was relieved he had declared himself a patient man; she had new proof that it would require time and energy to convince the marquess and marchioness of the rightness of their union.

It had begun the previous day, when Lady Cheriton had confided to her that she wished to separate Felicity and Lord Valence.

“He seems accepted everywhere in Brighton, Clementina. They overlook his libertine propensities and his reprehensible reputation, and he receives invitations from everyone,” she had said. “I should have to be blind not to see that he has an interest in Felicity, and it will not do. I shall tell Cheriton I think we should depart within a fortnight."

Clementina had protested. “Surely a gentleman may reform, Mama? And it seems to me, if in fact Lord Valence is interested in Felicity, it is because they are well suited. They both enjoy the social round and everything that is fashionable."

“That may be, but they shall not have opportunity to extend their acquaintance. Miss Valence—who is most definitely not reformed—and her brother are not suitable companions for this family."

There was no more to be said to the marchioness. Clementina had left the interview wondering how to effect a successful conclusion to her own plans. If Lord Valence—with birth and background, if not good repute—to support his advances, was not to be tolerated, how much less would the major be allowed? She wondered if she should cut short her visit and return to Carmelth. If her mother had divined Felicity's romance, she might easily discover Clementina's and that, thought Clemmie, could not be borne. At Carmelth, Gideon could visit, and their decisions could be made without interference. She was, after all, of age and free to make her own choices.

“Clemmie?” Felicity's voice was high and querulous.

Clementina dropped her reflections with a blink. She discovered Kit had abandoned the map and was looking from the window and Felicity was staring at her with annoyance.

“Will you come out?” her sister demanded again.

Clemmie agreed, and took Kit to their bedchamber. It was time for his nap. She saw him laid down with Jenny in attendance and donned her new blue spencer and gypsy hat. She rejoined Felicity, who had little to say until they were on the Parade with the sunlight winking off the sea across the busy thoroughfare.

Then she said, “Clemmie, instead of the library, do let's go and call upon Miss Valence. It is only a step, and I've not seen her this age. I should like you to meet her, and I should like to improve my acquaintance with her. You cannot object surely?"

Yes, Clementina thought, I could object—I should. Mama would expect me to. But she said, “I should be delighted to make her acquaintance. You met her when we stayed at Wheeling Hall? Did you visit the Priory, Felicity?"

Her sister's rosy blush was confirmation enough. Felicity had determined on a course of action that would not be deferred, or deterred. “Only once,” she said. “But we did walk together two or three times."

Clemmie sighed, but offered no rebuke. At least her sister would still confide in her.

Broad Street was, as Lord Valence had once remarked only around the corner, and so Clementina and Felicity were admitted to Miss Valence's drawing room before they had exchanged more than a dozen words of conversation to each other.

They were welcomed amicably by their hostess, and Felicity gracefully performed the necessary introductions. Miss Valence offered refreshment, and the Haythe ladies learned that the baron, her brother, was from home. They had sat with her for half an hour—much longer than a mere duty visit—before Clementina began wishing they might depart.

She found Miss Valence very civil, conversable and pleasant, but she also found her rather cold, and with too much sharpness in her wit. Her home echoed her personality; everything was to the latest fashion, but chosen without warmth and only to highlight its owner's beauty and cleverness.

It seemed, however, that Felicity was at ease, and so Clemmie endured. They were all laughing at the antics of Miss Valence's terrier, when Lord Valence erupted into the room. He glared speechlessly at them all. Major Rhyle followed close upon his heels.

“Cheriton pride be damned,” the baron snarled.

Gideon Rhyle laid a large, restraining hand on his friend's superfine sleeve.

Clementina said, “I beg your pardon?"

“I am not good enough for your sister, Countess. I have been to call in the Marine Parade. I was led by the civility of the marquess, on previous occasions, to think my presence would not be unwelcome. However, I encountered the marchioness who left me in no doubt that my character and morals, and those of my sister, render us unsuitable companions for you and your precious sisters."

Miss Valence rose and ranged herself beside her brother. “Is it not odd, my lady,” she said to Clementina, “that we should all be infatuated so unsuitably?” Her laugh was silvery, but without humour.

Clementina stiffened. “Felicity, I think we should leave,” she said. She was distressed, but she spoke calmly.

“I do not,” her sister retorted.

Clementina was conscious of Rhyle's warm support, even with the width of the chamber between them.

Felicity added, “You choose your friends, Clemmie, I choose mine. And Mama has no right to censure them."

“She has every right, my dear, as our parent,” Clementina said. “We must simply prove to her that her preconceptions are false. If everyone in this room will continue in exemplary behaviour we may come about.” She cast a scathing look at Valence. “If we lose our tempers, our cause will surely be lost."

“Well said,” Major Rhyle complimented.

“Now we shall go home, and allow Mama to say what she will, until we may change her opinions."

Felicity looked mutinous, but Valence's anger had seeped away. He took Felicity's hand, and led her aside. His murmurings brought a smile to the beauty's face, as Clementina took her leave of his sister.

“I shall accompany you,” Rhyle said.

“You must not; there is enough fuel for dissension today."

“Then I shall follow you,” he insisted.

“And I,” Valence echoed.

“That we cannot prevent,” Clementina said with a warm smile. They made polite farewells to Miss Valence. Clemmie urged Felicity from the chamber to the front door and beyond to the doorstep and the pavement.

They were in the middle of Broad Street, crossing it, with the gentlemen a discreet distance behind them, when the call sounded. “A runaway ... beware, a runaway..."

Before they could think, two stout bay cobs in harness to a tilbury roared down upon them.

Astonishment held them immobile. That exquisite sense of denial and disbelief that so often accompany disaster overwhelmed them. Felicity froze with fear, and Clementina stumbled, thinking in a wild tangle, of the major's suppositions and her little son's accidents.

She had forgot the gentlemen behind them. With a surging rush, Rhyle caught her up, and she saw Valence do the same for Felicity. They were safe on the pavement before she could catch her breath, and she sank to her knees. Felicity began, nonsensically, to bemoan her lost bonnet.

“They'll have to slow at the corner,” Valence shouted, setting off at a run. He caught the arm of an acquaintance or two and enlisted their aid with a quick explanation. “We shall catch the devils and have the name of their employer. Have a care for Felicity."

Rhyle could not run. He swore with heartfelt vehemence and then lifted Clementina to rest in the circle of his massive arms. She reached a hand to her shaking sister.

“Thank you! Oh, thank you,” Clemmie murmured into the major's waistcoat. “It is beyond coincidence, is it not?"

“It is,” he agreed. “But Valence will catch that driver, and so we begin the last act of this dangerous farce. We have him now, my love."

Felicity was staring at them without understanding, and Clementina pulled away from the major to embrace her sister.

Major Rhyle offered them each a supportive arm, and walked with them slowly to the corner and onto the Parade. Halfway down the crowded street they could see Valence dragging the carriage's driver from his seat. A curious crowd was gathering.

Rhyle saw them to their door, and said, “I shall go and aid Valence. I'll send word...” With a quick nod, he was gone.

Clementina was glad of it, for the marchioness was within the entry. She exclaimed in horror over her daughters’ disheveled state. When she was told what had occurred, she was quick to draw them into the morning room, where the marquess would not be disturbed, and demand the whole. She was silent during the telling, but assured herself that neither young woman was injured and then rang for tea.

Thoughtfully, she said, “These men, Rhyle and Valence, might have a cunning motivation for this rescue. They might appear to advantage from having such an accident occur when they are nearby."

Felicity, shocked by the near accident and stripped of artifice, duplicity and vanity, said, “Lord Valence loves me and I love him. He would do nothing to endanger me; he doesn't care to impress you. If you will not allow me to see him, I shall ... shall run away."

“You will not see him, and you will not run away—not with Nicholas missing and your papa ill. But you will go to your chamber now,” the marchioness said. Her speechless and distrait daughter obeyed, flinging herself from the chamber in a torrent of tears.

Clemmie sank into a chair, and brushed sightlessly at the stains on her gown. “It is a fanciful extravagance to suggest the gentlemen engineered the incident, Mama."

Her mother sat beside her and took up her hand. “It may seem so, but stranger things have been done to gain the attention of well-born and well-dowered young ladies."

Clementina wondered what best to say. She could not divulge the major's suspicions to her parents. She wished to draw no attention to his presence in the affair. She decided to ignore the marchioness’ erroneous suspicions.

She would support Felicity if she could not further her own cause. “If Felicity loves the baron, Mama, perhaps..."

“No, Clementina. I will not see a daughter of mine bestow herself upon a rake and a wastrel. He will certainly bring her nothing but unhappiness."

“I do not think so,” Clemmie said. She found she was shivering despite the warmth of the August day. “I must see Kit.” She rose. “I think I shall go to my room."

She left her mother staring after her in perplexity.

* * * *

The Cheriton household was at sixes and sevens for days. Felicity kept to her chamber and her brother and sisters were divided in their loyalties. Only Lord Damerham declared his unity with the marquess and marchioness; he considered Valence an unprincipled rake. In vain did gentle Eleonora remonstrate with him. Susan found the matter vastly romantic, and James thought it an unmitigated bore. Louisa watched the whole affair with wide eyes.

Clementina longed for consultation with Gideon, but she was kept at the house in Marine Parade by the family's contretemps and so could claim no accidental meeting with him. She had a note from him, the day after the runaway carriage had threatened disaster. It advised her to have nothing to do with her groom, to be nowhere near the man, and to disallow Kit the stables. But the information was brief; he provided no reasons for his strictures.

Later in that week another note arrived from him suggesting, with apologies, a clandestine meeting. Clementina sent an immediate affirmative note, and sought out Louisa. She tapped on the door of the bedchamber the girl shared with Susan. Louisa answered, her small, serious face lightening as she saw Clementina.

“Good morning. James and Susan have gone off together, I know, and I need your help.” Clementina wasted no time in coming to the point.

Louisa drew her in and shut the door, curiosity in her face. “What can I do?” she asked immediately.

“Thank you,” Clementina said with heartfelt gratitude. “I knew I might rely on you. Are we not in a dreadful state? It all began so promisingly, and now we have spoilt your holiday."

“Oh, no,” the young girl coloured. “No indeed, you have not."

“Well, be that as it may, I have need of a companion with whom to walk out. I must speak with my friend, Major Rhyle, and I have had no opportunity, these four days."

“May he not call?"

Clementina fashioned a rueful look.

Louisa understood. “No, of course this is not a good time. But how shall we be sure of meeting him?"

“I confess we have arranged a rendezvous.” She hesitated now to satisfy the curiosity in the younger girl's face, but finally said, “I ... the major and I have discovered a deep affection for each other."

A soft exclamation escaped Louisa.

It was a relief to Clementina to speak freely at last. “I did not think I would ever love anyone as I do him. But I think my parents will not like the match. Well, I know they will not; I cannot imagine how it may succeed myself."

“Kit adores him,” was Louisa's first comment.

Clementina loved her for it. “I know, and I thank God for that. I am very happy, but there is much to resolve. So, I wish to walk out with a discreet companion. Will you come?"

Louisa snatched up her bonnet. “Indeed I will,” she said. “And I am overjoyed for you. You may be certain I shall never breathe a word, for you have done so much for me, I am delighted to return the favour in any way. You deserve so much happiness for all you give to others."

“Nonsense!” Clementina was much touched by the sentiment. “You might be glad of your shawl; we are walking to the Royal Crescent,” she said as the younger girl started out the door.

They left the house without interference and walked quickly east on the Parade, in silence. It was only mid-morning and so there were few of the ton about; no one to whom Clementina had to stop and speak. As they approached the decaying statue of the Prince Regent at the hub of the Crescent, Clementina sent Louisa across to the bluff overlooking the shore so she would not be involved. Major Rhyle was not in sight, and seeking him she rounded the statue swiftly.

She walked directly into the arms of Lord Valence. They were both flung off balance, and he gripped her shoulders to keep her from falling. At the same moment, from a house not far down the Crescent, appeared Lady Eleonora and Lord Damerham.

“My lady, I do beg your pardon,” Lord Valence said, with controlled courtesy. “My carelessness was at fault."

“Surely it was mine!” Clementina peered over his shoulder, as her sister and her sister's betrothed approached. She still could not see Major Rhyle. “I am here to meet Major Rhyle. What have you discovered of my latest accident?"

“The major was detained.” Valence eyed Damerham as he strode up. “And now we are in the suds."

Lord Damerham was by this time within earshot and gave an audible outraged gasp as he spied his sister approaching across the Parade. “What is going on?” he asked.

Clementina removed herself from Valence's sustaining grip. “I carelessly walked into Lord Valence and would have fallen but for his support,” she said, with a calm she did not feel.

“Indeed?” asked Robert with patent disbelief.

Eleonora drew in a deep breath, as Louisa hurried up with a furtive expression on her face.

Damerham said, “Louisa, please join Lady Eleonora. Sir, we will not trouble you to remain."

Lord Valence's eyes narrowed; the younger man's rudeness was palpable.

Clementina caught her breath sharply; the viscount's thoughts were very clear to her. “Robert, we met by chance. You must not..."

Damerham turned on her, his face unusually resolute and cold. He took her arm, and said, “We will not discuss it here, my lady. Eleonora, Louisa, come. Good day to you, sir."

Valence did not respond, with Clementina's hazel eyes warning him to silence. He swung away, and strode off down the Parade. As Clementina watched he encountered Major Rhyle, and apparently invited his company. Rhyle glanced only briefly their way, and fell into step with Lord Valence.

Not a word was spoken as Robert conveyed the three ladies back to the Cheritons’ rented house on the Parade at a brisk walk.

Silver opened the door, and it was Eleonora who led them to the morning room, her gentle face settled into lines of outrage.

Robert closed the door, then turned on Clementina. “How could you, my lady? Bad enough to meet such a man, but to use such an innocent young girl as my sister for an accessory? Why, Valence is a ... a libertine, a damned loosefish. If your family cannot persuade you of the folly of such behaviour, it is too bad; but to drag my sister into certain disgrace...."

“Hold hard, Robert!” Clementina was abrupt, her voice icy. “Despite your suspicions, Lord Valence and I had no assignation. You forget, it is Felicity who engages his affections.” Her temper was not improved by the fact that her planned appointment had been forgone.

“Ha! The man is a rake. You were in his arms, despite his vaunted love for your sister, and my sister was innocent witness to such moral laxity."

Eleonora was moved to protest. “Robert, you shall not say these things to Clementina. We have no proof of an assignation."

“My dear, you saw her in his arms!"

“I walked into the gentleman!” Clementina said again, roused to rare anger.

“You see?” Eleonora said. Her gentle face displayed her distress at the argument.

“Indeed I saw. My mother shall be informed and I shall request that Louisa return to her immediately."

“My lord!” Eleonora was suddenly formal. “Since you consider my family's behaviour unacceptable, you must as well consider me unsuitable. Our engagement is at an end."

“Eleonora, no!” Clementina was horrified, her anger gone.

Louisa, who had been rendered speechless, began to weep in an uncontrolled way. “I shan't go to Mama, at beastly Epworth. I won't."

The marchioness, attracted by the turmoil, came in to an appalling scene. However, she had become accustomed over the years to noisy rows among her six strong willed children and so she took command.

“Be silent, all of you. What a fuss. One would think you were all in shortcoats. I could hear you in the corridor. I wish to know what has happened. Robert?"

The unbecoming flush of anger was fading from that young man's face, but he replied with rigid formality. “Lady Eleonora and I had paid a call in the Royal Crescent and we were returning to this house when, near the Regent's statue, we came upon the Countess of Carmelth in Lord Valence's arms. And my sister was in attendance!” His face grew scarlet again at the thought.

“Well, I sent Valence about his business, brought the ladies home, and have just now attempted to show the countess the error of her ways."

“The error of—” Clementina now was at a loss for words.

Her mama silenced her with an upflung hand, and said kindly to Louisa, “Come my dear, mop up. Did Clementina invite you to walk out this morning?"

“Yes, my lady."

“Did she say aught about an assignation?"

The young girl cast an agonized look at Clementina who shrugged. “No..."

“The truth if you please, Louisa."

“Yes! Oh, I am sorry, Clementina. Oh dear.” She trembled on the verge of tears again.

“Run upstairs my dear, and lie down upon your bed. You are quite worn out by this. And rest assured you shall not be sent away."

Louisa slipped out of the chamber thankfully, casting an apologetic glance at Clementina as she closed the door.

Robert bristled at the affront to his authority. He was quelled by the marchioness’ cold stare.

“Eleonora my love, do you know aught about an assignation?"

“No mama.” Eleonora's honesty was palpable.

“Why are you so displeased with Robert?"

“Because he spoke unforgivably to Clementina. He said she was beneath reproach. If she is, I, as her sister, must also be. And I had no idea Robert had such a beastly prosy nature, and I am pleased to have ended our betrothal.” She spoke the last defiantly in Robert's direction.

“Very well, my dear. You will please to retire to your chamber also."

Eleonora dropped the tiniest of polite curtsies and sailed disdainfully past her former sweetheart.

The marchioness thoughtfully considered Clementina who was seated on a silk sopha, and Lord Damerham still standing near the door.

“Robert, I hope you realize there is nothing to be gained by disturbing your mama at Epworth. I applaud your concern for your sister, but it is not your place to be rebuking Clementina. You may, you know, safely leave this matter in the hands of the marquess and myself."

Robert, whose anger now had totally ebbed and whose gentler nature had resumed its normal sway, was obviously feeling rather horrified at what he had said and done. Clementina suspected he also was shocked by his broken betrothal.

“Yes, my lady, indeed, of course."

“I think you should go home to your lodgings now, and do not worry. Also do not hurry to contact Eleonora; let the breach heal slowly, for heal it will, I know."

The young man bowed thankfully and made his escape.

There remained only Clementina and she had gone to the window to stare through the fine lace at the busy street below.

“Clementina? Come and sit my dear.” The marchioness’ voice was kind, as she chose a chaise.

Clementina slowly came, and found a hard straight chair nearby.

“Did you walk out with Louisa intending to meet Lord Valence?"

“I did not, Mama.” Clementina was offended by the question. “And in light of my marriage and widowhood, and my independence of the past five years, I should have no need to make explanation to you in the matter."

Her mother smiled ruefully. “I acknowledge the truth of your statement, however the sheltered nature of your life these five years makes your judgment questionable, and I would like to know what happened, and who you hoped to meet?"

Clementina kept her composure with force of will. “I rounded the statue too quickly, and simply walked in to Valence. He saved me a fall by grasping my shoulders, at the very moment Eleonora and Robert appeared."

“You have met Lord Valence frequently?"

“I encountered him a few times during our stay at Wheeling Hall, and here of course one may meet him anywhere. His house is only around the corner!"

“Of course,” the marchioness frowned.

“Papa has recently felt him to be reformed.” Clementina reminded her mother.

“Well, perhaps the marquess is wrong. In any event, reformed or no I should never consider an alliance between him and one of my daughters with anything but misgiving. You know I have told Felicity that. Clementina, who were you meeting if not Valence?"

“That is my private business, Mama,” Clementina said. “I am sorry if it causes you distress. I have enjoyed our visit with all of you, but it has not been without its stresses. I have been wed and widowed; I do not accept your governance. And I prefer at the moment to retire.” She dropped a polite curtsey to the marchioness and withdrew.

CHAPTER TEN

Gideon Rhyle was abroad early the next morning. He walked out frequently to escape his cousin's questioning and concern. His mind was so much engaged of late by Clementina and her concerns that he had noticeably withdrawn his attention from his cousin's family. Lady Polegate had begun to worry again about his health and taxed him with queries about his wound, his appetite, and whether he rested well. His reassurances were not accepted, and so he sought solitude.

At least his leg benefited from the exercise, he thought wryly, and he had time for contemplation. And the early morning hours were among the most pleasant of the day. He had missed the pearly dawn, but the mist was still moving out to sea as the day warmed and the sun rose in an impossibly blue sky.

His wide brow was creased in concern as he walked. The contretemps caused by his aborted assignation with Clementina had been obvious, even without Valence's explanations. He could well imagine, with what Clementina had confided to him of her family, the turmoil into which the Cheriton household must now be plunged. And he was helpless to assist her.

The thought irritated him, and had irritated him for days. He was becoming increasingly impatient. He wished to propose marriage to Clementina; he wished to ask Christopher if the boy would have him for father. After ten years’ longing for just such a woman, he could scarce contain his eagerness to claim her, with the added delight of a fine son.

He anticipated wedded life with satisfaction, though he recognized that their situation, undeniably, would not be easy. He would be without clear position, the countess's husband with no rank or fortune of his own, an interloper on the Carmelth estates. However, if he could but be a good manager of his stepson's inheritance, and a good father to the lad and whatever children he and Clementina might have, he would be satisfied.

He paused and, finding a massive rock nearby, sat watching the lively waves break upon the shore. He had written to his parents advising them of his attachment and his hopes, and he had received loving letters in reply, sharing his joy and offering support. Their response warmed him, but he would not ask them for advice; he was, after all, nine and twenty, had been from home ten years. Besides that they had enough concerns with his younger siblings.

He felt in his heart that all would be well, but despite that confidence he was occasionally assailed with doubts. He did wish he could have the opinion of his good friend Torgreave or some other unbiased observer. Valence's cynicism was dubious comfort.

He feared that Clementina's unwillingness to announce their attachment stemmed from something more than a wish to assist her siblings with their problems. He worried that her reluctance displayed a concern for the inequity of their stations that she herself perhaps did not recognize. He shook his head and dismissed his unruly concerns; things had a way of working out, and he did trust his Clemmie.

“Major?"

Gideon turned sharply and caught his breath on a surge of discomfort. Clementina's younger brother stood nearby, looking worried, wearied and a little ill at ease. Gideon had grown to like the volatile youngster over the encounters of the past days, and thought he showed great promise.

“James! You look as though you have had enough of holidaying. How are you?"

“Well enough, but our house is grim as bedlam, sir!” The young man stepped closer, and leaned on Gideon's massive rock. “Eleonora has broke off her betrothal; Felicity's told Mama and Papa she'll have no one but Valence. They both mope about blue as megrims. Susan and Louisa spend all their time together talking about true love and such nonsense, and Mama and Papa have retreated to formality.” He kicked the sand moodily, startling a small crab that had sheltered under the rock's edge. “If only Nick would come ... he's my brother, sir, my elder brother."

“I know, lad. Clementina has told me of it. And I'll tell you what I have told her. I've many friends in the military still, and we've more than a suspicion that your brother is alive."

The youngster's face gleamed with hope and vivid purpose. “I haven't given up. Clemmie feels he is coming home to us. I hold to that. She would know if he was ... dead.” He dashed a hand across his eyes, and straightened. “Major, would you go sea-bathing with Kit and me again? He's having a thin time of it too, and we had such fun last time. I wish Clemmie had not got the apron strings tied so firmly about Kit. She won't let me take him alone. She's with him constantly."

“When a child is an earl, James, he can be vulnerable."

“Clemmie said something about accidents, but surely no one..."

Gideon came to a sudden decision. “I am bound to see Lord Valence, James. There are things you should know, and you should hear our discussion. Come along."

The boy stared at him with undisguised curiosity, but did not at all question their destination as Rhyle started back up the shingle. At Gideon's subtle urging he spoke about his older brother on their walk back into the town.

They found Valence in his sister's breakfast parlour. He waved them to seats at a table laden with gammon, eggs, bread, muffins and scones, questioning James’ presence with only a lift of a black brow.

“The lad's having the devil of a time at home. All your fault, of course.” Rhyle's ready jest elicited a crack of cynical laughter from Valence. “I thought he should know what is going on, behind the scenes as it were. He may be able to help, or at least understand the undercurrents."

Valence did not argue, but dismissed his servants and himself poured out small beer into three tankards. “Do you know about your sisters’ encounter with a runaway carriage, boy?"

“I should think so. My parents are saying that you likely engineered the event between you—to cast yourselves in a good light.” James took a cautious sip of the mild ale.

Rhyle exchanged an impatient look with Valence. “Despite your parents’ belief, the truth is the opposite. We are trying to discover why it happened. We have the carriage's driver in our custody, and have been convincing him to talk to us."

“He has,” Valence said to Rhyle. “Our friend of the runaway carriage has decided that it is in his interest to divulge his employer."

“Who?” Gideon asked, his food forgotten.

“One John Marshall—groom to the Countess Carmelth—who has been employed at Carmelth these three years."

“Marshall!” James was patently horrified.

Briefly Rhyle wondered about the wisdom of his decision to bring the lad. But he was fifteen, old enough to help his family, and old enough to learn something of the world's wickedness.

Valence was continuing. “The carriage driver avows however that he knows nothing of Marshall's reasons; just that he was paid to run down the ladies."

Rhyle and Valence were implacably grim, and James’ young face echoed their expressions.

“He claims to know nothing of any other employer. I believe that. He's a simple knave, a pickpocket by trade I think. He does not care for being confined in my sister's stable—claims he will have us taken up—but I asked him to whom he would report us, and he was silenced. His fear of the authorities was very revealing."

“We must not have word of this get back to this groom. James, do you hear me?” Rhyle was thinking rapidly. “We cannot confront Marshall without further evidence. If only we could find those boys who have led young Christopher astray ... you can help by keeping your eyes on the child, as Clemmie is, James. The boys might also lead us to Marshall, then we can have no doubt about confronting him."

“I suggest we confront him anyway,” Valence said. “That carriage nearly killed Felicity and Clementina. Would you have the deed done before we find out why?"

Rhyle silenced the outburst with a derisive frown. “You know the answer to that. I'd kill Marshall with my bare hands on just the evidence we have, if we did not need him to lead us to his employer."

“Paget Wolseley is in London."

James stared at Valence. “Isn't Paget Wolseley next in line to inherit Carmelth, after Kit?"

The older men watched as enlightenment suddenly dawned in the lad's bright blue eyes. “All the accidents...” he murmured.

“Paget Wolseley is in debt up to his ears, assaulted as they already are by his dandy shirtpoints,” Valence said. “He keeps odd company, in a club with doubtful connections. By day he is irreproachable; by night, he's a rum customer."

“Things become dark and darker,” Rhyle said, returning to the food on his plate. “Give it a day or two; if nothing comes about we'll tackle Marshall. I think I did not thank you for catching the slip-gibbet you hold in your stable. My blasted leg has a deal to answer for. I am grateful."

“And I,” James said. “I should have been there. You may be very sure, I will be alert to all danger from now on."

“You must not be obvious, and you must tell no one."

“I know; I shall be discreet and silent,” the boy vowed. Then he cast a bright, impertinent look at his companions. “I think you have ulterior motives for your service to my family. You have the desire, if you can solve this conundrum and if you can locate my brother, to become my brothers-in-law!"

“That would be our pleasure,” said Rhyle. He cast a rueful glance at the baron. “We are obviously not as subtle as we imagined."

“We must be the world's biggest fools,” Valence retorted. “We are both heading for parson's mousetrap!"

* * * *

Clementina trod down the narrow stairs of house in Marine Parade, holding her son's small hand, but paying little heed to his chatter. She had to see Gideon. She had learned nothing of the cause of the runaway carriage as yet, and she feared now for herself and Christopher.

She paused on the landing and looked out the graceful balconied window at the seafront. It was raining; it matched her mood. For the first time since their arrival in Britain, the sea was grey and sullen and flurries of wind hurried drops down the glass of the sash window. The miserable household would have difficulty remaining civil today, cramped within a too small house with too little joy.

Since their abortive meeting, she had had only brief notes from Rhyle, carefully worded missives that told her little, although they did offer reassurance. She could not help but wonder if his feelings had undergone a change. She suspected that her reluctance to admit their connection disturbed him, and she would not for a moment have him troubled about it, when she loved him so much.

They entered the breakfast parlour and Kit ran to inspect the platters that the table offered. Silver entered on their heels, and proffered to her his salver, upon which rested a letter. She recognized the bold script that inscribed her title with a leap of her heart.

She took the missive to a window embrasure to read it apart from the other occupants of the breakfast room. She was aware that Susan and Louisa were watching her and giggling, though not unkindly. Eleonora drifted unhappily about the chamber eating nothing. Felicity was toying with her food, but was moved to help Kit when Clemmie did not immediately come to the table.

Clementina read her letter again, and planned how she might meet Gideon as he suggested. Her plotting was interrupted by the re-entry of Silver. “Lord Damerham has called, my lady; he wonders if you will receive him."

“Me?” Clementina exchanged surprised looks with Eleonora, who had paled perilously.

“The countess he said, my lady. I have taken the liberty of escorting him to the drawing room,” the butler added.

“Will you receive him?” Eleonora asked.

“Indeed I shall. Any irritation I experienced on account of his interference, I have long since abandoned. You must hold yourself available, my dear; I've a notion Robert wishes to eat humble pie.” Clementina followed the butler out of the chamber.

“What is to do, Robert?” she asked as she entered the drawing room.

He flushed and turned from the pier glass, where he had evidently been rehearsing a speech, and straightened his shoulders uncomfortably. “Lady Carmelth,” he said with difficulty. He cleared his throat and began again. “My lady, I wish to apologize for my unseemly attack on your character and morals. I was wrong to regard myself in any way a mentor of your actions, and in any case, I am certain your behaviour was unexceptionable."

“Robert, I do accept your apology. Your concern for your sister was admirable.” Clementina really had forgiven the stiff young man before her for his rudeness. She had at every point understood his course of action, for it had all been quite in keeping with his nature. “We shall regard the matter closed."

“I should have known that you would not endanger my sister, when you have been of so much assistance to her."

“Thank you Robert; that is all well and good,” Clementina said. “As I say, of course your apology is accepted. But whatever shall we do about Eleonora?"

“I had thought perhaps you might have a word with her?” Lord Damerham lost his irritating pomposity, and for a moment looked as young and vulnerable as he undoubtedly was.

“She is in the breakfast parlour. We shall have this whole matter sorted directly.” Clementina pulled the bell and requested the footman who appeared to conduct Lady Eleonora to the drawing room.

Conversation between the countess and the viscount was desultory until Lady Eleonora cautiously entered the room. The viscount's anxiety was palpable.

Clementina was near the door, and stepped forward to draw her sister in. “Eleonora, dear, Robert came today to apologize to me. I have of course accepted his apology, for he meant only to help in a brotherly way and to protect Louisa. Now I do think we may all be comfortable again."

Lord Damerham seemed unable to speak but only looked longingly at his love. She appeared to require only brief consideration, then quavered, “Oh, Robert!” She ran into his arms, which opened to her.

Clementina permitted herself an undignified grin, observing their satisfactory embrace.

“May I tell Papa that your betrothal is resumed?” She received no answer at all.

Smiling to herself she tiptoed from the room, then sped down the stairs to the breakfast parlour. It was deserted but for Kit and Felicity. “Kit run to Jenny and get your best cap, with the gold tassel. Ask her to bring my green spencer and my Oldenburg bonnet and umbrellas. We are going out."

She could have danced with excitement and impatience; they could meet the major as he requested. He would not have to sit at the inn, wondering about their plans.

Major Rhyle was waiting patiently for them at the Old Ship as he had said in his note that he would. They met him in a private parlour. It required all of Clementina's restraint not to cast herself into his strong arms without regard for the presence of her son and her maid.

She contented herself with clinging to his hands as he studied her so ardently she blushed. He had brought a cup-and-ball toy for Kit; child and maid were soon engrossed in the treasure.

As a result, Clementina had leisure to converse with her lover, by the window.

“So?” he asked with great gentleness.

“We are all at sixes and sevens still, though Damerham is even now closeted with Eleonora. You must know that after our failed assignation, she broke off her betrothal?” she said, searching his strong face with a keen gaze. “But my concern is how you are..."

“Impatient. Madly in love. Angry at your accidents. We have the man who drove that carriage. He has linked himself to John Marshall."

“Marshall?” Clementina's astonishment was profound. “My groom from Carmelth?"

“Your groom from Carmelth. You received my note telling you that you and Kit must never under any circumstances go into the mews or the stable?"

Clemmie nodded.

“Marshall is watched, but we think he hires help as needed. And we have grave suspicions of Paget Wolseley. He is under the hatches and keeps unsavoury company, while presenting a fine face to society."

“How did you discover this?"

“Valence and I are both familiar with many degrees of spies and agents. We too have friends in strange places.” His grin invited her to lift her frowning concern.

Her expression lightened only a degree. And Rhyle sobered when she said, “Mama and Papa think you two beyond the pale. I was forced to distance myself from their strictures—they were insupportable—and Felicity has gone from defiance to despair and back again. I can do nothing for myself until these affairs are settled."

He rested his big hands on her shoulders. His look was whimsically rueful. “My love, will you help everyone else to happiness and make none for yourself?” And he added softly, with a queer sort of pain in his grey eyes, “None for me?"

“I will make you happy,” she vowed. She met his silver grey gaze with solemn intensity. “It is only that they all expect that I will help them. I shall, but you and my son—no matter what else I may do—will come first."

She observed with astonishment the relief on his well-made features. He concealed it by lifting her hands, and kissing them fervently.

“You doubted me,” she whispered to his bent head. “Oh, Gideon, have I been so dilatory that you questioned my sincerity? How then can you be so constant?"

“I adore you,” he said. “And my misgivings were always allayed by my faith in you. Will you marry me?"

“Yes, oh yes, you must know I will marry you, for you are my eternal love."

“Thank you,” he said in low, shaken accents. “And Carmelth?"

“You must not worry about acceptance there. I know the dowager countess will welcome you, for Kit's sake and mine, as well as your own. And the people will respect you for your wisdom and your kindness as well as your egalitarian principles."

“I have my own income. I have been finalizing details with Torgreave. We have set up a canal company that will turn a handsome profit. It is work in which I have an interest. We shall need only a house, when Kit reaches his majority. I shall be proud to provide you a home."

“What will your family think of me, of us?"

“I had informed them already. You see how I take you for granted. They are surprised because of my egalitarian principles that I should choose a titled lady. But they respect my choice and will come to love you and Kit as I do.” His smile was profoundly loving. “Shall we tell the lad?"

Clementina smiled her agreement and called her small son over.

He left his toy obediently and stood before her, his small person vibrating with curiosity.

“Kit, my love, you have wished for a papa these many years have you not?"

He nodded thoughtfully in agreement, staring from his mother to the major.

Clementina knelt beside him and took his small face in her hands. “Should you object to Major Rhyle as your papa? He and I deal extremely together, and should like to be wed."

Gideon contemplated crouching beside her, so as to be at the boy's level, and decided rather to haul a chair nearby and be seated.

“Truly, mama?” Christopher asked, considering the matter with gravity.

“Truly, my darling,” she said with no little anxiety. His approval was of tantamount importance to her.

A brilliant smile broke over his serious little face. “I should be delighted, Mama! Oh yes, yes please!” He planted a swift, smacking kiss on her cheek, and turned to Rhyle.

Gideon held out his arms, and the child crawled willingly on his good knee.

“Oh thank you sir. I shall be a very good son. May I show you my pony at Carmelth and my nurse, and the kitchens, and the duck pond? And, sir, may I call you Papa beginning now, sir, please?"

Clementina felt a sob well in her throat, and noted as she sought her handkerchief that Jenny was grinning approvingly.

Gideon shot her a loving glance, over her son's head, and hugged the child close. “Thank you, Christopher,” he said. “I shall be proud to be your papa. And I hope you will show me everything at Carmelth for I shall not know how to go on. Now attend me carefully. We shall have to wait some few days, perhaps a week or two, for other people to know we shall be a family. So you may call me Papa if you wish but just when it is only Mama, you and I present."

Clementina nodded approvingly, and added, “Kit this must be our secret just now ... our precious secret. Papa and I must speak with Grandmama and Grandpapa before we tell anyone else of our happiness. Can you remain quiet and calm?"

His beaming face belied his serious nod, and all three adults laughed.

“Do your best, my son, and all will be well."

“All will be well,” Gideon repeated as the child returned to his toy. “For we shall soon have the answers to some pressing questions."

“Marshall?"

“And Paget Wolseley. When shall I speak with your parents?"

“About our betrothal, or our suspicions?” she asked in jest. “Ah, I shall postpone it no longer. I shall determine their appointments for the next two days, and advise you as soon as may be.” She lifted her hand to his cheek, savouring the secret roughness of his shaven skin.

He smiled dazzlingly at her, and she stepped into his arms for his kiss. Mindful of the child, their embrace was brief.

Gideon walked with them to the door of the Ship, handfast with Clementina. The rain had stopped, though the sun had not yet broken through the teeming clouds.

While they said their farewells, Kit hopped impatiently on the sanded doorstep. “Look Major,” his piping voice interrupted them. “There is the boy who took me to the beach!"

Clementina found herself released, as Rhyle lunged out the door, and caught the skinny arm of the undernourished, dirty lad passing. He grimaced from the pain of his leg, but held the squirming boy in a relentless grip.

“Look carefully Christopher,” Rhyle said to the child who, in surprise, had seized a fold of his mother's skirt, “Are you certain that this is boy?"

Kit's thumb found his mouth. “Yeth,” he affirmed around it.

Clementina bent to shelter him in her arms.

“'Ere now, I ain't done nuffin',” whined the lad.

Rhyle ignored this speech, and spoke to Clementina. “Go home, my dear. Wait to hear from me. I'll send for Valence and we shall at last come at the truth of this matter. Go—” he urged.

Clementina went.

She spent the remainder of the rainy, difficult day waiting to hear from Gideon. She had been speechless with astonishment when the boy had been caught, and had been surprised at the depth of her own anger with the waif who had endangered her beloved child.

She forced herself to inactivity after requiring Kit to lie upon his bed, in the care of Jenny. She found her sisters in the drawing room in the company of Louisa. The assemblage was less than happy.

“He's a ... a satyr, Robert has said so,” Louisa was saying.

“Robert does not say so any longer,” Eleonora contradicted with a secret, contemplative smile. She wore once again her betrothal ring.

“Lord Valence is not a satyr, dear,” Clementina said to Louisa, crossing to embrace her happy sister. “He is just what Felicity needs ... someone to love her who enjoys society and all things of style as much as she. He is a good man."

“Thank you.” Felicity accepted the defense with dignity.

Susan and Louisa giggled, and Clemmie could cheerfully have strangled them. How long would she have to wait for news from Gideon?

Unable to accept inactivity she set about composing a still life, and coerced her companions into fetching their paints and brushes to transfer her creation to their sketchbooks.

They worked until the late afternoon light failed, rather earlier than usual because of the returned rain. Clementina excused herself and spent an hour with her son as he ate his supper and was prepared for his bed. It was then that the call she had waited for came; she was requested to attend her parents in the drawing room.

Lord and Lady Cheriton, clearly uncomfortable, stood in the company of Major Rhyle and Lord Valence when she hurried in. Clementina smiled and curtsied slightly to both gentlemen, and again to her parents.

“These gentlemen have told us a preposterous tale, daughter. I would have your opinion of it. You have endured several accidents of late. Valence and Rhyle will have it that they are not accidents, but a plot against your son's life, or failing that, yours, in order that Carmelth might descend to the next heir, Paget Wolseley,” the marquess said.

Clementina knew what her father expected, nay, hoped for. He wanted her incredulous exclamation, her startled disclaimer, so that he might blast Rhyle and Valence with a verbal salvo. Then he could bid them once and finally adieu.

She could not oblige. “It is true that Christopher and I have been the victims of several odd happenstances over the past year or so. Not odd, rather, dangerous. Major Rhyle pointed out the too-coincidental nature of these accidents, and I did immediately agree with him. These incidents where a child was recruited to lead Christopher astray convinced me; that and the fact that so many relate to carriages and horses. What have you discovered today?” She turned to Gideon with hope and intensity.

“The lad whom Kit identified led us to John Marshall; as you know so did the driver who nearly ran you down. We have Marshall and his cohorts safely locked in Valence's stable. After some little persuasion, Marshall admitted that Paget Wolseley hired him. As he did one Betty Weaver, a housemaid at Carmelth."

Clementina uttered a shocked cry. “Betty was at the top of the staircase when Christopher fell. She said that she tried to catch hold of him!” She sank into a chair.

Rhyle stepped towards her but was stopped by a petrifying look from the marchioness who went to her daughter's support.

“We have sent trusted men to apprehend her and bring her to London to meet us. We want nothing to alert Paget Wolseley that his rig is run, before we have him in our grasp,” Rhyle said.

“I cannot trust you!” the marquess said. He looked weary and drawn. “You have manufactured the whole to ingratiate yourselves with my daughters. If only Nicholas were here. He would give me the round tale. I shall ride to London with you; I cannot leave strangers to deal with this."

“We are not strangers,” Valence said. “Despite your dislike of the fact, we have a care for your family. We will finish this matter and the newspapers will take up the story and you will have the evidence you require. You are welcome to join us traveling to London, but we mean to go quickly."

The marchioness left her daughter, and crossed to her husband. She engaged him in quiet, but urgent conversation.

Rhyle took the opportunity to draw Clementina aside.

“I do apologize for them,” she said helplessly.

“It is of no importance whether they believe us or not,” he said, taking her hands in a warm and comforting clasp. “I think we have all the story now, and all its actors, but have a care while I am gone. I think it unlikely, but there may be other players in this performance. And, for your ears alone, we have news that the viscount your brother may be alive and well. Your parents are in no state to consider what at the moment is only rumour, but you may have hope."

“You are too good to be treated so, both of you,” she included Valence in her words, stretching out a hand to him. “Thank you. I shall contrive that we shall all be happy..."

The marchioness was turning, her look imperious; Cheriton stood his chin lifted but his shoulders were a little slumped.

“We wish that the viscount was here, to discern the truth of this matter,” the marchioness said. “In his absence we must trust to strangers; it is not to our liking. On the other hand, if this is nonsense, ‘twill be on your heads—you will look the fools—and our family will be untouched."

Clementina gasped at the blatant rudeness of her mother's words.

“Go, gentlemen; we will await the newspapers,” Cheriton said.

“Go with God.” Clementina walked with Rhyle and Valence to the door. “And thank you.” Her eyes held her love for Rhyle.

The door closed behind the pair, and Clemmie turned and confronted her parents. “Major Rhyle and Lord Valence have the right of this matter, and they deserve my thanks and that of my son. When they return I hope they will receive the gratitude of my parents.” She dropped a polite curtsey, and withdrew.

* * * *

Clementina bore the next few days with well-concealed anxiety and impatience. Relations with her parents were strained. She did not doubt their love, and hoped they did not question hers for them, or the respect in which she held them. But their old ease of communication was gone; she wondered if it would ever return.

The newspapers—delivered each day, but a day late—were perused by them all. They held nothing of import for the family. Clementina made an effort to keep Felicity in spirits, recounting to her all that had gone on and the hopes she had of a happy resolution to Felicity's problems as well as her own.

The sun shone again, and Clemmie endeavoured to return to normality, accompanying the young people abroad and keeping her son at her side. She noted that James was at all times solicitous for Kit and for her, and a quick question confirmed her notion that Rhyle had made him aware of certain facts.

It was five days before any word came from Major Rhyle and Lord Valence, and then it came in person.

Lord and Lady Cheriton, their elder daughters and Lord Damerham had foregathered in the drawing room in the Marine Parade house in preparation for dinner. Major Rhyle was admitted; he was dressed in breeches, boots and a serviceable driving coat and he leaned on his stick a little wearily. He carried a newspaper.

His glance at Clementina was full of love, but he spoke to her parents. “Please forgive my intrusion at this time of day in my travel dirt.” He extended the newspaper to the marquess. “Here is your proof. The countess need no longer fear Paget Wolseley or his minions; his plot is undone, and he is lodged with the proper authorities."

The marquess accepted the journal and made to speak.

Rhyle held up a large hand to forestall his words. “But that is not my primary mission. These past weeks Lord Valence and I have been trying to determine the whereabouts of the Viscount Elham. Valence's inquiries have born fruit, my lord, my lady. Your son Nicholas Haythe is alive and well."

Lord and Lady Cheriton gasped, and the young ladies clutched each other excitedly.

“Indeed, he is returned to you."

Rhyle nodded at Silver, who stood quivering with expectancy behind him. Silver reopened the door to admit a very pale and thin young man leaning heavily on the arm of a brawny footman.

The family was stunned to silence.

Clementina could scarcely see for the tears that sprang to her eyes even as they searched her beloved brother's face.

It was unquestionably Nicholas for a teasing gleam appeared as he surveyed them from beneath auburn brows and a head of overlong auburn curls. “I do hope dinner is ready. I thought I should never be free of Belgium!"

His words released his family from their suspension and they sprang to aid him to a comfortable seat and ply him with questions and caresses.

Major Rhyle edged to the door, but Clementina felt a greater pull to him even than to her beloved brother. She was at Rhyle's side before he could depart; they slipped into the entry together. He took her in his arms uncaring of the hovering servants.

“I can think of nothing to say, but thank you,” she murmured, into his broad shoulder.

“Paget Wolseley is in prison; you need fear no more accidents,” he said.

“And Nicholas?"

“He will explain all, but ‘twas Valence's contacts that found him. I shall leave you now; this belongs to your family. Valence would not come at all."

“You are my family."

“Soon, my love.” He bent his head and kissed her soundly. “How is my boy?"

“Missing you.” She smiled up at him. “Shall you come tomorrow? And bring Lord Valence?"

“What of your brother?"

“He will insist on it."

“He already suggested it,” Gideon smiled back at her. “We will come."

Clementina reached to kiss his cheek and then his lips, boldly. His great arms crushed her close and then released her.

“Until then,” he muttered and accepting his hat from Silver, he left.

Clementina danced back to the drawing room with a light heart. She had no need to tell Silver to put back dinner, he had already done so, but she bade him request all the younger members of the family to join them in the drawing room.

Nicholas was on the watch for her return and called her to his side on the sopha where he sat with the family gathered as closely as possible. She exchanged a heartfelt hug with him and felt his fragility with a pang.

“Rhyle told me you knew I was alive,” he said. “If so, you knew more than I did at times."

“My poor love. I can see it has been a wretched time. But we are so thankful for your return. Will you tell us of these weeks?” She smiled around at her parents and her sisters’ faces—all were dazed with unexpected joy.

“I have been hidden in care of a farming family in the vicinity of Waterloo. A family with well-founded distrust of both armies, disinclined to contact with anyone in authority. A family who cared for me through a chest wound, and a subsequent fever, with kindly devotion. They spoke no English, and I only my few fashionable words of French with no knowledge of their dialect. I have been well enough only these past three weeks to be in a fret that I could not get word to you. And then out of the blue came Valence's man. The rest was easily arranged. And here I am, returned to you all."

At Valence's name, the marquess was moved to speech. “Time enough on the morrow for explanations.” He exchanged a meaningful glance with his heir. “Ah, here are the youngsters."

Susan and James rushed to their brother's side, overwhelming his small store of hard won strength with their youthful exuberance, plying him with questions and joyful acclaim.

Louisa hung back, a dark haired sprite among the fair Cheritons, until her brother led her forward for introduction. “My sister, Elham ... the Honourable Louisa Rainley.” Robert was punctilious as always. “Louisa make your curtsey to Nicholas Haythe, the Viscount Elham."

Her velvet brown eyes wide with admiration, Louisa obeyed her brother, and murmured her greetings shyly.

As Nicholas essayed to stand she assured him earnestly that he had no need to do so. His gaze appreciative of her youthful charm, Nicholas thanked her for her consideration in a bemused voice.

Enjoying this by-play, which she had hoped against hope to enjoy, Clementina, who was cuddling her son, drew her brother's attention.

“Here is Kit, come to greet his uncle."

Nicholas offered his hand gravely. “I should have known you anywhere for your mother's son, lad, but you've grown beyond recognition since I saw you last. Thank God I make your acquaintance again."

Clementina frankly wept at his words.

The child looked at his mother, but seemed to sense that hers were tears of joy. He crept carefully on to his uncle's knee. “Do you know Major Rhyle, Uncle Nicholas? He is to be my Papa!” he whispered.

Despite that Clemmie's heart stopped at her son's innocent revelation, his words went largely unnoticed. If anyone had heard them, they were lost in the greater wonder of Nicholas’ safe return.

And, she reminded herself, his words made no difference anyway for in a few short hours, Gideon Rhyle would claim her, before her family, with or without her parents’ blessing. She was content to have it so.

That night Clementina slept soundly for the first time in four months. She moved through the next day with joy.

Nicholas was convinced to lie abed until the hour verged on three. His family visited him in ones and twos, entertaining him with their confidences, asking questions. Clemmie stayed at his side, seeing to his comfort and waiting for Gideon's arrival. She met her brother's knowing look with equanimity and, though they did not speak of the matter paramount in her mind, she was assured of his support.

Four of the clock saw them all assembled, at the marquess’ behest, again in the drawing room. The Damerhams'—with their close family connection—were included, and at Clementina's insistence, so too was Christopher. At a quarter past the hour, Major Rhyle and Lord Valence were shown into the room.

A quick glance tossed at Felicity showed Clementina that her younger sister's pride in her beloved was as evident as was her own. Both gentlemen presented a fine appearance in close-fitting pantaloons, neat Hessians, and creaseless coats of quiet elegance. If Valence showed a shade more style than the major, the major more than made up for it with his impressive physique.

Clementina felt Rhyle's gaze like a caress and lifted her eyes, full of love, to his. She released Christopher from her lap, and he ran to be effortlessly hoisted into the major's arms despite the ever-present Malacca stick.

“Please to join us, gentlemen,” Lord Cheriton requested, his tone a far cry from the last time he had entertained the pair.

Clementina, ever observant, caught the grin and wink that her elder brother bestowed on both men. Her younger brother was watching all three men with burgeoning excitement.

When the gentlemen were seated, Cheriton began again, in a tone his children recognized as what they called his Parliament voice. “We owe you a debt of gratitude gentlemen, and I cannot be backward in offering it. Lord Valence, according to my son, you have had much to do with his safe return to us, using the resources at your disposal unstintingly to locate him. He has pointed out that life in a Belgian village for an English soldier is not at this moment a safe position, and though he might soon have been able to return himself, your early discovery can only have aided his survival. And we have you to thank, Major Rhyle, for Clementina's safety and that of our precious grandchild. You alone recognized the incongruity of the accidents that plagued them, and you protected them."

He stared ruefully at the child who sat comfortably on the major's knee, and at Clementina's hand engulfed by Rhyle's. “They have given themselves into your care, and as Clementina pointed out a week since, we have no right to prevent her from doing so.

“And we have no desire to prevent them. Time alone will tell if your marriage will prosper, but we chose Clementina's first husband, and are not without regret because of it. She shall have her choice this time, with our blessing."

Clementina thanked her parents with a speaking look, and her brother with a loving one. His return, and his intervention, could only have prospered the major's suit.

“And Lord Valence. You were willing to exert yourself for this family. It's not something you've been known for—kindliness—"

Valence lifted a black brow proudly.

“But I think, I hope, you'll be kind to Felicity if she chooses to be your wife. Felicity? Where are you, girl?"

Her father need not have enquired. Without restraint, Felicity threw herself on Valence's chest and he accepted and enfolded her with a nod at the viscount.

“I know what you're all thinking. You are thinking that Nicholas has talked sense into us!” The marchioness took a hand in the proceedings. “'Tis not so. Papa and I had already decided that times have changed and that Felicity and Clementina had possibly not chosen unwisely.” The two gentlemen accepted that doubtful accolade with rueful grins. “Nicholas did point out that he has a degree of confidence beyond ours in Major Rhyle and Lord Valence; in his words, he ‘could use such a pair of good-brothers to put with Robert.’”

Damerham, hand in hand with Eleonora, smiled reservedly.

“And he suggested he has faith in his sisters’ judgment, which Papa and I failed to consider.” The marchioness paused as an excited buzz of conversation circled the room.

Clementina leaned against Major Rhyle's broad shoulder. She watched Louisa emerge from the corner she shared with Susan and James and cross to offer a word to a receptive Nicholas.

A laugh rumbled deep in the major's chest, and Clementina lifted her head to meet his grey gaze.

“I can feel you matchmaking, lass."

“I would not!” she vowed disingenuously. “I am content."

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lesley-Anne McLeod has loved all things British for longer than she can remember. So it was natural that when she turned to writing fiction she should write Regency romances, those uniquely English historical romances in the tradition of Jane Austen.

Lesley-Anne has been writing for twenty-five years and has written five Regency romances and several Regency short stories. She has published articles on antiques and collectibles, and has also free-lanced in business writing. Book-selling was her career for nearly ten years; she owned her own bookstore for three of those enjoyable years. She belongs to the Saskatchewan Romance Writers and treasures the support and friendship that group offers.

Lesley-Anne is married and has one daughter. She lives on the prairies of Canada which are distant from Regency England in time and thought, but which retain an echo of Great Britain in history and tradition.

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