 
The Baron & the Clockmaker's Daughter

by

Suzy Stewart Dubot

Dedication

This is dedicated to Sylvia Sibrover, 'a fan', in her own words. She has rendered me innumerable services, and this is my way of thanking her.

Thank you, Sylvia.

I would also like to mention both my grandmothers

– Ilo Yoakam Stewart & Florence Warren Dooley –

They were both women who lived through hard times and survived.

Published at Smashwords

Copyright © 2011 by Suzy Stewart Dubot

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Book cover & cover photographs:

Suzy Stewart Dubot

Author's Note:

The author has taken the liberty of including water closets in the Baron's home. They were invented before the story takes place, but were not of common usage. Forgive her for offering this convenience to people she has created. She worries about them.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Summer 1818

She had been sent down a winding road in search of the cottage. The directions had been vague and perhaps incorrect, but Faith hadn't had much choice in the matter. The cottage was her last resort, because now she was homeless.

The tenancy of the family home had been in her father's name until his death ten days ago. It was the unexpected opening the owners had seized upon to ask her to leave within the week, feeling generous in not having had her evicted immediately. The few substantial possessions she had were now safe with friends until the day that she could return to fetch them. The cloth bag she carried had a simple change of clothing, a few necessary pieces and the legal papers concerning the family. Her parent's marriage lines, her birth certificate and their death certificates were papers she might have to show to an employer, one never knew.

She wore her father's gold timepiece pinned to the inside of her pocket, the only token of a life spent with a man who had remained a stranger to her. He had been spare with his dealings with her and even thriftier with his affections. His indifference might be considered a blessing in disguise, because now that he was gone, it made little difference, except she was left to fend for herself.

The day had been sunny and a little too warm, although she was now on a road which was cooler, being shaded by a mixture of elms and hornbeams. That had been one small mercy.

She no longer paid attention to the fields and hedgerows as she walked, because she kept her eyes looking forward for the first glimpse of the cottage. It had to be near as she'd left the town of Hatfield behind her more than an hour ago. No one had passed in either direction and she'd begun to doubt she was on the right road. And then, she spied a thatched rooftop as she turned in the bend. Set back from the road with a wild garden in the front, surrounded by what had been white picket fencing, the cottage had probably been quaint and inviting when first built. Now it had begun to show its age with the stucco more grey than white. The years of rain running off the thatch had left stains too, but she honestly didn't care a whit. This was her aunt's home, and she'd finally arrived. For the first time in her life, she'd taken matters into her own hands and left her home town for an uncertain destination.

-o0o-

Faith had been born in Chipping Barnet to Robert and Penelope Eversley, née Williams. She was the only surviving child her parents had produced but had not been valued any the more because of the fact. Her mother had loved her in a weak fashion, but her father had not wished to share his wife with anyone. That meant that any moments she spent with her mother were furtive and unsatisfactory, inevitably interrupted by her father's demands. She hadn't realised as a child that that wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Her parents had been a strange pair, viewed with an outsider's eyes.

Her father might have been considered a good-looking man. He was of above average height, with blue eyes and dark hair, which had begun to grey. He was well proportioned without excessive fat. Taken out of context, his face would be decidedly aristocratic with a high forehead, straight nose, high cheek bones and a well-shaped jaw. Put into the context of the horologer that he was, with glasses perched on the end of his nose, he became 'trade' and thus, common.

He should have been appealing, but there was something about him which detracted from his potential. A quirk in his character had meant he had no charm and made no effort. In fact, he cared for no one and did not pretend that he did. If customers came to his shop, it was because he was the only horologer in the town and he did his job competently.

One might wonder why his wife had accepted his proposal of marriage. She had been a pleasant girl with attractive looks comprised of a slender body and full breasts. Her blond hair and blue eyes drew one's attention to her heart shaped face and fine features. She'd had admirers, but it was Robert Eversley who had won her hand simply by persistent domination. One would never know if, in her secret heart, she had hoped to change him, soften him, but it was obvious he was not made to any mould but his own. It can only be hoped that his obsessive possessiveness had made her think he had some affection for her. Any real attachment he'd had was, however, for her capabilities as his housekeeper and for his own sexual satisfaction. For him, she had been a possession and the care he took would have applied to any object he wished to keep in good working order.

For all of his lack of emotion or sentiments, he was not deliberately cruel or miserly. A religious person might have said he had been deprived of a soul.

They had lived in a small house with a shop front at the end of the High Street. Their accommodation was, like so many shops along the main road, on the first floor of the premises, above the shop. It consisted of a main room, a bedroom, a box room, which had been converted into Faith's small room, and a little kitchen which was not much more than an alcove off the main room. Her father repaired clocks and timepieces but without any passion. It was a trade as good as any other, in his opinion. He had the advantage of being the only clockmaker in the area, which meant he did a fair amount of business repairing and selling time pieces. His income permitted them to live well enough, and it equally paid Dame Hilton the hours Faith spent in her local school.

It was the only time in her life that Faith's mother had had her way with her father. She had inveigled him (Faith would never know how) into letting her attend the school. She would be eternally grateful to her mother.

She'd loved the school.

It was a world of wonderful things and possibilities beyond Chipping Barnet. Dame Hilton and another teacher, Miss Blythe, encouraged the imaginations of all the children, who were only too eager to express themselves in writing when it was about the Pyramids or the Indians in North America. Arithmetic had needed them to calculate the distance they would travel to arrive in some foreign place or the time it would take. Sometimes they added foreign sums of money or changed English money into roubles or pesetas. It was more interesting than ordinary sums. Geography sent them around the world to exotic places they found hard to imagine; countries where the white face was thought strange. It taught them that the earth was round and on the opposite side from them was an island discovered by Captain Cook, a Yorkshire man. Dame Hilton had been more important to Faith than her poor mother....

When Faith was fourteen, her mother died and her schooling with Dame Hilton was terminated. Her father had wanted her at home. Faith's disappointment was moderate as her time had been counted anyway; there were no children over fifteen at the school. Dame Hilton had nevertheless gone to see Mr. Eversley, suggesting Faith continue without fees in exchange for helping with the other pupils.

"If she is to help anyone, it is to be her father," he had replied in such a way that there was no breaching his decision. Paying fees or not had had no influence on his decision of withdrawing her. He'd needed someone to run the house; he had replaced his defunct housekeeper with his daughter.

Dame Hilton had come prepared. When leaving, she left a letter of recommendation in Faith's hands.

"If it can be of any use to you," she whispered to Faith, "please don't hesitate in naming me. It is the least I can do for you now you are out in the big world."

She left with a sad look on her face. There was no doubt that Faith would be wasted on her father.

Faith wasn't unhappy. If she were ignored by her father, at least he didn't mistreat her, and she had basically everything she needed. She'd heard stories about widowers abusing their daughters in many ways. Some of the abusive fathers weren't even widowers, as though that excused the widowers' transgressions. She was glad she had only to submit to his indifference. She realised, however, that if she hadn't been there at her father's service, it wouldn't have made much difference to him, because he would simply have had to find someone else.

The shop had a small garden at the back which she tended, and it gave her hours of pleasure through all the seasons. She realised she was fortunate, as most of the shops had only paved utility courtyards giving onto the alley at the back. Hers was a walled-in garden which retained the sun's warmth and provided shelter from too much wind, so she would escape there to read when she wasn't needed by her father. In the winter, she would feed crumbs to robins or sparrows who were unusually brave or, perhaps, especially hungry. This late spring, it had been the source of the healthy golden colouring to her face in spite of wearing a bonnet. She loved the feel of the sun on her face.

Life included encounters with neighbours and local people when she went to market, so she wasn't really isolated — except — she knew something was lacking.

Her first flirtation had been innocent enough. At fifteen, one of the cheeky barrow boys had smiled at her and flattered her and had finished by kissing her quickly on the mouth one evening after the market was finished. It had meant nothing to her, except that she'd had her first kiss. It did lift her spirits to know someone had found her attractive.

And then suddenly at eighteen, she'd noticed that men watched her as she walked by. Sometimes there were friendly calls of encouragement, or she engaged in banter that always finished with laughs which made her feel she'd accomplished something. It developed her self-confidence as she noticed that, by asserting her own personality, she also won respect. Many were the invitations which were given to her jokingly, but whose authors would have seized the chance to court her had she been willing to accept.

Her first serious entanglement had, however, left her wary. The baker's son, Neville, had been paying particular attention to her, keeping her talking a little longer than the other customers, always with a kind comment. On one occasion, he'd caught up with her in the street as she was returning from an errand for her father and had asked her to walk back more slowly with him. He was considered a 'catch' as his family had accumulated enough money to have bought their own house, and as the elder son, he would no doubt take over his father's business at some time.

He was half a head taller than Faith and two years older. The whole family looked like they came from good old Anglo-Saxon stock — blond hair, rosy cheeks and blue eyes, every one of them. Neville was considered to have a solid build, but it didn't take long to realise he would probably end up like his father and mother, who were plump, if one were being kind, or fat if one weren't. It was probably an occupational hazard, because it wouldn't have been the case if they'd been greengrocers. But then, they probably wouldn't have owned their own house, either.

After weeks of this flattering flirtation, he had asked to go to the beer garden for a drink with him, perhaps a cider or a light ale? She had gone with him one sunny afternoon, and while they had sat outside in the garden, he'd taken her hand and kissed it. Walking her home in the late afternoon, he'd managed to take her into a passageway between buildings and kiss her passionately on the mouth. She'd resisted by pushing his chest and speaking of the impropriety of it. She was grateful that he had backed away and hadn't attempted more. It was only afterwards she had realised the danger she had risked physically and to her reputation.

She hadn't enjoyed it as much as she had that first innocent kiss given by the barrow boy. It was strange, but she hadn't liked Neville's smell. He wasn't dirty, but there was an underlying odour which repelled her. When next she saw Neville, it had been a relief, because he was with another girl who was hanging on his arm looking at him much more admiringly than she ever had. He'd noticed her, but pretended he hadn't. Perhaps he hadn't liked her smell either. Whew...that left her justifiably off the hook. In the future, she would have to be much more discerning.

There had been other men who had taken more than a passing interest in her. At twenty, one of her father's regular customers had noticed her. Mr. Postlethwaite had obviously made it known to her father that he found her attractive. As a result, her father had openly encouraged her to cultivate his interest.

A man in his middle forties, he was a well-to-do widower with one grown son. Still trim without the belly which so many men acquired half way through their lives, he might be called appealing by some women. His face showed his age somewhat and his hair was more grey than brown, but he had been pleasant with a beautiful mellow voice. She'd seen him as middle-aged, though, and had wanted something more from life before she found herself settled into banality. She would almost have preferred to be tied to the barrow boy with no prospects.

From then on, she'd made herself as discreet as possible, hoping her father would forget her, which he did most of the time. The years had slipped by and Faith had had to content herself with a very unexciting life. There were moments when she wondered if she should have encouraged Mr. Postlethwaite. She found herself sunk into that banal life she had been trying to avoid, but at least she wasn't bound to anyone.

-o0o-

One of her closest friends was Lydia Hall, now Mrs. Lydia Curzon, a tallish girl who was younger than Faith. Lydia had also lived in Chipping Barnet all her life. They had been neighbours as children as well as both attending Dame Hilton's school, where they had discovered they shared the same sense of humour. Besides being very attractive with quite ordinary features, Lydia had the sweetest most generous nature too. Some people are born unselfish and manage to keep themselves untainted by the greedy grasping people they meet. Lydia was one of them. Faith had felt the loss severely when Lydia had met a gentleman at one of her cousins' wedding and had married him within the shortest time. Faith understood perfectly. Her husband had not wanted to risk losing her to someone else. They now had a haberdashery shop in the High Street which was well placed and consequently, thrived. Faith wondered if she and her sweet husband had been able to seize that mysterious ingredient she felt was missing.

And then, one day, her father had keeled over dead. It had never occurred to her that it might ever happen. The world as she knew it had collapsed with him, leaving her with limited funds and homeless. Eviction into the street was now on her doorstep; but beyond, the world was waiting....

Chapter 2

The gate leading to her aunt's cottage was already standing open, so she went through the opening and up the old brick path to the front door. There was a thatch overhang above it which kept the rain and the sun off. She didn't know if it had slipped or not, but she had to duck under it slightly to reach the door, which was black. She was here. She'd come all this way and didn't have any other alternatives at hand. The door was more solid than it looked because her knock was an unsatisfactory thud. She bent and picked up a pebble to try tapping with it and was satisfied with the crisp sound it made.

"Coming, coming," she heard a woman's brisk voice announce, and the door swung open. There stood the proverbial 'little old lady'. She was dressed in black with a white mop cap on her head and a white apron around her waist. Faith's attention was then drawn over the woman's shoulder to another old lady behind her, dressed in a similar fashion. As she took in this imagine, Faith also noticed a smoky grey cat with yellow eyes at her feet rubbing back and forth on her skirt.

"Yes, my dear? How may we help you? You're certainly a long way from any other living soul," the dame stated.

"Mrs. Florence Warren?" Faith queried.

"Yes, dear."

"I'm your niece, Faith Eversley."

"Ooooh my..." The woman brought her hand to her mouth and then said, "If you're here, then something's wrong, because your father would never have let you come otherwise."

She stood back opening the door a little wider.

"Come in, Faith. Please meet my dear friend and sister, Agnes Warren. I married her brother, Augustus."

Agnes Warren seemed to be a little younger than her aunt, but Faith could see her hair was white too. She was also taller, but there was a similarity which made them look like sisters rather than sisters-in-law.

"I'm sure that I'm pleased to meet you," Agnes said to Faith taking her hand. "We don't often have visitors, and as we get older, we don't go about as much," she added.

"I'm delighted to make your acquaintances as well, as I have no other family that I know of," Faith told her.

She was completely at ease with the welcome the women had given her and felt contented knowing they were family. Her aunt hadn't wasted any time crossing the room to go to a kitchen at the back of the house, expecting Faith to follow as Agnes and the cat were already doing.

The beamed room was clean and bright with light entering through a bay window next to the front door. As Faith glanced towards the source of light, she saw the mullioned window panes were spotless but the glass, with its impurities, nevertheless distorted the front garden. In the bay under the window was a solid wooden bench which followed the sweep of the window while an oval table with a cloth and a bowl of roses stood before it. The room had obviously had a fresh coat of whitewash which the outside could well have used too. The floor was planked wood, stained a dark colour with a basically red and black rug runner which went from the front door to the kitchen. To the right there was a steep narrow staircase leading to the floor above with banisters made of the same wood and staining as the floors. Faith didn't take longer to look as she hurried to catch up with the two women.

The kitchen was small but adequate, running the width of the cottage. In Faith's eyes, it had everything a kitchen would need. The kitchen range was against an outside wall with a side door next to it leading out into the gardens. Another mullioned window, flush with the walls, looked out over the back garden. A wooden table and two chairs had been placed under it to benefit from the light and the view. On the third outside wall was a stone sink next to a cupboard which reached the low beamed ceiling. The kitchen walls had been whitewashed too, but the irregular red terracotta tiles and the wooden cupboard, table and chairs saved the room from being stark. Agnes produced a stool from under the sink so they could all sit around the table.

"Sit down, Faith. The tea won't be ready right away. Would you like some bread, butter and cheese with it?"

"Yes, please."

"That's a good girl. No point in being shy or coy with me. Now, tell us what has happened while I prepare everything."

Faith was somewhat surprised at the incongruity of her aunt's appearance with that of her manner of speaking. If she shut her eyes, she could imagine a much younger woman. She certainly seemed to be the more dominant of the two women. She could see Agnes was a little plumper than her aunt, which added to the impression of good humour and patience that she gave.

Faith wasted no time in relating her father's sudden death from a heart attack, the eviction and the journey to find her. She also explained that, although she was sad her father had died, they had never been close. She'd felt as much a servant as a daughter, as he'd only spoken to her if he'd wanted something.

"Yes, that sounds like Robert to me. No reason to deny it, he was self-centred, even as a child. He was eight years younger than I. We did have a sister between us, but she died in infancy and I'll never know how many miscarriages our poor mother had... I'll save you the trouble of counting, I'm seventy."

Faith had to smile. Her aunt was certainly direct for a 'little old lady', but Faith began to see her as if she were in a disguise. The body might be old on the outside but she was as sharp as a brand-new pin on the inside.

"So how old are you, young miss?"

This was the part Faith hated. She had turned twenty-six on her last birthday, and although she looked much younger, she could see the sorry looks she got when it suddenly put her in the category of a spinster on the shelf.

"Twenty... six", she articulated slowly.

"Well, you don't look it, does she Nessie?"

Her aunt looked to Agnes to back her up. Nessie shook her head.

"No, not at all," she agreed.

"So that's to your advantage," her aunt continued. "People won't expect you to have your wits about you, and yet you've certainly had the time to learn a thing or two."

Agnes was nodding her head as Florence spoke. She put the teapot on the table next to the cups and the plate of bread and cheese she'd already prepared.

"Don't wait to eat," she encouraged. "I'm sure you must be hungry after your walk from town."

Faith did feel hungry now she'd relaxed a little, so she took a bite from the wedge of cheese which immediately made her mouth water with its sharpness. She could see there was not going to be anything bland about her aunt. The fresh bread with the salty butter complemented the cheese perfectly, and she enjoyed it as much for the savour as for the quelling of her hunger.

Two cups of tea and there was no longer anything amiss in the world. Both her aunt and Agnes had sipped their tea and not said anything while Faith ate. As she finished eating, her aunt began again.

"There are two small rooms upstairs. Agnes and I share one of them, so you're welcome to stay as long as you need in the other one. Having said that, I have to add you can't bury yourself here indefinitely. That's no life for a young woman."

"I'm sure you would soon be bored with two old ladies," Agnes added with a smile.

Faith was in no position to argue. She could hardly expect to live off her aunt and Agnes' hospitality, and she had only hoped to have somewhere as a refuge for the time it took to find work.

"I really am very grateful to you both for your offer of somewhere to stay. I wasn't even sure you were here or that you would take me in, so there is no question of me imposing on you longer than it takes me to find work. When I do, I will repay you anything I owe. I would just like to ask you for your suggestions and help in finding work in this area."

"Well spoken, Faith. I like someone with a bit of spunk. Let's size you up."

Faith turned towards her aunt so she might inspect her more easily.

Florence looked at her carefully, taking in her neat, dark blond hair which fell down her back in a thick, single plait.

Sensible to have done that rather than trying to pin it up for the journey, Florence thought. She noted her dress was a light blue, a little faded, but the simple cut flattered her slim figure. Her skin was clear with the slightest hint of tanning; her straw bonnet hadn't totally protected her from the sun. The colour in her cheeks brought out the blue of her eyes. Her nose was straight and fine and the mouth under it, wide without exaggeration. Naturally pink lips smiled slightly to one side to reveal solid, healthy looking teeth. The rest of her gave the appearance of a healthy working girl; slender but not skinny. She seemed tall, but then, she herself was small. Most people did seem tall to her. Whereas Robert had taken after their father, she had taken after their mother, who was petite. Faith's figure was pleasing with a roundness of her bosom which was in proportion to the rest of her. Yes, she was presentable, but Florence hoped she hadn't crossed the line into being enticing. She knew from experience where that could lead.

"Let me have a look at your hands."

Faith held out her hands to her aunt, who looked at both sides of them and then at the nails.

"They'll do well," she approved. "They're not ruined by hard work but they do show you've used them. Your nails are neat and practical. You never know what crosses people's mind when they consider you for a job. How far did your education go? You can read and write, can't you?"

"Oh, yes," Faith assured her eagerly. "I love reading and do so at the least opportunity. I went to Dame Hilton's school until Mama died. Then Papa wanted me at home. I have studied arithmetic, geography, nature studies, reading and writing, of course, and a little French. We did needlework and painting, too, although I preferred the painting. So, there you have it in a nutshell."

"What about children? Any experience?" Florence continued to probe imagining the possibilities of work for a young woman. To begin with, it would be better to aim high.

"Not really, except if you count helping with the younger children at the school?"

"Yes, that would do. If anyone asks, you do have experience. Better to exaggerate than to underrate yourself. The reason I'm questioning you so is because every Thursday it's market day in town. Not only do all the farmers take their goods and livestock to sell, but there is a part of the market reserved for people hiring themselves out for all types of work. It ranges anywhere from milkmaid to secretary, but you have to be adaptable, feel the way of the tide. It may be that nothing happens the first week or two. You have to be persistent. We'll talk about this a little more this evening. Come with me. Agnes and I will show you around. We'll start with the garden in the back as the privy's there."

Both women got up to take Faith out the side door, and Florence was quietly pleased to see Faith tidy the tea things into the sink before following. Another good point to her credit.

The garden was a riot of colours with an abundance of roses, some of them climbing. Faith didn't know all the flowers but her favourites were the lupins. Beyond the flowers was a vegetable patch with the beginnings of tomatoes and lettuces. Right at the back were green beans climbing up poles. Their red flowers made them look quite decorative.

"Agnes takes care of the flower garden mostly. I have always had a more practical side to me, so I take care of the vegetables," her aunt informed her. Down a path and off to the right behind a yew hedge was the privy; a small shed-like construction with a door having a carved-out diamond shape at the top of it.

"You don't want to fall in," her aunt warned her seriously. "It was once a well which ran dry. It makes an excellent privy, though, because there's no smell," she finished with a smile.

They took Faith to the other side of the vegetable patch where there was a very large paddock with a pony and two donkeys.

"That's Polly our Dales pony and Daisy and Doris our donkeys. We have a pony trap we use for going into town and Polly obliges us. The rest of the time she lives a carefree existence with her friends here. At the back of the vegetable patch there's a shed which houses the vehicle and stalls for them all in the winter."

Faith was happy to go slowly, taking in all the different things she was being shown, but Florence and Nessie almost treated the visit like a military manoeuvre. They were spry, and Faith had to hasten her pace to keep up. On the way back, they indicated steps leading down to a low door under the cottage.

"That's our cellar. We are able to store fruits and vegetables there through the winter and it keeps our butter cool during the hotter days."

Then they continued around the side of the cottage so she could see where the water well was, just past the side door.

"This is the one we use for water. It's fed by the stream you must have noticed as you walked here. You don't have to worry about its purity, I can assure you."

The path continued around to the front of the house, but they didn't.

"Now come and take your bag upstairs with you," her aunt told her.

They passed through the kitchen where she grabbed her bag before mounting the wooden stairs. Agnes waited below while Florence showed her the rooms. At the top, there was a tiny square landing with two doors off of it.

"This is our bedroom," her aunt said opening the left-hand door. Faith had a glimpse of a fair-size room which must cover most of the room below. Light entered through dormer windows.

"And this will be your room while you stay," she opened the other door.

It was a tiny room with a sloping ceiling made more obvious due to the size of the room. The first thing Faith noticed was that the thatch could be seen on the inside, but its colour was brighter here and there was a pleasant harvest smell in the room, probably increased by the sun on the roof; her aunt's room had had a wooden ceiling. This room was furnished with a single bed which was next to a small table and chair by a dormer window. She was going to have to be careful not to bump her head on the sloping beams... A china basin and jug sat on the table. There was also a small chest at the foot of the bed which, she supposed, might hold linen or was, perhaps, empty waiting for use? Her aunt continued...

"Have you any other clothes with you? It's obvious none of ours will suit."

Faith pulled her spare dress from the bag.

"This is my better dress. I didn't want to bring more, as my plight was so uncertain. I didn't want to have to carry more than necessary with me."

Her aunt examined the crumpled dress, which was a pleasant peach colour.

"Yes, this will do for market day. You want to have a bit of style and not look too down-trodden as you plan to aim high enough. You could propose your services as a secretary, a governess to small children or perhaps as a housekeeper. There may even be a demand for a shop assistant. We have to keep our options open."

Faith loved the way her aunt had thrown herself into the enterprise without hesitation.

"With you as support, Aunt, my self-esteem has just doubled. Thank you."

Her aunt had taken a hanger from the chest and had put the dress on it hoping the wrinkles would drop out by Thursday.

"You're family, Faith, so we have to stick together as we're on our own now, just you, Nessie and me. The only child I had was Andrew and he died of a fever when he was seven. All these years on, I still miss him. I was never able to have another child, much to my husband's and my regret. It's the way with some women..."

Faith felt a little sad for her aunt who was getting old and living in an isolated spot. She was lucky to have Nessie for company. She, herself, would have liked to have had a brother or a sister.

Loneliness can weigh heavy for something so empty.

They went down to sit in the main room where Agnes was already seated near a window in a high-backed chair with no arms to it. She was busy with some knitting in hand. There was a settee along a wall and two padded armchairs near the empty fireplace. They sat there to make themselves comfortable while continuing with the thread of the family story. No sooner was her aunt seated than her cat jumped up onto her lap purring. A few caresses had it comfortably curled into a ball which didn't move again, not even tempted by the clicking knitting needles and wool.

Faith asked her aunt to explain her earlier comment about her father not letting her come unless something dire had happened. She wondered why that would be. Her aunt sat looking at her as though deciding if she should stir up old feelings again by telling them. Agnes already knew her story first hand. She had nothing to lose all these years later and Faith, as her niece, had a right to know about her family.

"I think you will agree your father put his own welfare before that of others?"

Faith nodded.

"You see me now as an old woman. No, no, don't deny it. I hold no illusions about myself and never have."

"Aunt, strangely enough, I see you as a younger woman trapped in the body of an older one," Faith reassured her. "I promise you."

"I thank you for that kind comment." Her aunt smiled. She then continued, "I was considered quite a desirable young woman. There are men who like petite women. Perhaps they think them childlike and want to protect them or to dominate them? Whatever the reason, I had my fair share of beaux, but none of them pleased me. I should have taken one of them regardless, because my employer's attentions became a little too insistent.

"I was governess to his two children, and whether his wife turned a blind eye or not, I'll never know. He caught me one afternoon when she'd gone out with the children. He turned quite ugly when it finally sank in I didn't want to have anything to do with him. He overpowered me, and when he'd finished his disgusting performance, he told me I was to leave. He turned me out without a reference even before his wife returned. He threw down two guineas saying it was my wages or payment for services rendered, I could decide for myself.

"I was not much older than you are, Faith. I went home hoping to have a place to stay while applying for other work. It didn't take me long to realise I was carrying the bully's child. As soon as your father knew, he did his utmost to have me thrown out by our father. I suppose he thought he was protecting the family name. My mother had not a word to say, the poor woman."

Faith was looking at her aunt with an expression of horror. Words failed her. Her aunt continued the tale however.

"It was thanks to dear Gus, Nessie's brother, that I didn't finish on the streets as other violated women have so often. He was a blessed soul, handsome but not quite normal. Slow with his thinking due to a difficult birth. Yet, he did understand what he was doing when he asked me to marry him. I suspect he thought someone needed to protect me, and he did love me. The fact he was handsome saved me, because I found that I was willing to have him. It worked well enough, and he was a good father to Andrew. He cried as much as I did when he died. I would have liked to repay him with a child of his own, but after Andrew, I miscarried early and then after that it never happened. My dear Gus died more than ten years ago. I am sorry you aren't able to meet him."

Faith got up and went to her aunt. She crouched down by her and took one of her hands.

"I am so sorry for everything and especially for my father's behaviour. If I could change anything, I would, please believe me. I understand now the strength you effuse. You have had to be so strong, dear Aunt Florence. How I do hope your blood runs in my veins."

"So do I," her aunt laughed. "I wouldn't give tuppence for your father's."

Looking at Nessie she added, "I have to say I shall be forever grateful to Nessie for coming to live with me at that unhappy moment of my life. Losing my dear Gus was very difficult for both of us, but we have been happy in our own little world since then, haven't we Nessie?"

"Sometimes there is good that comes from bad," Nessie stated quite simply. "I wasn't happy where I was working, and Florrie wasn't happy all alone. Between us we have more than enough to live on. I sell some of the knitting I do, and Florrie sells extra vegetables and honey when it's ready. We didn't show you the two hives we have. There's one in the middle of the flower garden and one in the middle of the vegetable garden.

"We get along very well."

She smiled a soft smile at Florence.

They finished the evening with some cold meat, potatoes, pickled onions and bread before going up to their rooms. Being early summer days meant it stayed light later. No need to light candles. Her aunt happened to mention this was the latest they had both stayed up in a long time, and that she was very happy Faith had come to them. Faith gave her a kiss on the cheek and then another to Nessie saying, "Thank you for inviting me to stay with you. I am so happy to find I have you as family."

She'd taken water up with her to have a wash and brush her teeth. Her nightdress was even more crumpled than her dress, but who cared? She hardly had time to smile at her good fortune before she was asleep.

Faith couldn't remember a time when she'd felt more contented. Her aunt was a never-ending source of information, suggestions and amusing stories. Nessie was such a happy soul that she filled the rooms with sunshine. Faith no longer saw their lined faces but rather their sparkling eyes and the smiles which were always hovering, waiting to show themselves. The contrast between her aunt and her father left her baffled that two siblings could be so different.

Chapter 3

Florence had decided she would go into town with Faith on the first Thursday. It wouldn't hurt to show her around and even stand by her should anyone wish to discuss her qualifications. Nessie was happy enough to stay at home, as she had baking she wanted to do. It meant getting up early because market day began about six and was finished by midday. Most people knew what they wanted when going, so there was no point in the market spilling over into the hot afternoon.

As they'd gone in the pony trap, they'd taken two stools with them, which would allow them to sit in case there wasn't a lot of demand. Her aunt had also had the good sense to write all her particulars on two half sheets of notepaper. If anyone were interested but hesitant, she could give them one of the papers so they had time to think about it and perhaps contact her at the market the following Thursday.

As it happened, no one seemed to need more than a milkmaid. There were some men who were taken on for early harvesting but that was about it. The market had begun to thin out with people going off with the wares they'd bought or taking their animals and poultry home with them for yet another Thursday. Faith looked at her aunt, wondering if she thought they ought to go home too.

"I don't think it will serve to stay much longer," her aunt stated. "Wait here for me while I buy us some eggs to take home. I've never wanted to have hens myself, so I only get eggs when I come to the market."

She took her basket and headed off towards one of the women selling them. Faith sat on the stool looking down, not seeing anything as her mind wandered off thinking of the events leading up to the day. She came back to reality when a black pair of men's boots stopped in front of her and then didn't move. She looked up, but as the sun was already high in the sky, she couldn't quite see the face of the person belonging to the boots. She stood rapidly out of politeness and addressed the person in front of her.

"May I help you, sir?" she wondered.

She felt herself blushing as she realised just how unwaveringly the man was scrutinizing her. If she'd been a horse, he'd be looking at her teeth by now. She refused to be intimidated, so stared back.

He was probably bordering on six feet tall and was of a solid build. She tried to ease back a little so she could look up into his face but the stool banged against her legs causing her to lose her balance. He quickly took her arm to prevent her from falling but didn't say anything. He released the arm as soon as she was once again steady on her feet.

"Sir?" she repeated.

"I'm looking for a young woman capable of caring for two young children," he informed her, rather brusquely.

"Are you?" he continued.

She had now had the time to observe him as he spoke.

Dark brown hair cut short in a roguish style; sideburns coming down to a square jaw and largish mouth under a hook nose which might have been broken at some time. The colour of his eyes seemed to fluctuate from hazel to brown but the excess of light in the marketplace might play her false on that point. The general impression he gave was rugged, not quite handsome, but certainly not ugly either.

"In the first instance, I am a young woman. As for being capable of caring for young children... that would certainly depend on the children," she answered with a bit of a bite in her reply. There was no point in pretending to be submissive when she wasn't.

"The boy is nearly five and his sister is three. They are motherless, and their nanny leaves in two days' time to be married. I need someone immediately, and it could be a permanent position or temporary, if I'm given the time I need to find someone else."

He waited with his head tilted a little to one side.

"I am interested, but there are certainly a lot of questions needing to be answered by both of us. If you would care to sit a moment, we may be able to eliminate the most important points rapidly."

Here she indicated the second stool. He looked a little doubtful but asked her to be seated first before sitting a little awkwardly with his long legs stretched out before him.

"If you would permit me to start, I would like to know if the children are in good health and if they are difficult?" she began.

"Yes and no" he answered.

'Well, no time wasted there. He must be in a hurry,' she thought.

"Where do you live?"

"I live in a house in Marshalswick, which is between here and St Albans. I am willing to pay twelve pounds per annum with board and keep included."

"I am happy to hear you live near. I would also be happy to consider the position on a temporary basis with the view of a permanent fixing by mutual agreement. However, as there are two very young children, and you obviously want someone to start immediately, I feel my qualifications allow me to ask for twenty pounds per annum with board and keep."

She was taking an enormous risk by asking for so much more money. She even felt a little guilty when she thought of how hard she had worked for her father for nothing. She watched his face as he evidently considered his alternatives.

"What are the qualifications which permit you to demand such a sum? Do you have references?"

He wasn't going to let the matter go without being convinced.

"If I were to stay on a long-term basis, I am perfectly qualified to teach your children, so it would not be in the position of a nursemaid but rather that of a governess. But more important than that, I feel qualified to really care for children and wouldn't hesitate to show them affection should they ask for it. Unfortunately, I don't have references with me here at the market as I was not hopeful of securing such a position. I will be able to give them to you at a later date."

She had the letter Dame Hilton had given her all those years ago, so she wasn't misleading the man — well, perhaps a little.

Her bonnet had become loose on her head, so she undid the ribbons and lifted it a little. She tidied her hair with a sweeping gesture before replacing the bonnet and retying the ribbons to her satisfaction. It was this simple gesture which decided in her favour.

The Baron Isleworth, Quentin Wolfe, saw she was perfectly natural and at ease. There was no sign of subterfuge or pretension. Besides, he liked that she was not subservient. So many of the locals would pretend docility while muttering under their breaths. This young woman with character would do, but then, did he really have much choice?

"Very well. I am willing to accept you for the position subject to you meeting with the children."

It was at this moment, Quentin noticed a little old lady standing to one side. He jumped up waiting to be introduced.

"May I introduce you to my aunt, Mrs. Florence Warren. Aunt, this is...

"Wolfe, Quentin Wolfe, Madam. At your service." He finished with a slight bow in her direction.

"Delighted to meet you, sir," she responded with a querying glance at her niece.

"Your niece and I have agreed to a position in my household as governess," here he looked at Faith emphasizing the word, "subject to presentation of the children."

Faith beamed. For some reason, the way he had stressed the word 'governess' gave her the impression he might have a dry sense of humour.

"Have you an idea when your earliest convenience will be?" he directed his question to Faith. "I would appreciate it if you were able to come rapidly. You are already aware of the situation..." he trailed off his phrase watching her reaction.

"If you will excuse me just a moment while I speak with my aunt," she said with a gracious smile.

He turned away, and Faith pulled her aunt a little to one side.

"He needs someone to care for two young children as his present nursemaid leaves at the end of the week to marry. He has agreed to pay me twenty pounds per annum after originally proposing twelve. His house is in Marshalswick, do you know it?"

She spoke quickly not wanting to waste anyone's time.

"Yes, I know Marshalswick. It is nearer to St Albans than it is to here. I wouldn't like you to go on your own, so let's suggest to him we both go now in the pony trap. It is only about three miles. If everything is in order and you are happy to stay, we can organise that your belongings be picked up and brought to you. There is no point in you coming back with me only to retrace your steps. What do you think of that?"

Faith could see from the corner of her eye that Mr. Wolfe was now watching them with a bit of a frown on his face. He took a pocket watch out of his waistcoat and glanced at it superficially.

"Yes, that would suit me, if he is agreeable. I shall just be a little sorry not to say goodbye to Nessie. Let's see, anyway."

She turned and came nearer to him with a smile, saying exactly what she and her aunt had decided in the case he were agreeable. He seemed surprised her earliest convenience was now.

"I appreciate your alacrity, Miss..."

"Eversley, Faith Eversley."

"I will just retrieve my horse and join you."

She watched him walk away fascinated by those long legs encased in well-tailored riding trousers and black boots.

-o0o-

Polly seemed happy to trot along next to Mr. Wolfe's magnificent black stallion. Faith wondered if it were a particular breed, because he looked perfect. His coat shone in the sun as if it were wet; his mane was thick and long and his neck was graceful. For all his grace, she could see he was powerfully built too. She didn't know much about horses, but she did know that this one was a beauty.

They finally arrived at tall iron gates which stood open next to a small lodge. The long lantern-lined drive leading to the house was direct, so they saw without detour that his residence was a mansion. What they couldn't immediately see were the stables and carriage house at the left side of the house and farther around, the extensive flower and vegetable gardens and behind them, stretching a good distance, the orchards of apples, plums and pears. The rest of the land was either crops or fields lying fallow.

The mansion alone intimidated them, although they made every effort not to show it. They followed him up the wide drive and around to the side of the house where a groom arrived to take his horse. Another arrived to take the pony in hand while Mr. Wolfe helped Florence down first. Before he could return to assist Faith, she had already joined them.

She is an independent woman, he thought.

"Come with me, if you will." He indicated that they were going to enter by a side door which in fact was a continuation of the front entry in an "L" shape. No doubt, if the weather were bad, it would be easier to enter this way than by the front. He took them into the drawing room, waving away the butler.

"If you could arrange for refreshments, Stokes, I would appreciate it. Ask Mary to bring the children in too. Thank you."

Faith was beginning to have second thoughts. This was not the environment she had anticipated. Everything seemed much too big and cold and impersonal. There was practically an echo in the place. The cream marble fireplace in the room drew attention being centred in a wall divested of any other shape or form. Much too bare and gloomy she thought. The whole room was a pale blue bordering on grey which she found depressing. Thank goodness, the carpet had some colour, as the armchairs and sofa were the same blue as the room. She looked at her aunt to try and guess her thoughts, but it was impossible to judge.

Mr. Wolfe (was that his real name after all? She began to have doubts about everything) asked them to be seated and then sat in an armchair near them. It was more than she could abide. The oppression of the place was suffocating. She really could not see herself living here, and she had to say so before any more time was wasted.

She stood saying, "I'm sorry Mr. Wolfe, but I have been under a misapprehension as to your situation. I regret to have to inform you — I can't accept the position after all. There is no point in wasting any more of your time, I am sorry."

She didn't quite know what else to say. She didn't want to be rude and call his home a mausoleum but there was even a whiff of one.

His face had gone blank with this announcement. He was left speechless for a minute, while he took in the impact of her refusal. Her aunt didn't look at her or say anything but was apparently prepared to accept her decision. Faith was on the point of leaving, but Mr. Wolfe now stood too. He made an impressive sight as his astonishment had turned to anger.

"I am afraid you have already agreed, even if it is only to be temporary," he said forcefully.

"Subject to meeting the children," she added, "and I haven't met them yet and don't intend to. Please come, Aunt Florence," she said with a pleading voice.

Her aunt stood to follow her out.

"Mr. Wolfe."

She automatically gave the faintest hint of a curtsey as she joined Faith at the door. Faith's hand was already on the handle about to open it when there was a knock. She instinctively stepped away, expecting the door to open. Mr. Wolfe grinned like a wolf who has cornered his prey. It did not suit him.

"Come," he said in a loud, deep voice.

The door opened to reveal a young woman holding on solidly to two small children. Faith groaned. She had lost. She was trapped and it was not because of the agreement. The look alone on the little boy's face had made her forget all her objections. He seemed to be the unhappiest child she had ever seen. He wasn't crying or showing any emotion, he was simply a lost soul. The little girl seemed lively enough, but the nurse had a tight grip on her which displeased Faith.

"All right, you win for a temporary position," Faith ceded with a glance at him over her shoulder.

Mr. Wolfe's grin irked her, but this was no longer about him.

He dismissed Mary who retreated leaving the children. Faith turned to him and asked if she might spend a few minutes with them on her own without any outside influence, which meant him. He was astute enough to realise it would be to his advantage if all went well, so he invited her aunt to come with him into the library across the hallway. Faith noticed her aunt seemed more relaxed now that the situation had eased.

Faith sat in the nearest chair so she didn't dominate the children. She took off her bonnet so the children could see her as she was.

She held out her hand to the boy saying, "How do you do? My name is Faith Eversley, what's yours?"

He stepped forward and, instead of taking or shaking her hand as she thought he might, he took it and kissed the back of it. She was shocked to see a four-year-old acting so stiffly.

"My name is Christopher Wolfe, and this is my sister Helen, ma'am."

He was a slender child without being thin. He had thick, dark brown hair which curled a little with big hazel-coloured eyes. The lashes were dark and luxuriant for a boy, but they didn't make him look effeminate. His face was pale with pleasant features. She could imagine he would turn into a good-looking young man, if only he could be shot of his sorrow. With no sign of inhibitions, Helen was scrambling onto Faith's lap, which she was more than happy to accept. Helen was a different matter, even if she did resemble her brother. She exuded a "joie de vivre" joy of living, which came naturally without effort. They were both lovely children.

"I suppose you know your nanny is leaving, and I am to come and replace her for a while?"

Christopher looked down at the floor without making a comment. Helen had begun playing with the mother of pearl buttons on the front of Faith's dress.

"Very pretty," she said, smiling up at Faith who smiled back. Faith was worried about the boy's detachment, so she tried to engage his attention.

"This is an awfully big house," she began. "I am sure I would soon be lost if I tried to find my way. Do you think you know the way from here to your rooms? I would so like to see where I will be staying."

She watched his reaction hopefully and was rewarded by Christopher looking at her directly.

"I could show you, ma'am. Our rooms are next to the nanny's, but there are a lot of stairs to climb. I think the house is very big too."

There was a tap on the door, and it opened to show Stokes carrying a large tray with refreshments. As she didn't want to lose the contact she had created with Christopher, she immediately told Stokes that Mr. Wolfe was in the library, and that she was going upstairs with the children. Stokes placed the tray on a low table before doing an about-face and crossing the hall to the library. She stood in a flash with Helen in her arms and grabbed Christopher's hand.

"Quickly, let's go before they come back and bore us," she laughed heading for the stairs with Christopher running alongside her as fast as he could. She'd gone up half a dozen stairs before she had to put Helen down. She was far too heavy. They'd reached the first landing when Mr. Wolfe came out and saw them.

"Where are you going?" he asked loudly.

She didn't answer but said to Christopher loud enough for him to hear, "Quickly or the wolf will catch us."

It was a silly thing to say, but she wanted to make a game with them. They went the rest of the way up with Christopher taking quick looks over his shoulder.

"I'm only joking," she tried to reassure him. "Your papa wants me to take care of you, so he won't mind us leaving him behind."

"He's not my papa."

It was all he said. They'd reached the first floor and she stopped abruptly to look down at him. Helen was hanging on to the skirt of her dress laughing at all the excitement. Faith crouched down so her face was on the same level as that of Christopher's.

"If he's not your papa, who is he?" she asked quietly.

"He's my uncle. Papa is dead."

Tears immediately misted her eyes. What a hard reality for such a young child. The tears overflowed and began to run down her cheeks. Christopher saw them and touched one with a finger as though not sure it was really there.

"Did you know Papa? Are you crying for him, too?"

She pulled his stiff little body to her and said, "No, I didn't know your papa, but I am crying for him."

She could hardly tell Christopher she was crying for them. She felt him relax and sink into her embrace. Helen pulled at her saying,

"Me, me too."

So, Faith gave her a quick cuddle and a kiss on her curly head before standing again.

"Come on you lazy bones, you have to show me where we will be together."

Christopher took her hand without her asking and pulled her along to another flight of steps which took them to their bedroom, the schoolroom and the governess's two rooms.

Her temporary position had begun.

A quarter of an hour later, a maid knocked on the schoolroom door before peeking in.

"The Master asks that you go down as your aunt would like to see you before she goes."

Oh, my goodness. She'd forgotten her aunt was with Mr. Wolfe. An illustrated child's book had occupied her, as she read to the two children sitting in her lap. She reluctantly got them to move and asked Christopher to hold the book for her while she went downstairs. He was to try and keep the place in the book so she would know where to begin again. He nodded, sat in the armchair holding the book open and his finger on the page. She smiled to think what a serious little boy he was.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Please don't go away."

Without a smile, Christopher replied by saying, "We have nowhere to go."

'This is not going to be easy,' Faith thought. 'What must be going on in the child's head...?'

She hurried down not getting lost and was soon at the bottom of the stairs across from the drawing room. There, with the door ajar, she saw her aunt with Mr. Wolfe inside.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. The children showed me the rooms and then we got distracted."

"I have to be going, Faith," her aunt explained. "I hadn't planned to be away so long. Nessie may be worrying. Mr. Wolfe is going to send someone with me for your things. He'll bring them back later. If you need anything, just let me know and of course, you know you will always have a bed waiting for you," she said, this without looking at Mr. Wolfe. She had wanted him to know, though, that he wouldn't be able to hold dismissing Faith out of hand as a means of controlling her. They took leave of each other with Faith saying she would come and see them as soon as she could. She asked her aunt to apologise to Nessie on her behalf for not saying goodbye.

She felt a pang as she heard the pony trap returning down the drive, probably with a groom sitting next to her aunt in the spot where she herself had sat. She was having very mixed emotions all at the same time. A lot had happened.

Mr. Wolfe apparently had said something she hadn't heard properly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you as I was thinking of something else."

"Come into the library now, Miss Eversley."

No 'please', no 'would you'. That was unacceptable.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible now," she retaliated.

She wasn't feeling very happy so was more sensitive to his manner of asking.

"There are two children who are waiting for me upstairs. There are also some points I would like to discuss with you, and I would be happy to do that after the children are in bed, or if not, tomorrow?"

"Good God, woman. Who is the employer here?" he was annoyed again.

"Who is the one who desperately needs children to be looked after?"

She could be annoyed too.

She had him over a barrel until he could find someone else. Tomorrow he would go into St. Albans and start enquiries with an agency. They would perhaps take longer than he had at the market, but their nets would be cast out farther afield; to London even.

"I see... then shall we say in the library at ten tomorrow morning, if that wouldn't inconvenience the children? I would hate for them to feel I was intruding on their lives in any way."

His sarcasm was not subtle.

"We might as well do everything in one go. After the library, I'll introduce you to the staff officially," he added, nonetheless thinking as he spoke that her time there was already limited.

"Thank you. Tomorrow morning at ten. You are always welcome to come and see the children while they are in my care."

In her mind, the job would be temporary, so the idea of being dismissed for impertinence did not cross her mind. She turned and quietly left the room. There was no point in tackling him about anything until they were both calmer, and she'd had the time to go over the situation in her mind. If it hadn't been for the children, she would have happily left with her aunt, and he knew it.

She quickly returned to the schoolroom where she found Helen trying to undress a doll and Christopher still sitting in the armchair with his finger in the book.

The room was a fair size with sash windows looking out over the drive and the parkland. A series of doors in alignment went from the schoolroom to their bedroom to her bedroom to her sitting room. It meant that from her bedroom, with the intervening door open, she would hear the children at night, if there were any disturbance.

All the rooms were just too plain for Faith's approval. She wanted to brighten them up for the children and herself, as a good portion of their lives would be spent up here on the second floor. As all the rooms faced north overlooking the drive, she thought a warm yellow or a pale apricot colour with white paintwork would make the rooms more cheerful. She would have to see what she would be allowed to do to change it. She went over to Christopher.

"You are a sweetie," she whispered to him, "to have kept the place in the book all this time. You didn't have to worry though. If you'd lost the place, it wouldn't have taken me long to find it again."

He looked at her with big eyes which didn't blink as though they might miss something if they did. She lifted him and sat in his place while holding him on her lap. He wiggled so his head came against her breast and her arm around him. Helen got the hint and dropped the doll to climb on her lap, too. They were soon ensconced in her embrace as she held the book in front of them so they could see the pictures as she read.

By the time their tea was delivered to them, they'd already finished several books and had begun drawing. Teatime meant their evening meal. This evening it was slices of ham with lettuce, potatoes and beetroot. There was plenty of bread and butter and their dessert was a custard tart. There was a blackcurrant cordial to be diluted with water for their drink.

Faith had discovered the schoolroom had a table with four chairs which served nicely for their meal. They were a little low for her but she didn't mind. It wasn't surprising to discover Helen had a good appetite. She was a cheerful little girl bordering on being plump. Or perhaps she had been plump and was shedding some of it? Christopher was warier of his food. Faith had realised from the start that the little boy had been troubled and was still an anxious child with good cause. She didn't know what had happened to Mary. She hadn't seen her since the time she had delivered the children to the drawing room. Just as well, because she hadn't left a good impression on Faith.

She washed their faces and got them to rinse their mouths with water as they didn't have toothbrushes. She would have to see about remedying that. They got into their nightwear without a fuss and both jumped into bed looking a lot happier than earlier in the day. It was still light outside, so she drew the curtains ready for them to sleep (the dull curtains would have to go too).

"Now, I shall sing you to sleep," stated Faith.

"How can you do that?" asked Christopher.

"I don't know how it works but I suspect you'll just get tired of listening to me and go to sleep."

She began with lullabies she'd learned at Dame Hilton's. Her voice was low and quite deep, and it wasn't long before Helen succumbed. She could see Christopher was watching her closely, and then he reached for her hand as he closed his eyes too.

It had taken less than half a day for her to fall completely under the charm of these children. She was in a mess now, because she didn't want her 'temporary position' to come to an end. These children needed a mother and failing that, the next best thing was stability with a woman who cared for them. She was going to have to put water in her wine tomorrow when she came face to face again with Mr. Wolfe.

The children had already shown her to the water closet on the floor below. It was placed near to the back staircase which led all the way down to the ground floor or up to the servants' rooms. Its plumbing was connected to another water closet in a cupboard under the stairs, next to the kitchen. Whoever had been charged with emptying the chamber pots previously would be especially happy with this new convenience.

She had decided it would be a good thing to make herself known before tomorrow as she didn't want the other staff to think she thought she was better than they were. She took the tray with the empty tea things down the backstairs with her, hoping that perhaps her personal belongings had arrived with the groom. As she came into the kitchen, she could see the staff hadn't eaten yet. It was still relatively early and of course at eight o'clock there would be another hour and a half before the sun set. There was a middle-aged plump woman who was obviously the cook near to the stove moving a saucepan to the side. She wore a mop cap and a pinafore with a big pocket in the front. She turned when she heard Faith enter and gave her a pleasant smile. Faith couldn't tell if she had naturally rosy cheeks or if the heat from the stove had given them to her, but the effect was of someone jovial with a happy temperament. Mr. Stokes was standing to one side and two young men and a girl were already sitting at the table, probably with the idea of keeping out of the way. She smiled as best she could when confronted by people she didn't know.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything. I'm Faith Eversley, the children's new governess. I just wanted to bring these tea things back down and enquire if the young groom had been able to bring my belongings back with him?"

"Why, that's very thoughtful of you. Just put the tray on the side there and we'll take care of the rest. I'm Mrs. Miller the cook. Everyone calls me Millie and I'm happy with that," she was pleased to explain.

"I know the master intends to bring you down tomorrow so I won't present everyone to you now. You'll have to deal with us all soon enough. George, the groom brought your things in here not long ago. They're on the sideboard. Would you like a cup of tea before you go? The kettle is always on the range for one thing or another."

The whole time she was talking, she was busy preparing a pot of tea. She realised she had been chattering away and quickly added, "I'm a proper chatterbox, so don't mind me, dear."

It seemed everyone was deferential to Mrs. Miller. For all her light talk, she obviously was the main stay in the kitchen. Even Stokes, the butler, had a smile for her as she began to pour the tea.

"Would it be all right for me to take the tea up with me? I've had a very long day and hope to jump into bed as soon as I can."

"Of course, Miss Eversley," Mrs. Miller agreed.

"Then, I shall look forward to meeting you all officially tomorrow," she said with a smile. "Good night."

They wished her the same.

She picked up the mug of tea, her bag of belongings and left them to their meal. She was glad she'd eaten with the children because she was very weary now. She prepared for bed and fell in expecting to sleep right away but didn't. Perhaps the tea was keeping her awake now? Her mind went over the day from start to finish. She had never dreamed she would be sleeping in a different bed, in a different town, when she woke this morning. She thought of the two children who would be there tomorrow, waiting. Her life had taken a radical swing and she sighed thinking that, should the worst come to the worst, her aunt and Nessie were waiting in the background as her second resort.

Chapter 4

Quentin Wolfe had eaten his meal alone, as he usually did. In fact, it was rare that he ever shared a meal in his own home. James Reed, who had lunch with him once a month while working on estate business, was the exception.

He didn't entertain for several good reasons.

First of all, he didn't have anyone to act as hostess for him, and as he had no intention of ever becoming emotionally involved again, it was unlikely he would ever have a hostess.

Secondly, where was the enjoyment of entertaining when one was alone in the world?

Thirdly, how did one entertain when one was lacking in imagination as he was? He was occasionally invited to a dinner to make up numbers, but those invitations were, more often than not, from acquaintances in already well-established circles.

His evening meal was the way he unwound after the busy days he spent managing his estate. He was known to travel miles surveying and participating physically in new projects or restoration work. His various business investments and the political intrigues were like a game of chess to him; they taxed him mentally. In the evenings, he relaxed his body and emptied his mind. He had discovered when young that he was gifted with a head for figures. With figures, you knew exactly how things stood because they couldn't be twisted and remain true. They were either black or white. If there was a shade of grey, it meant there was a mistake somewhere. He found it particularly satisfying when he was able to root out a mistake and put it right.

Most of the memories he associated with his father were those when they went over the accounts together. He knew it was the one area which might lead to a word of praise from the older man. With the exception of the accounts, their father never sought him out, never consciously made contact. Quentin considered he had been luckier than his brother, though, because their father never bothered with Jeremy at all. It was as though he didn't exist. It was considered a great day when he acknowledged that Jeremy was even in the same room as he. More often than not, it was by pure hazard their paths crossed with that of their father's, and most of the time they didn't even know whether he was in residence or not.

All these years later, when it was too late to talk with his father, he wondered if the fact that their mother had died when Jeremy was born had anything to do with his attitude towards his younger son. He supposed avoidance had been better than cruelty from someone who might feel bitter towards the child who had brought about his wife's death. No doubt, it wouldn't have occurred to him he had been responsible for putting the infant there in the first place....

It hadn't mattered too much though, as Jeremy had transferred all his affection and admiration to him, the older brother. They'd had each other.

Thinking of figures made him remember the twelve pounds per annum which had transformed itself into twenty pounds per annum, and that thought led to Miss Eversley. She was the most infuriating woman he'd ever had the occasion to meet. He never lost his temper, and within an afternoon, she had provoked him twice where he had come close to losing control.

He thought back to the market place where he had, alas, first noticed her. As he'd had agricultural business in Hatfield, he'd been to the small employment agency in the town hoping they might have someone to replace the children's nanny. They hadn't laughed at his request, but they had made it plain it would be a rare day that they would have someone who would meet his standards for that type of job. It had been when he'd passed back across the square that he had remembered there were often people hiring out on a Thursday market day. He was more familiar with the market in St Albans, so hadn't immediately thought about the one in Hatfield. A shame because he had the impression it was nearly over for the day.

She had been sitting on a stool daydreaming. Her peachy-pink dress with the mother of pearl buttons suited her. Its colour cast a flattering light on her skin and made her blue eyes stand out. The straw bonnet framed an appealing face and the image as a whole had drawn him to her on the off-chance she might do for the position. She'd looked like a peach ready for the picking.

What was he doing sitting here thinking about Miss Eversley? He had decided he would try to find someone else to replace her as quickly as possible. He couldn't bear having his authority questioned. He smiled remembering she hadn't been able to get away quick enough. The children had arrived before she had been able to wiggle out of their agreement. It was strange, nevertheless, how she had suddenly decided she didn't want to stay. It was niggling him. He didn't remember saying anything which might have given offence.

Women were so unpredictable, he'd sworn off them. He preferred keeping a safe distance to avoid the complications they inevitably created. He shuddered thinking how close he had come to making a fool of himself with Irene. Comparing Irene to Faith, (what was he saying?) comparing Irene to Miss Eversley made him realise that Irene had been an illusion; a sham from start to finish. She'd revealed her hand in time for him to draw back, thank goodness. With Miss Eversley, there was no question of her being devious. She was far too outspoken and direct for there to be any deceitfulness.

Bugger.

He had to change this line of thought. It wasn't taking him anywhere he wanted to go.

He went to the cabinet holding the bottles of spirits and fortified wines and poured himself a brandy before continuing through the door which led to the drawing room. He dropped into an armchair. Brandy glass in hand, he slowly swilled it around watching the liquid leave a fine pellicle on the inside of the glass before re-joining the mass. He put the glass down on the side table without sampling the contents. He drew out his watch to see the time. Half past nine. He never went to bed this early. It was only just beginning to be dark. Never mind. Perhaps he would go up now and get an early night. It was going to be a busy day again tomorrow, if he were to go into St Albans...

His valet, Whittle, was already a step ahead of him with a bath waiting in his dressing room. Whittle, Francis Whittle, was one of those enigmatic men of uncertain age who appears out of nowhere and is only there when you need them. He might be in his late forties or early fifties, still trim but with greying hair. He had been with Quentin ten years but it had seemed a lifetime. A wonderful man who could anticipate his needs when he himself hadn't known he had them.

This was the perfect way to end a day, he realised as he sank into the warm, relaxing water. There was the tiniest hint of a sensation which briefly crossed his mind that perhaps the best way to end a day was in the arms of a woman like Faith. But he hurriedly scrubbed it away before it could latch on to him. His nights weren't restful. Worries haunted him in dream form, and try as he might to correct problems in his waking hours, they slipped past his vigilance at night in a different shape.

Another bright, sunny day dawned. He'd gone down to breakfast half expecting to see Miss Eversley. Governesses did eat with their employers, didn't they? He seemed to remember his had, when he was young.

By ten o'clock, he was in the library behind his desk, a large, double pedestal affair made of yew with a dark red leather insert. Of all the rooms in the house, the library was certainly the most pleasant. The thick, oriental rug filled the central area with its dark reds, blues and purples and subdued any sounds within. There were bookcases on three sides of the room with spaces left for the door on one side, the four tall windows looking out over the drive on the second and with bookcases and a built-in cabinet for maps, estate papers and other documents on the third. Quentin's desk stood in front of the cabinet giving him easy access while seated there. On the fourth yew panelled wall to the right of the door, was a dark marble fireplace with two armchairs and side tables. There were two very large paintings hanging on either side of the fireplace which were of Quentin and Jeremy's father and grandfather. Quentin showed a resemblance to both men, although the portrait of his father showed an astonishingly handsome man. Today Quentin wouldn't be able to say whether he had been or not, or whether the artist had simply wanted to flatter him. It didn't matter. The portraits were only there for decoration.

The room smelled of wood, leather and paper and appeared a male domain. The fact was that no woman had lived in the house long enough to influence the room in any way.

There was a tap on the door.

"Come," he announced clearly.

Miss Eversley entered wearing a rather plain dress. It was what one would call a washed-out blue. The colour still suited her, and if anything, being neutral, gave her an advantage. For some reason, today, she made him think of a bilberry which was beginning to ripen. She definitely made him think of fruit. Her dark blond hair was neatly pinned up showing simple earrings that sparkled as she advanced in the sunlight. Her face had a bloom to it which made her look healthy, wholesome with pink cheeks and lips.

Where was this leading? Oh yes, he would have to give her a small allowance for clothes when at work. There was a certain standard to be maintained by his staff. Wait a minute — wasn't he going to look for someone else to replace her? He'd stood as she'd entered and then asked her to 'please sit.'

As an opening to negotiations, he'd asked if everything was to her satisfaction — her rooms, breakfast, the children's accommodation and furnishings? She replied that everything was as it should be, although she would like to make a few changes with the second-floor furnishings; was that possible?

He agreed and then sat there looking at her, wondering what to say next.

"Would you like to give me your first impressions of the children? Mary found them a little difficult to handle. Christopher is sullen and Helen boisterous."

"Before I discuss my observations and sentiments on the subject, I feel I have to broach the subject of their parentage. When I undertook the task of caring for them, I was under the impression that you were their father. I'm afraid that their situation has a great bearing on their behaviour, so I need to know."

"There is nothing complicated about the situation really. It is quite straight forward. As their uncle, I was named their guardian and as their parents are dead, I have taken them in."

Faith's mouth dropped open before she could react. She quickly clamped it shut before a plethora of scolding words could escape her.

Good grief. He was a cold fish. He saw it as a mathematical equation. This plus this equals that. Where were his sympathies concerning the children's loss and apparently, that of his own sibling? They were young children, so their parents had to have died fairly recently.

She glared at him. She'd meant to put water in her wine, but now she wanted to add some fiery liquid to it.

He shifted in his seat feeling that perhaps something wasn't quite right. She was glaring at him.

Faith was glaring at him, but she wasn't seeing him, as she was trying to gather all her thoughts together. This was about the children. She couldn't leave them now when they'd accepted her unconditionally. Their uncle might be an 'oaf' but he had every right to do with them as he pleased.

"May I presume that you have never had children?" she decided to try another tactic. It allowed for his ignorance in treating the children.

"I've never been married," he replied and then blushed realising that marriage had nothing to do with it, so quickly added, "no children."

She nodded her head with an "hmmm" sound. He did have the good grace to look a little sheepish.

"Helen seems to be a happy child. She amuses herself and only asks for attention when it is something she thinks is important. She is still young enough not to have realised what has happened to them, and she has already adapted to their new environment." She paused. "Christopher is a very bright boy. I would be extremely proud if he were mine. But being bright has been his weak link, because he has no illusions as to what has happened. For him, as for you, his parents are dead and you've taken them in."

"Well, he is bright then," Quentin agreed feeling justified.

"May I speak freely?" she enquired a little dryly.

"Of course," he replied begrudgingly, expecting a direct attack.

"He feels unwanted here and considers he is a burden to you. He knows that there is nowhere else to go and at four, he is already waiting for the day when he can leave."

"That is ridiculous. He's not a burden, he's my nephew. I wouldn't have accepted the guardianship, if that had been the case."

"Have you spoken to him?" she wondered.

"Spoken to a four-year-old? About what?"

He honestly didn't know what she was going on about.

She was suddenly very sad and felt tears misting her eyes. She blinked furiously to stall them. This grown man was insensitive. He was incapable of empathy or sympathy. Perhaps he was a victim too, but there was no point in taking on his defence too.

"I think I understand. Was there anything else you wished to discuss?" she asked reconciled to the fact that she had to manage for the children's sake. She didn't want to have to leave them, so from now on she would be docile, conciliatory with Mr. Wolfe.

Quentin had the definite impression that he had been dismissed. He didn't feel very generous, as he was supposed to be in charge.

"Am I to understand that you are happy with the children and the general arrangements?" he began with the idea of trying to back her into a corner.

"Yes, indeed."

"Then manage them! I don't wish to hear any more of your impressions or theories concerning their sensibilities. Should you feel it will be too difficult for you, please let me know with a week's notice so I can make other arrangements. If a week is too long, you may leave without notice and I will find another solution. I am not without resources. That will be all for the moment. Thank you Miss Eversley."

'Glare' was too gentle a word for the way she looked at him now. She quietly got up, curtsied with a smirk on her face and left.

Damnation. He didn't feel any better. He felt more like he'd just shot his own foot. He wasn't stupid. He'd made a fortune with his own wits. He was able to foresee political change ahead of others by logical analysis and reflection. His library was full of books he'd read. He spoke French, damn it. Why did he feel that he'd just lost a match?

Bloody, bloody woman. He was thirty-four-years old and he'd been outdone by a 'however young she was' woman... It had taken him (he took out his watch) twenty minutes flat to lose.

He left the library and asked Stokes to tell someone in the stables to saddle his horse for him. He ran up the flight of stairs, two at time, to change into his riding clothes. The groom and his Friesian, Bruegel, were waiting in the front for him. He mounted, and turned to the side to go across the parkland before reaching open land, where he gave Bruegel his head and tried to eliminate his frustration with speed.

Faith had gone up to the second floor quietly not wishing to draw attention to herself should she meet anyone. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but she was furious. Mr. Wolfe might have an excuse for his behaviour, but she didn't want to know. He was a grown man. She actually felt hate for him. Perhaps the word was a little too strong, because she didn't wish him dead. No, she found him despicable. But that was neither here nor there, because he'd told her to manage the children and that was what she intended to do.

One of the maids had been with the children while she had been in the interview with Mr. Wolfe. It seemed Mary had already left, and she was beginning to understand why she hadn't wasted any time. She now took over, releasing the maid and telling the children they were going out for a walk.

They were delighted. They put on their shoes and were ready in a wink. Faith grabbed up a wicker basket which was in the schoolroom and off they set.

"What is the basket for?" asked Christopher.

"We are going on a treasure hunt," Faith explained, "and anything you find which looks like a treasure will go in the basket, so we can bring it home."

Both children had smiles on their faces. Helen was naturally cheerful. She would no doubt grow up with a resilience that would stand her good throughout her life. Faith took both their hands and kissed them. Helen laughed while Christopher just looked at her as though it were a strange thing to do.

They too started off over the parkland, but rather than continue to the open fields, they played amongst the trees and climbed the ones with low limbs. Helen was a little monkey and quite fearless with it. Christopher brought Faith an empty nest he'd found near a tree. It was amazingly round and so well woven it was difficult to believe a bird had done it.

"I believe this is a robin's nest," Faith told him. "It is the first treasure of the day."

Not to be outdone, Helen arrived with a large pinecone.

"And this is the second treasure today," she said smiling at Helen, while placing the cone with the nest.

"Now you have to find some," Christopher told her quite logically.

"We shall see..." Faith replied.

They started back home when it neared to lunchtime. They came out of the woods a little way down the drive, so walked back along it. Faith was looking closely at the stones which made up the drive and suddenly swooped and picked one up.

"I do believe I have found the third treasure of the day," she said with a laugh. "Look."

Christopher looked at the stone in her hand, which seemed quite ordinary until she flipped it over, and there in the stone was a small fossil.

"Why, it's a stone snail." he exclaimed.

"One never knows where treasures might be lurking," she told them as they entered the side of the house. She popped her head in the kitchen as they came in.

"We're back home Millie, and something smells mouth-watering good."

"Why thank you, Miss Eversley. I'll get someone to bring it up to you in the nursery. Excuse me for asking Miss Eversley, but I did think the master was going to bring you here to introduce you to everyone. Was I mistaken?"

"I'm afraid I can't say. I saw him this morning, but he didn't mention it. Perhaps at some later hour? I'm sure he must have a lot on his mind, Millie."

She avoided committing herself in any way.

"I expect you're right," Millie agreed.

"Come along children, upstairs we go. Let's count the stairs and see how many there are."

Faith loved making a game of the most boring things, and she had a knack for it. Christopher, in his four-year-old mind, thought how much fun Miss Eversley was, and he took hold of her hand quite naturally. Faith beamed the smile of a victor.

Quentin had come home a little more composed than when he'd left. He'd missed lunch in his effort to calm himself, but he could always ask Millie for a tray. Bread and cheese would be enough. He'd come to the conclusion that he would avoid Miss Eversley from now on as there was an obvious conflict of personalities which did neither of them any good. She seemed to care for the children, though, so he was going to leave her in place until the time when something might change his decision.

His estate manager, James Reed, was more than capable of handling any queries which she might have, and he would provide a small sum of money to cover any little expenses she might incur on behalf of the children. He would also give instructions to Reed about the clothes allowance for her, from which all members of staff benefited. This included one pair of shoes per annum.

He was seeing Reed tomorrow for the monthly going-over of the books. In the seven years he had worked for him, Quentin had seen he was competent with the accounts, having never found an error in his figures. He was also sound with any suggestions he made about the management of the estate, so Quentin was satisfied he would cope with all eventualities. Yes, that would be the ideal solution.

There was one last chore that he had overlooked in his haste to be away — the introduction of Miss Eversley to the staff. It might be opportune to organise it for the evening meal, because everyone would be there. He asked Stokes to let the staff know, and he would now go and see the children and inform Miss Eversley.

He climbed to the second floor hoping they were in. He heard a soft, husky voice singing. A little puzzled he came to the nursery door, which was slightly ajar. Not wishing to interrupt, he quietly pushed the door open a little wider and saw that both children were lying down for their nap, and Miss Eversley was between their two beds singing to them. Helen was already asleep, but Christopher was holding Miss Eversley's hand while she sang. He looked ready to doze, so Quentin said nothing, although a tremor ran through him as she finished the song on a very low note. She gently posed Christopher's hand on the bed and slipped towards the door silently. Quentin stepped back to let her come into the corridor and she pulled the door nearly shut behind her. Without speaking, she indicated he was to follow her into her parlour. The parlour was separated from the children's nursery by her own bedroom, so there was little chance their voices would arouse the two.

"I must tell you that you have a very pleasant singing voice, Miss Eversley. It is certainly suited to lullabies or soothing songs. The children are indeed lucky to benefit from it."

"Thank you. It is a pleasure for me to sing too. I forget all the rest when I sing. Did you come to see the children? We had a busy morning and as they are both so young, I thought a short nap before afternoon tea would do them good. It will only be for a short while."

She felt she should explain.

"Actually, I came to see you as well. I completely forgot the introductions to staff, so hopefully you will be agreeable, perhaps this evening at mealtime? I also wanted to let you know that my estate manager is coming tomorrow. I would like to introduce you both, as he will be handling any questions you may have concerning money or allowances. Would ten o'clock tomorrow morning in the library suit you?"

"Yes, I'll get one of the maids to keep an eye on the children then."

He didn't know how to leave. He'd come to say what he'd wanted to say, and it seemed too little.

"What did you do this morning to tire the children so?" he found himself asking.

"We went to the woods on a treasure hunt and climbed trees before coming home. Helen wears herself out without any encouragement."

"You climbed trees too?" he was a little incredulous, as long skirts weren't normally conducive to climbing.

"I'm afraid so. It is my way of combating old age," she said smiling. "As long as I can do it, I stay young, and the day I can't is the day I fall out of the tree and break my neck. Fair is fair as I don't wish to be old anyway."

He laughed.

She was surprised he could laugh. It softened his face and she imagined she could hear the boy in him. She instinctively took advantage of his good humour.

"There was one thing I wanted to ask you...do you suppose that at some time in the future you would permit the children to have a puppy? It would also fall into the category of learning how to take on responsibility and learning about animals."

She didn't feel too confident making such a request in so short a time.

"As it's to be in the future, I hope you won't mind I don't answer immediately. I'd like to think about it."

"Thank you for not saying 'no' off-hand." She smiled.

There really was nothing he could think to say to her now. So, he left saying, "I'll see you later in the kitchen for the introductions — about eight."

She sat in an armchair not knowing what to make of Mr. Wolfe. He'd made the effort to climb to nearly the top of the house and had been polite. Perhaps he was hoping to smooth things over and start again?

Quentin didn't know what to make of Miss Eversley. She'd seemed calm and reasonable and actually human. No matter. Best to avoid her. He'd probably go to London as his friend Jasper had been urging him to do for months now. Jasper was well embedded in London life and being a bachelor ensured he was invited to every event where there might be unmarried women hoping to find a match.

If he went with Jasper, there was always the tiniest chance he might meet someone who pleased him more than a little. He wasn't one for using brothels, though. The idea actually disgusted him, if he thought about it too much. He'd be more inclined to have a mistress, providing he found someone who suited him. Well, he wasn't in London yet, so he'd think about it later.

Quentin arrived in the kitchen only minutes before Miss Eversley. All the staff were present as it was the main meal of the day. The staff presentations were made by the butler, Mr. Stokes, so Quentin was only there to introduce Miss Eversley. She'd had the occasion to meet various people beforehand, but now it was official — she was the children's governess. As she had already eaten with the children, she left as soon as the introductions had been made. She didn't want to delay everyone's meal.

Quentin had only to return to the dining room to be served by Stokes. He did sense that he was the odd man out eating on his own, but it had always been like that, and it would be hard to change now.

He went to bed a little later than the previous night, but it made no difference to how well he slept, which was poorly. This time he remembered part of what he'd dreamt. Quite simply it was Faith singing to the children, but when she saw him arrive, she told him to go away; they didn't want him. The dream lasted longer, but it left him feeling horribly rejected. Now why would he dream something like that? It hadn't happened. He was almost glad to wake up.

James Reed arrived promptly at nine o'clock the next morning. He wasn't as tall as Quentin, but his physique was a solid body of someone who works physically. His clothes reflected the time he spent outdoors. His charcoal coloured coat was worsted, his white shirt contrasted with the black neckcloth tied simply, while his trousers were a lighter grey tapering down into black riding boots. He did not 'dress' for the meeting with his employer as Quentin had told him long ago it wasn't necessary. His wavy hair was a brown which had been lightened by the sun. His outdoor life had turned his skin a coppery colour which made his eyes all that much bluer. Women had been heard to say he was 'a pleasant man to rest one's eyes upon' when they were also thinking quite simply that there was more than their eyes they'd like to lay upon him.

There was a routine. He would come to the dining room and have a coffee and perhaps a bun with Quentin before they withdrew to the library to work.

Today, Quentin began by filling in James about the new governess. He'd asked him to register her wage as twenty pounds per annum and to accord her a staff dress allowance. He'd asked his opinion about miscellaneous money to be spent on the children should she feel they needed something like paints, for example. James suggested one shilling a week per child would be more than adequate, even extravagant, but they were his family. Quentin bowed to his better judgement and that was settled.

There was a tap at the door and Quentin called to enter. It was Miss Eversley, so both men came to their feet. As governess, she was considered less of a servant than the others, and in many households, the governess not only ate with the family but was known to participate in family activities. Of course, sometimes she might actually be a 'poor' member of the family.

She had put her peach coloured dress on today. She must only have the two, Quentin thought distractedly. He introduced James to her with a brief explanation about her dress allowance and the money for the children. Any financial queries should be addressed to Mr. Reed, who lived in what had once been the hunting lodge on the estate. She thanked her employer for the allowance. She and James exchanged a few comments about her settling into the household and things in general before she excused herself with a smile saying the children were waiting. The door shut quietly behind her.

James looked at Quentin wondering whether he was going to add anything to the meeting they'd just had.

As he said nothing, James said simply, "She is quite impressive."

Quentin frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you have to admit she is very attractive and on top of that, she has her wits about her. An interesting combination, wouldn't you say? How old is she?"

"I've no idea. I didn't ask her as it wasn't relevant to the job. She looks young enough to run after children and that was all I needed to know."

"Right, shall we start with the agricultural business or was there something else you wanted to do first?" James asked, changing what seemed to be a sensitive subject.

They spent most of the day going over business with a break for lunch and then tea around about four o'clock. Quentin wasn't quite as attentive as he usually was. He put it down to having slept badly, but his mind did wander to James's comment about Faith being impressive.

After James had left, he asked to have dinner in the library. He was feeling mentally exhausted, and yet he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. When the dinner things had been cleared away, he went to get the bottle of brandy. Perhaps if he had a couple drinks, he'd relax and sleep the better for them.

He sat in an armchair to the side of the room away from the windows where he could see there was a full moon rising. It was more secluded, and he was less distracted when he wanted to concentrate on something. He wasn't sure if this was the second or third brandy he'd had, but he was certainly feeling more relaxed now. He would just finish this one and then go to bed. He quaffed the last of the liquid feeling it burning its way down. He reached over to the little side table to put the glass down and he missed it. The glass fell without breaking to the carpet.

Blast, maybe it had been a fourth brandy and not a third. He laughed at himself.

There was now white light coming into the room from the full moon. He hadn't bothered with a lamp as night had only fallen after he'd been in the room for a while. He got up and as he turned to go to the door, he tripped and fell back onto his bottom and then his back. He was now lying full out on the thick carpet, chuckling. The last time this had happened to him, he'd been twenty. Nearly fifteen years ago. He was having a hard time remembering what had happened in those fifteen years. Had anything much happened? Ah yes, he'd escaped a disaster with Irene, his brother had died and he'd taken in his children and an impressive governess.

He lay on his back quite comfortably looking at the moonlight on the plaster ceiling. The rosette in the middle looked weird with the shadows it cast.

The library door opened, and he watched fascinated as someone crept in with a lighted candle. He didn't say anything, laughing to himself as he imagined the person jumping out of their skin should he sit up. A current of air blew out the candle at the same time that Faith, because it was Faith, reached his feet and fell over them.

She shrieked, so he grabbed her, pulling her to him so he could put his hand over her mouth. He slurred a 'shhhh, you'll wake the whole house' before he realised how soft she was, how lovely she smelt. She wasn't struggling or protesting so he removed his hand and placed his mouth there.

He suddenly ached.

He kissed her tenderly and then rolled away. He felt quite sober all of a sudden. She didn't move. So, he put a hand out to touch her thinking perhaps she was dead; he'd squashed her.

She spoke then saying, "I hope it's you Mr. Wolfe, because if it's anyone else, I won't be able to blackmail them."

He laughed so hard that he had to hold his stomach. She sat leaning over him.

"I suppose you think I'm joking Mr. Wolfe...?"

"I don't care. It was worth it. Come here," he said grabbing her again, "you can blackmail me twice." Whereupon he kissed her again, holding her face between his hands, their mouths were open to one another. He couldn't remember a kiss that had ever affected him so. He felt himself harden as the kiss deepened and she moaned. This time he rolled farther away. He had to stop now, or he didn't know where it would take them. He covered his eyes with a hand.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. It's quite out of character for me. Blackmail away, if it will get me a pardon."

He could hear that she was breathing heavily.

God, it had had the same effect on her too. Her breath finally came back to normal.

"I want a puppy," was all she said.

Neither of them moved. He was happy looking up at the ceiling knowing she was lying on the carpet probably doing the same. He turned on his side and went up on an elbow to look in her direction. He could see her profile in the moonlight which was tantalising. She was wearing a nightdress and he had the impression her hair was in a long plait.

"I am sorry. It was unfair of me. Please feel secure in the knowledge that you won't have to worry about a repeat performance. No doubt you will find a puppy somewhere. That being the case, you may keep it. Excuse me if I leave you to yourself now. I can assure you it's for the best."

He got up on wobbly legs and managed to leave without further disgracing himself.

He slept better. He supposed it was the brandy. He had pleasant dreams too, which may have been the brandy, but that was less certain. It was probably due to his close encounter with the governess...

When Faith had finally come to her senses, she too got up on wobbly legs. She didn't bother looking for the candle; as she had no way of lighting it. Anyway, there was moonlight enough to find her way back to her room. She crept into her bed and lay there straight as a poker while her mind flew in every direction trying to find a solid purchase. She settled with the notion that Mr. Wolfe had been drunk. That cleared half the problem. The other half was she. She had responded to his kisses. Her eyes began to water at all the implications which that fact now exposed.

She was attracted to him physically, and they lived in the same house where she would see him on a regular basis. She could not allow anything to interfere with the care of the children, but how does one control something as intangible as desire? They didn't even like each other. She took the corner of the sheet and wiped her eyes. She finally went to sleep sometime in the night.

-o0o-

Faith had done her best to avoid Mr. Wolfe over several days. She hadn't wanted to confront him immediately after the episode in the library for two good reasons.

Firstly, she didn't want the embarrassment of blushing and stuttering and all the other things one does in front of the person one is physically attracted to.

Secondly, she didn't want the embarrassment of him acting as though it hadn't happened or that it was of no significance or that it happened to him all the time. It was just easier to stay away from him.

The children were marvellous. They were such sweethearts she soon forgot her personal worries, and the days began to find a routine.

One day when they were in the schoolroom, one of the maids came up to say that a Mrs. Brosnan had come to visit with her children and wondered if Faith, Christopher and Helen would like to go out with them for a walk?

Faith looked a bit puzzled as she didn't know a Mrs. Brosnan. The maid, named Rose, seeing her questioning look, quickly explained that the Brosnans lived on the property adjoining that of Mr. Wolfe's. Mr. Brosnan, besides being his neighbour, was also a friend. Faith thanked Rose asking her to tell Mrs. Brosnan she would be right down as soon as the children had put on their outdoor shoes. Both children looked quite eager to meet other children, so they got ready quickly. Faith checked to see there was nothing amiss, and then they went down the main stairway.

There standing in the entry hall was a tall woman with a girl and a boy nearby. The children looked about the same in age as Christopher and Helen, although in their case, the girl was the older. Faith couldn't help admiring how lovely and elegant Mrs. Brosnan looked, even though she was wearing a casual walking dress of light green. The hem was scalloped and decorated with a darker green material made to look like leaves but the rest of the dress was quite plain.

There was just a hint that she might be increasing, as her waist was the only aspect of her which didn't look slender. Her chestnut-coloured hair, hazel eyes and fair complexion were quite striking when played against the pale green, so regards did not linger on her waist. But that alone wasn't what impressed Faith the most. It was her smile which was so charming and welcoming that Faith felt that she'd known her for the longest time.

She greeted Faith with one hand extended while the other held her straw bonnet.

"Hello, I'm Eloïse Brosnan. I heard that the children were quite settled in now with a new governess, so I thought it would be pleasant to spend some time together. This is my daughter, Kate and my son Ben. Kate will be six on her next birthday and Ben has just turned three."

Kate looked a lot like her mother with dark red hair, hazel eyes and pale skin. Ben had dark brown hair and brown eyes. They were both good-looking children.

Faith took Eloïse's hand for the briefest moment saying, "I am delighted to meet you. My name is Faith Eversley, and I am especially happy the children are so close in age. They are sure to have a lot in common. I presume you haven't met the children before?"

"No, we haven't had that pleasure. They haven't been here very long," Eloïse informed her.

"Christopher is five and Helen is three," Faith told her, "but they both seem older than their ages."

She'd said that Christopher was five (as he soon would be) because she didn't want Kate to feel he was too young for her to play with. She pulled Christopher and Helen to her telling them to say hello to Kate and Ben. Kate immediately put an arm around Christopher pulling him aside a little. Faith heard her ask whether he had any animals, because they had a dog and a cat. Before she knew it, they were both talking away six to the one, a half dozen to the other. Helen had gone up to Ben and was telling him she loved to climb, did he? Both Eloïse and Faith had smiles as they began tying their bonnets to go out. It seemed this was going to be one of those windfalls which bring a lot of joy.

Faith felt at ease with Eloïse who apparently felt the same way. She spoke about her beloved husband Henry whom she'd met when they'd been children. Their families had been neighbours in Berkshire and the children in both families had spent at least five years sharing times together. Henry's family had moved away to North America to join other members of their family already making a decent living there. Of course, as children, they'd had no way of keeping a contact with the other family. Twelve years had passed when she had met Henry again by the purest of hazards. He'd returned to England on family business, and they'd met in the street in London.

They knew it was fate, as they had both recognised each other as adults. Everyone knows what an enormous city London is, and yet they were in the same place at the same time. As the French say, it was 'un coup de foudre', a strike of lightning, and they were married within six weeks. She assured Faith that even seven years later she had lost nothing of her love for him.

Faith was like a young romantic girl listening to Eloïse's story. She sighed when it ended in the present. It was at that moment it came to her. The missing ingredient in her life was something which Eloïse had. It wasn't just love but the feeling of a mutual belonging.

"What a marvellous thing to have happened to you! One really does have to believe in fate when such things occur," Faith exuded.

"When this happened to us, Henry decided to make his home here rather than return to America. His family's carpet business is thriving and they needed someone here to transact for them. So, you see, everything has fallen into place with no resistance."

Eloïse took hold of Faith's arm as they walked along behind the children. They had taken the path at the back of the house which led through the flower garden, past the vegetables and into the orchard. Faith realised that Eloïse's charm was natural. She had made her feel comfortable from the very first moment, and now they were exchanging stories as though they had known one another for years.

Faith had related how Mr. Wolfe had found her in Hatfield on market day. She then told that her aunt lived just outside Hatfield. There had been an affinity for both Christopher and Helen as soon as she had met them, and she would be the happiest of women if they'd been her own children. She did not mention the clashes she and Mr. Wolfe had had. She felt it wasn't proper for her to mention anything about Mr. Wolfe and his attitude or their points of disagreement.

They talked about the area and how Eloïse and her husband had come to own the property which adjoined that of Mr. Wolfe's. They had both wanted to live away from London but within fairly easy access for Henry's business. A business associate had mentioned the property was to sell after a long litigation concerning the inheritor's rights. Once the law had settled all quarrels within the owner's family, he had promptly sold it to be rid of the unpleasantness it had engendered, or perhaps it was to spite the others who had caused him trouble.

She and her husband had loved the house and its land upon their first visit and were sure the owner had never set foot there, or he wouldn't have wanted to sell.

Eloïse encouraged Faith to come visit with the children so she could see for herself what a wonderful place it was. Faith smiled and agreed to come before too long.

During this time, the children were enjoying themselves playing hide and seek amongst the trees. It seemed they had made friends just as easily as Faith and Eloïse had. They didn't notice that more than an hour had passed until Kate asked for something to drink as they were all thirsty. Faith looked at her timepiece and saw it was soon time for lunch, so she suggested that they turn back. She asked Eloïse if they wanted to share the meal, but Eloïse refused, saying they were expected at home so they had to leave, but it would be nice to share a meal another time.

When they came around to the front drive, there was a carriage waiting to take the Brosnans home. Eloïse explained she'd asked for it to pick her up at midday. However, in the case that Faith and the children hadn't been free to spend time with them, she would have walked home across the parkland. While saying this, she indicated the direction, which was to the East.

"If you go that way, you will see there is a bridle path which leads to our property. I suspect it has come to be, because of the riders using it as a shortcut between the two homes. It takes about twenty minutes to reach our house, walking from here."

The children scrambled up into the carriage while the groom helped Eloïse into it. They all waved goodbye with words that they would meet again soon.

Faith, Christopher and Helen entered the house feeling very hungry and thirsty, and they certainly did justice to the meal which Millie had prepared for them. Nothing was left as scraps.

Helen curled up on her bed of her own accord after the meal for her nap. She had worn herself out yet again. Christopher lay on his bed but he took one of the books Faith had read to them to look at the pictures before falling asleep himself. Faith sat contented, a warm feeling brought on by the new friendship.

There was one thing which she hadn't forgotten. Perhaps the fact that Kate had spoken about pets had brought it to mind.

Mr. Wolfe had agreed they could have a puppy. When she told them, Christopher's whole face had changed. It was the difference of a dull day to a sunny one. She'd asked Millie if she knew of anyone with puppies to give away, but she didn't. What she did suggest was that Mr. Reed would probably be able to help. He knew all the estate business, including that of the tenant farmers or local farmers. He had tentacles which stretched very far and wide indeed.

The idea came to Faith that she would ask Mr. Wolfe to use his pony trap. Millie would no doubt be agreeable to preparing a teatime picnic basket, and then she and children would seek out Mr. Reed at the old hunting lodge. If he were elsewhere, it wouldn't matter. She could leave him a note about a puppy. The outing would be an adventure for the children capped by the picnic.

She could usually find Mr. Wolfe in the library during the day, when he was at home. It was on the off chance she went there now, having put aside the intimate incident and hoping that in his drunken stupor, he might have forgotten it or thought he'd imagined it. After a quick tap on the door, she heard a mumble which might have been a 'come in.' She composed her face to what she hoped was 'pleasant' and went in.

At first, she couldn't see him, but there was a bit of a scuffling noise behind the desk, so she went to the side of it to find him on his hands and knees trying to grab something which was under the part with the drawers. He looked up and then jumped back, startled to see someone was so near without hearing them arrive. The action caused him to catch his head on the underside of the desk and then get tangled in the legs of the chair. He gave up and lay flat out on the floor holding his head.

"Perhaps I should go upstairs and start my day again? I haven't liked the beginning so far. It may be that with a new start, it would improve."

Was he talking to her or to himself? She ventured an answer.

"I suppose it depends upon whether you believe that our lives are already written or not? I personally wouldn't want to start over if I had to bang my head again."

He smiled in spite of a throbbing knob on his head.

She leaned over him to see if his head was bleeding. Their eyes met and she drew in her breath, remembering the intimacy of their kisses. He might have remembered, but he did not indicate that he had in any way. He immediately turned his head to show her the bump and the action brought her back to the moment.

"You are going to have a goose egg there for a while. You may have to hide it with a hat," she joked.

He got up with a smile, saying he wondered what type of hat would look best in a library.

"Perhaps, a Tam o'Shanter. It would certainly make you more approachable than a top hat," she suggested.

He looked at her intensely for a moment thinking he would be happy to wear a Tam o'Shanter if it encouraged her to approach him. He did remember, however, that he had told her he wouldn't bother her anymore and now he wished he hadn't.

"Remind me to ask Whittle to pop off to Scotland to get one for me, then."

He smiled a little sadly, "Just in case I bumped my head again. So, Miss Eversley, to what do I owe this bump on the head? You wanted to see me about something?"

He became serious again.

"I wondered whether I might use the pony trap to take the children for an outing and a picnic, today?"

Wanting to show that he could be generous, Quentin agreed to her request.

"You'll have a lovely day for it. You're welcome to its use, just tell Ted I said it's all right."

"Thank you."

She gave a big grin before leaving quickly.

As she disappeared out the door, he gave a soft sigh, wishing that he wasn't her employer and that he hadn't told her he would leave her alone. The ache was back.

As soon as she and the children had had lunch, she went to the stables to collect the pony trap. From the side entrance, she loaded the picnic basket and then the two children, with Helen in the middle. At the last minute, she thought to ask for a blanket so they could have their picnic on the ground. One of the grooms produced one which must have been kept expressly for that purpose as she could see traces of dried grass on one side.

With a soft pat on the rump from Ted, the pony was off as docile as one could wish. The children laughed with the jerking of the trap, which in turn made Faith laugh too. The groom had put her on the right road saying it led directly to the lodge. No need to turn or leave the way.

Christopher held on to the side of the trap and his sister. Faith was moved by the concern he showed Helen. He had become a lot more relaxed, which pleased her. The pony had been happily trotting along for about a quarter of an hour when the road ended abruptly in front of what had to be the old hunting lodge.

It was a low sitting house of rubble-stone construction with a deep tiled roof. The door was central with three multi-paned windows on either side of it. There were chimneys at each end of the house and little windows peeked out from under the roof on the first floor. On the whole, it gave the impression of being compact and practical and certainly not ostentatious. It stood in a clearing which had been reclaimed many years hence, as Faith could see a paddock to the side of it. There were old, solid looking trees at the back and an incline with a path leading down through a copse of trees. It looked like a peaceful place to live.

"Well, I think we're here," she announced to the children.

The pony had pulled over to the side and had begun munching the grass.

"You get down first Christopher, and then you can help Helen. Be sure to stay to the side in case the pony takes fright and tries to bolt."

Christopher got down, but before there was time for Helen to descend, Mr. Reed had appeared at his door and was then holding the pony's head. Faith got down with the reins and handed them to Mr. Reed before letting Helen jump into her arms.

"Well this is a surprise." Mr. Reed smiled. "Would you like to come in?"

"Will the pony be all right?" Faith wondered.

"I'll slip him out of the shaft and he can graze."

He released the pony and led him to the paddock at the side of the lodge. He returned to his surprise guests.

"Have you met Christopher Wolfe and his sister Helen?" Faith asked.

"I haven't had that pleasure, although I have caught glimpses of them."

Whereupon he went up to Christopher and pretending he was going to kiss the back of his hand said, "So you must be Helen."

Christopher broke out laughing saying, "Why I believe you need spectacles, Madam."

Mr. Reed was so surprised by the quick response that he laughed spontaneously, and then they were all laughing. Mr. Reed picked up Helen and twirled her around.

"More, more!" she cried.

"Perhaps before you go home," he said winking at her. "I don't want you to feel sick now you've arrived here."

Faith was astonished to see how easily Mr. Reed had taken to the children.

"Are you used to children?"

Curiosity had got the better of her.

"Goodness, when you come from a family of ten, you have no choice but to be used to them," he replied with a chortle.

"When I was little, we slept four in a bed, head to tail. I survived, and I hope I'm a better man for it."

He shrugged good-naturedly.

"Now I can sleep through a thunder storm and not wake."

Faith imagined how full and fun his life must have been when hers had been rather bleak.

"We weren't sure you would be here, so I was prepared to leave you a note. Mr. Wolfe has agreed the children may have a puppy, and Millie felt sure that if anyone knew where to find one, it would be you. Do you know where there are ones to be had, by any chance?"

"Wellll..." he began, "strange you should ask, but YES. I sometimes deal with a local man whose bitch had a litter over a month ago. There were nine and they all survived. They'll probably be ready to go soon, I should think. He still has to find homes for a few of them, so there'll be a choice."

Christopher had been listening attentively.

"When can we go, sir?" he asked anxiously, perhaps afraid that they'd all be gone before he got there.

"Are you free to go tomorrow?" he proposed, looking at Faith.

"We are our own masters and will be pleased to go whenever it is convenient for you, Mr. Reed."

"Tomorrow it is, then, Master Christopher. Don't let me down."

"No Sir," he beamed.

It was a lovely afternoon. Mr. Reed took them to the other side of the lodge and down the path leading to a pond. There were weird black birds swimming on it making peeping sounds. Some had white on their heads and others had red. The children were fascinated and threw bread crumbs at them. Christopher wondered if the colour meant they were girls or boys. Mr. Reed explained that the ones with white were called 'coots' and the ones with red were called 'moorhens'. They were cousins, nothing to do with being male or female.

They had their picnic there with Mr. Reed, who said he was pleased to join them as he must have been twelve the last time he'd had one. Helen dozed off on the blanket. She was such a bundle of energy that sometimes she exhausted herself. They packed everything away before waking her.

"This has been one of the nicest afternoons that I've spent in a long time," Faith sighed.

"There is no end of afternoons left to spend. We shall have to do it again so we don't waste too many of them," he suggested with a grin.

"When do you think we should be ready for you tomorrow? I'd better have a little idea or the children are going to be sitting out waiting for you all day. You, of all people, must know how children are."

"Let us say early tomorrow morning so we'll be able to catch Mr. Clark before he works. He lives quite close to you. Do you think that seven o'clock is too early? I'm afraid it is that or in the evening when he returns."

Christopher piped up saying, "Morning, sir, please."

"So be it. I shall see you tomorrow morning."

He took Faith's hand and kissed the back before helping her to climb into the pony trap. He handed Helen to her while Christopher climbed up alone. Mr. Reed backed the pony into the shaft, gave the reins to Faith and attached the harness once again. They were quickly turned and on their way.

"I am so excited," Christopher whispered. Maybe he didn't realise he'd said it aloud. It made Faith feel happy, bone deep.

-o0o-

Faith opened her eyes to see an anxious little boy looking down at her. He was already dressed.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Miss Eversley, but it is morning, and I don't think it's polite to keep Mr. Reed waiting."

She pulled him to her suddenly to hug him.

She then sat, plumped a kiss on the top of his head before letting him go. He smiled at her.

"Run along then, encourage your sister, and I'll be there in a minute or two."

She washed with the cool water which remained in the jug. She had always been very particular about her hygiene. She hadn't been poor when her father had been alive, so had been careful to always have a bar of scented soap with her. There was no question of buying perfume, as that would have been too extravagant, but the rose scented soap was just as good, she thought. By the time she got to the children's room, she could hear Christopher urging Helen to stand still so he could attach her dress.

"You do want a puppy, don't you?" he was saying. "We have to be ready for Mr. Reed when he comes."

Helen was holding her arms out to the side and dropping them, repeating the action over and over. She didn't know how to stand still, and Faith smiled to see the earnest look on Christopher's face as he struggled with the buttons on the back of her dress. Faith felt her eyes prick but blinked rapidly. She wanted these children to be hers with a hunger she hadn't known existed. The would-be-tears were for the sadness of knowing it could never be.

It was another lovely day. Because of the early hour, it was still cool and there was dew clinging to the grass. Faith loved this time in the morning more than any other moment in the day, just as she preferred spring to all the other seasons. They went out by the side entrance and came around to the front of the house in time to see Mr. Reed arrive in his own pony trap.

She realised she was pleased to see him.

She handed Helen up to him and then went to the other side to help Christopher climb aboard before getting up herself. Looking at them with a smile, Mr. Reed asked a perfectly redundant question.

"Ready?"

Then to the pony, "walk-on," and the pony began to move. A "trot-on" had the pony happily trotting towards the gates. Then the adventure began.

She suspected that by the easy manner with which Mr. Clark greeted them that Mr. Reed had probably let him know they were coming. The puppies were eight weeks old and apparently independent. They scampered around and rolled over each other having a great time together. They were all, without exception, black and brown with dashes of white. Their coats were just a little curly and silky to touch.

She could imagine why Christopher was not attaching too much attention to one dog. No doubt he didn't want to be disappointed if he found one he liked a lot, and then heard it was spoken for. Mr. Clark came straight to the point by saying there were only males left to choose from.

"It's easy enough. The dogs which have already been spoken for have a bit of string around their necks, and the others are still free."

In a flash, Christopher picked up a puppy that he'd already noticed in spite of himself.

"This one doesn't have any string. May we have him, Sir?"

Mr. Clark ran a hand over the dog's head affectionately.

"Well it looks as though you've got him already, lad. Yes, he's yours as long as you promise to take care of him?"

"I promise, sir," and he planted a kiss on the wriggling puppy's head.

"When may we take him home?"

Mr. Clark looked serious before saying with a smile, "It may be a little early but he's solid. I reckon you can take him now. It will save me searching for a piece of string."

Christopher couldn't believe it was true. NOW. He hugged and kissed the puppy.

"Look, Helen, he's ours."

She took him in hers arms and then handed him back to Christopher saying, "You hold him, he wiggles."

They didn't dawdle but thanked Mr. Clark again and left with Christopher holding the puppy. What better start was there to a day? Faith couldn't think of one.

The week was a whirlwind for her, the children and the puppy, who was now called Wizard or Wizz. Mr. Wolfe had met him and scratched behind his ears and admitted he was a fine specimen. In an aside, he'd said to Faith that some good could come from blackmail...which made her blush as he'd obviously not forgotten the library incident.

Everyone in the household was spoiling the puppy with cuddles and walks, but he seemed to sense that Christopher was his. He slept on his bed and looked to him before going anywhere. They were made for each other.

Faith took stock of her situation, three weeks to the day after arriving.

She could not have imagined having such a happy life. The last few years with her father hadn't been unhappy. They'd simply been barren.

At night in bed, she squealed to herself with childish delight thinking what a stroke of luck it had been the day Mr. Wolfe had passed in the market. The big, cold, impersonal house didn't reach the second floor any more. They'd made their own universe which was filled with wild flowers, paintings on the wall, and treasures which were accumulating rapidly on the long shelf below the windows.

Wizz had a bed in the schoolroom where he knew he was supposed to stay when the children were practising their numbers or letters. They'd had enormous fun one rainy day doing portraits of each other. The sweetest were those of Wizz who had been curled up asleep at the time. They were now amongst those pictures hanging on the wall.

Mr. Wolfe had come up to their rooms and had commented on how cosy they were. Faith had to admit, he was making an effort.

Quentin was making more of an effort than she realised.

He knew he lacked imagination. He wished it weren't so, because what he'd always seen as an analytical mind was now a handicap to him. He didn't know how to be frivolous or spontaneous. He needed control because otherwise he felt a type of vertigo which left him near to panic — out of his depth.

Perhaps that was part of what drew him to Faith. She was natural and spontaneously adapted to any situation, sure of herself. And she was lovely, soft and smelt good. He was going to have a problem keeping his word as he was drawn more and more often to the school room on the second floor.

He had to get away.

Jasper had been badgering him to come to London and now that there was only about a month left to the 'Season', Quentin thought it might serve to change his ideas. A few lovely women fluttering their lashes at him would be good for his ego. His lack of amorous activity was certainly not helping with regard to Faith.

After his evening meal, he told Whittle that he intended to leave for London on Sunday for about a month. This automatically meant Whittle was to prepare his trunk for that period of time and prepare himself, because he would be accompanying him. It would also mean he would have to organise Ted the driver, the carriage they would be using etc... Whittle was used to the life.

On the Sunday morning, Quentin was shaved, washed, dressed and ready to leave for London by ten o'clock. Now that everything was in motion, he was quite excited about going.

It had been arranged that, as he wanted to ride there on Breugel, Whittle and Ted would follow in the shay with the baggage. They all knew where they were going, so they'd arrive when they could. Quentin left without a backward glance, not wishing to spoil his view of a lively future in London by looking back at what he would be leaving behind.

Chapter 5

Jasper Coutts, Viscount of Wexton, had had the good fortune of securing the lease on a house in Cork Street, Mayfair, through the perspicacity of his solicitors. But then, that is why they were paid so well.

The lease came to an end on the 31st of August, which meant he would have spent six months in London. Some of those months were the most important to someone who was anyone in London 'Society,' and he'd made the most of them to date. He was, however, pleased to know that his long-time friend Quentin was on his way. The season had dwindled, and fresh blood was always welcome.

His valet had just brought him in a strong coffee with toast and marmalade which he was sampling in bed.

'It must be at least two in the afternoon,' he estimated, noting that the sun had come around to shine tentatively through his curtains.

'I wonder, will Quentin arrive today or tomorrow?' he thought.

Sunday was Jasper's day to recover from the week, so he didn't worry unnecessarily about Quentin. He would be at home whether he arrived today or tomorrow.

"Biggs, that was one of the best coffees ever!" he called to the man in his dressing room, who appeared immediately.

"Any chance of a second?" Jasper looked hopeful.

"I would hate to spoil one of the 'best coffees ever', Sir, by providing another. Two would make it run of the mill," Biggs replied in his driest tone.

"You are a tonic, Biggs," Jasper replied laughing. "Let's hope that the second isn't quite as good as the first, then."

Biggs sidled off to fetch another, taking the tray with him.

Jasper ran a hand through his thick blond hair. Then he passed it over his bristling jaw which was beginning to itch. He was going to have to make an effort to get up anyway. Bodily comforts called.

He'd spent a good part of the night with his mistress, who was pretty but insipid. He wasn't smitten enough to want to wake up in her bed. Her time was counted now, and she knew it. When he left town at the end of August, he would be leaving her too, but a gift of jewellery would soften the separation.

That was the wonderful thing about his mistresses. They could be compared to a lease on a house. Good for a season.

Jasper was roughly the same age as Quentin. They'd gone to the same schools. They'd both gone to Oxford too, until Jasper had been sent down. He hadn't seen any point to studying, as he didn't need to work. His finances had been handled by his father until his death and now by solicitors, his man of business and bankers. He didn't have to worry about anything. He could even die knowing the title would go to his brother and his brother's boys. He loved having a good time and a good laugh. Some might even say he was reasonable as he didn't gamble. He was glad Quentin was arriving, though, because he had started to be bored.

Biggs arrived with the second cup of coffee and disappeared into the dressing room again, probably to prepare his shaving things and his clothes.

Jasper slid out of bed and stood naked in front of the cheval glass. He turned sideways to look at his body's profile. His stomach muscles and thighs were toned thanks to his love of riding. His hand passed across the planes of his chest which showed a smattering of curly hair. He found that he was still in good shape. He reckoned he was still young enough that his body would cope with any of the excesses he made it endure. No unneeded padding adorned him; he still looked good, but to what purpose? He was on his own, which was equivalent to being alone. Something was going to have to change...

Quentin had been enjoying the ride up to London. The weather was fine, Breugel was a delight to ride and the inn where he'd stopped to lunch had served an exceptional meal with a light ale which had quenched his thirst. He'd hesitated as whether to spend a night in an inn or to continue on to Jasper's. It meant he would arrive about six in the evening but it wouldn't yet be dark. So, he continued. Cork Street hadn't been difficult to find and he knew that the house had stables in the 'cul-de-sac' behind it.

Jasper seemed sincerely happy to see him and they finished the evening with a vintage bottle of Claret. He actually slept quite well and woke to the strange noises of a city. Their first evening on the town had already been planned by Jasper. They were invited to dine with some of his friends of 'minor aristocracy' in his words.

"Jasper, dear lad, I hope you don't intend to wear me out in my first five days of being here," Quentin joked.

"No, it should take a full week," Jasper teased back.

"Well, that's all right then." Quentin let out a breath of fake relief.

It wasn't far from the truth, though. They were wined and dined all over London. They'd spent several evenings in Jasper's club. They had been out driving in the park and had even had a picnic beside the River Thames with a small party of friends. They had received invitations galore to the point where Jasper was throwing them over his shoulder as he said, "yes, no (over his shoulder), yes, maybe, yes, no."

It had been a long time since Quentin had laughed so much.

He'd had the satisfaction of being 'pursued' by several attractive women, who were known to be married. This was practically an invitation into their beds, but it wasn't enough to tempt Quentin. Perhaps it came back to his lack of imagination (although it wasn't lacking where Faith was concerned), or to his analytical mind which told him that a 'toss in the hay' wasn't worth the guilt he would feel afterwards. He wondered why, with age, his scruples had changed, because fifteen years ago, he wouldn't have hesitated jumping into bed with any woman who invited him, regardless of her looks or marital state. So now, he continued the flirting game and nothing else.

-o0o-

A couple of days after Quentin's departure, Eloïse sent a groom to extend an invitation to Faith and the children. They were invited to come to lunch the next day. As the groom was waiting for the reply, Faith hastily penned her thanks saying they would be happy to come.

She was a little sad she didn't have more dresses to choose from as she would have liked to look a little more presentable for a luncheon invitation. There was no point dwelling on the lack though, but it did make her think she should arrange to have her belongings collected from her friends. She needed to wait until Mr. Wolfe returned to ask if there was some way for her to collect them.

That evening, Faith had a devil of a job to get the children to sleep. They were so excited about going to see their new friends the next day that they couldn't stop asking Faith questions. Christopher wanted to take Wizz with them being so proud to have his own dog, but Faith was firm about leaving him at home. She explained that Kate and Ben would see him soon enough when they came on their next visit and besides, he wouldn't want him to get lost or fight with their animals. Christopher understood, so agreed, although Faith could see the disappointment in his eyes.

When they finally slept, Faith threw herself into her bed and was asleep in record time.

Going to the Brosnan's on foot with the children had Faith hesitating. A twenty-minute walk there wouldn't have been too difficult for them, but then they would have to walk home, no doubt worn out by that time. So, she decided that the pony trap might be the best way to go on their first visit. Later she was glad to have used it, as the children had begun to drag their feet by the time they were ready to go home. She had to remember they were still little with energy that came in bursts.

-o0o-

The Brosnans had been waiting to give them a warm welcome to Farland House. It seemed that Kate and Ben had been watching out for their arrival for a good twenty minutes before they were due and were ecstatic when they heard the sound of the pony and cart on the bridle path. When Faith and the children broke out of the woodlands, they were greeted by Kate and Ben waving with both hands while jumping up and down, which got both Christopher and Helen waving back, as happy as Faith had ever seen them.

Henry Brosnan was there very briefly before leaving on estate business. He was a pleasant looking man, tall and slender with dark brown hair and eyes. Faith had imagined that he would be more outstanding than he was, because Eloïse was so lovely, but Faith realised that it was of no importance. She could see that he and Eloïse were purely happy. He had waited expressly to make her acquaintance and had then departed giving Eloïse a quick kiss on the lips with a hand that passed in an almost imperceptible caress across her abdomen.

Farland House and its grounds were lovely. The house itself sat comfortably surrounded by flower beds with the drive leading up to them and then a wide path cutting through them up to the three steps at the front door. The house only had one floor more above the ground floor. The servant quarters were in a separate building at the back of the house and to one side, in line with the stables and carriage house. Faith would see it later as Eloïse showed her around.

All the rooms had the benefit of wide windows which let in a lot of light with their painted wooden shutters folding inside the rooms rather than outside. The kitchen was unusual in that it was a half basement at the front of the house due to a higher terrain. It had half windows looking out on the drive, but it came into its own at the back where it was ground level. Wide windows and a door with a climbing rose over it opened onto the vegetable and herb gardens which were interspersed with perennial flowers. It was a wonderful place to live with harmonious proportions. Faith immediately understood Eloïse's enthusiasm for the place. She would love it too, had it been hers.

The lunch consisted of everything which might make a child pleased to eat it. All the children were well behaved and as soon as it was permitted, left the table to explore the house together. Kate and Ben's nursemaid followed them at a safe distance, so Faith was able to relax with Eloïse.

"I was wondering, Faith, would you accept a couple of my dresses as a present? Before you say anything, please know that I won't be able to wear them again for a long while and by then, they'll no doubt be out of fashion. I'm sure you will only need to take up the hem as we are of a similar build, otherwise. What do you think?"

Faith had hardly expected to hear any such offer on so short an acquaintance. She didn't know what was correct to say. Eloïse noticed her hesitation.

"Dear Faith, we need to spoil ourselves every now and then. The children are wonderful, but they have to know that they aren't the centre of the world. You have to show that you take care of yourself too. It would really please me if you would accept, as I do have so many clothes which will be out of use until after this baby is born."

Faith laughed.

"I'm afraid I have no argument ready. You're right the way you have put it. So yes, thank you very much for your generous offer. I have to admit I am a little tired of my limited wardrobe."

They spent an hour with the dresses Eloïse wanted to give her and when she left later in the afternoon, it was with three that suited her colouring.

Eloïse had confided in Faith that the baby was due at the end of November or the beginning of December and she had not suffered from her condition in any way. She was very excited about having a baby in the house again. It seemed that producing babies wasn't as easy for her as for so many other women.

Faith smiled saying one always heard about the poor women who had children at the drop of a hat, so it made a change to hear it wasn't the same for everyone. She then laughed out loud saying to Eloïse, that here they were discussing a subject which was normally taboo, and they hadn't known each other more than two days. Eloïse replied she had felt they would be friends from the beginning, so why waste time skirting around subjects? Friends could talk about whatever they liked.

When the afternoon drew to a close, they had trouble getting the children to leave. It seemed they too had established firm friendships. Christopher was quite a different boy when with Kate. He seemed to take charge and Kate looked up to him. Eloïse smiled to Faith.

"It looks like history is repeating itself," she said.

She nodded towards the two older children.

"In that case, it's a happy story in the making," Faith added quickly with a smile. "Thank you for a lovely lunch and afternoon. Perhaps you would like to come to us the next time, we can organise a picnic? Do you think it would suit you if we planned something for next week?"

Faith realised Eloïse might have other obligations.

"I'll send you a note, if that's all right? Thank you again, Eloïse. The children have had a wonderful time. It is really a stroke of luck for us all that you live here."

Faith was truly pleased to have the perfect neighbours. That evening Christopher and Helen went to sleep while relating everything which had happened. They were transformed in a way she would never have been able to accomplish on her own. She was doubly glad.

-o0o-

Quentin had been taken along with the drift of Jasper's life in London. They had crammed so much into each day and night that he was beginning to feel that he'd been away from home for months. He often thought of Faith in her blue or peach coloured gowns, but at night he dreamed of her naked. He was grateful in a sense that Jasper had kept them both busy so he didn't dwell on what he might be missing at home.

All continued in the same vein until the morning he woke with hands gently caressing his back and buttocks and kisses being plied to his bare shoulder. He was in bed with a woman he only vaguely remembered.

Dear God, how had that happened?

He turned and lifted the covers to find that she was just as naked as he!

It suddenly jarred. He didn't know if it was the alcohol he'd consumed the night before or not, but he felt sick.

He dashed for the dressing room and a basin and vomited. Whittle appeared from the adjoining room to hand him his dressing gown without a word. He obviously knew better than to admit he was a witness to an embarrassing situation, and the situation wasn't the fact he was being sick.

Quentin returned to his bedroom where the woman was lying back against the pillows, her naked breasts blatantly exposed and a grin on her face. It was the last thing he wanted to see at that moment. He returned to the dressing room saying over his shoulder, "I'm sorry, but you'll have to go. I am feeling decidedly ill."

Whittle reappeared and silently handed him a strong coffee.

"Would you please see that 'Madame' returns home safely," he asked Whittle his eyes down, his nose in the coffee mug.

It was dreadful to be caught out like this, back to student days when it was thought a lark. Whittle had gone again, probably to get a maid to help 'Madame.' Quentin was sitting on a padded chair rubbing his face, dragging his hands through his hair. He didn't remember whether he'd had sex or not. He hoped not. He would remember, wouldn't he?

"Perhaps my Lord would like a bath?" Whittle suggested.

Whatever had happened, a bath would be the first step to cleansing himself.

"Yes please, and don't forget to add ice as due punishment," he said, almost seriously.

Whittle left with the tiniest of smirks on his face.

Jasper didn't surface until very late. He'd had the good sense to be debauched somewhere else. He'd crept home at dawn and then slept until restored, which came to late afternoon.

Quentin was wondering if he could ask to change bedrooms. It was beyond his moral conscience to return to that blighted bed. The thought alone made him ill. Maybe he could ask Whittle to change with him? How was it possible to be thirty five years old, as near as damn it, and behave suddenly like a depraved libertine?

He'd been gone for nearly three weeks and he now knew that it was time to go home once and for all. He didn't expect to set foot in London again, if he could help it.

He'd had lunch on his own, ruminating past, present and future. He was now sitting in an armchair, hours later, still ruminating. He had lost it... his direction.

Jasper strolled into the room looking pleased with himself. He did stop from commenting when he saw the black look which had settled on Quentin's face. He went to the decanter and poured a glass of red wine and then raised his eyebrows to Quentin with the decanter in his hand.

"No thank you. It would be a waste."

"Drink a little too much yesterday evening?" Jasper suggested.

"That is an understatement. It was all too much."

He looked drained.

"Jasper, I'm going home. I'm not used to this high-flying. I'm sorry if you think I'm letting you down, but it will be the death of me. I've lived a too quiet life to change now."

Jasper put his head to one side as he looked down at him.

Quentin continued by saying, "You're welcome to come home with me, if you like?"

"I don't think so," Jasper replied, "I have my own country property where I can dig a hole and bury myself, if the urge grabs me. Thank you just the same."

"I'll be leaving tomorrow."

"Well, if I'm not up in time, have a safe journey home. You do realise that this is probably the definite parting of ways...?"

Quentin nodded.

-o0o-

Mr. Reed had come by ten days after they'd gone for Wizz; a week after Quentin had left for London. He'd wanted to check that all was well in case there had been second thoughts about keeping the dog. He hadn't needed to mention it, once he'd seen how well integrated the puppy was.

He took advantage of the visit to explain to Faith that she should go into St Alban's to order her working clothes at Mandle's. The shop was used to supplying the Baron Isleworth's staff with their clothes and would forward the note to be paid. He reminded her she was also allowed to order shoes.

Baron Isleworth? Faith's face suddenly went blank as the information sank in. Quentin Wolfe was a Baron?

Mentally, she pushed herself in an effort to continue the discussion with Mr. Reed. She would think about this news later. When she mentioned she was missing her aunt and her companion, he seized the occasion to propose his services to accompany her and the children for a visit; perhaps one afternoon the following week?

"One of those afternoons which are to be spent and not wasted," he reminded her with a smile.

He hadn't been able to free himself immediately, so they had gone ten days later.

In the meantime, Faith had invited Eloïse, Kate and Ben to come for a picnic, but they'd had a surprise visit from some of Eloïse's family, so asked to postpone the picnic to another day. Not wishing for the children to be disappointed and having a beautiful day ahead, Faith took them on one anyway. They took Wizz, who loved sniffing at every little hole he found. It seemed to Faith that both Christopher and Helen had grown quite dramatically in the few weeks that they'd been in her care. Also, they were both more relaxed and confident—dare she say happier?

James Reed appeared as soon as he was free to accompany them all to her aunt's.

Their visit had surprised both the ladies, who were ecstatic. Her aunt had clapped her hands with joy when she'd opened the door to find them all. Nessie had rushed around preparing goodies for them to sample and then had spent some time outside with the children and the donkeys. Christopher and Helen were surprisingly good and polite. Florence could see that Faith was now the centre of their world.

She'd later looked appraisingly at Mr. James Reed, but had kept her thoughts to herself. It seemed that Faith hadn't noticed or had preferred not to notice the lingering looks he laid upon her.

The afternoon had gone far too quickly. They'd had to make a move, because it would soon be time for the children's evening meal and Faith hadn't thought to ask Millie to keep it back. Hasty goodbyes were made, but that only added excitement to the enjoyable afternoon. Helen went to sleep in Faith's arms on the journey home.

Mr. Reed drove up the stone drive and around to the side of the house to deposit Faith and the children at the side entrance.

There, to everyone's surprise, was Quentin Wolfe, the reins of his horse in hand, apparently just arrived back from London. Upon hearing the wheels on the gravel, he'd turned to face the approaching vehicle. Seeing the image of familial bliss which had blossomed in his absence, shocked him before it twisted his stomach into knots.

This was his domain!

What gave them the right to go about, enjoying themselves on his property as soon as he was gone? His estate manager, his governess and his nephew and niece. He scowled as he handed his horse over to the groom and went in without a word to anyone.

Once in the hall, the door shut, he had trouble breathing. He gasped, drawing in ragged breaths. He found he still held his riding crop, so he slung it away from him towards a table with a bowl of flowers, barely missing them. He could hear their muffled voices outside and didn't want to be reminded of the intimacy they shared, so he strode to the staircase and mounted it, two stairs at a time. He entered his bedroom and closed the door firmly leaning back against it while he tried to gather his thoughts.

He'd come home thinking of Faith, never imagining her life had continued in his absence. If he were to admit the truth, his whole time in London had been tainted by his memories of Faith. Every woman who had approached him had been compared to her subconsciously. Now he felt as though the bottom had fallen out of his hopes, out of his life. He couldn't be more alone than at this moment.

Even Whittle wasn't here yet.

He was in a void.

He walked slowly to the tall-backed armchair and sank into it wearily. This was pathetic. For an instance, he had understood how one could be driven to suicide. The vacuum he had sensed could suck the life out of you. He continued to sit looking far beyond the room. He hardly noticed the twilight hour. His room looked grey and then as time passed, it was without light — pitch black like his mood. He had no idea of the time. He couldn't see the hour on his watch in the dark. He would have spent the night where he was without moving, except that now he had to piss.

Before standing, he pulled off his riding boots and stockings. The cool air he felt with them gone was good.

He now stood and shucked off his jacket, pulled away the neck cloth which he must have already untied at some time, opened and removed his shirt and found that the removal of all this apparel gave him a liberty which he'd never appreciated before. He took off his trousers and stood in his drawers for a moment surprised at himself. He removed his drawers. Here he stood erect, uncovered, a man who was purely Quentin, without the trimmings.

He lit a candle to go down the corridor to the water closet. This entire floor was his. There was no one here at the moment who shared it, so he wasn't concerned about his naked state.

He went in, pissed, washed his hands and came out. He turned to go back to his room when something moved at his feet. The feeble candlelight revealed a dark bulk which had come over to sniff him, and he knew it was the 'blackmail' puppy who had grown. He bent down to pat him and the candle spluttered and went out.

At the same moment, he heard soft footsteps coming down the back stairs, so he flattened himself against the wall in the dark.

Hiding in the dark was getting to be a habit.

"Wizz, where are you?" a woman's voice whispered.

She suddenly appeared at his level in a halo of candlelight and his breath caught in his throat as he recognised the source of his discontentment. It struck like a knife to the heart that he wanted this governess for himself, and he didn't want to share her. It was at that moment the puppy decided to wee on his foot.

"Oh damn." he muttered without thinking.

"Mr. Wolfe?"

She advanced holding her candle higher, then stopped as she took in his rather statuesque form in the dim light. The little of him illuminated by her candle made her think of his body as that of a Greek God. She didn't look to see if there was a vine leaf in place.

"Oh my." She smiled unable to resist saying, "this is going to be worth a lot in blackmail."

That was the last straw!

The word 'blackmail' took him in a flash to their embrace in the library. He knocked the candle from her hand as he pulled her to him. The light had gone but his mouth found hers as he pulled her up his body and held her tight to him. All but her toes had left the floor and she threw her arms around his neck for support. He groaned as she sighed into his mouth.

He could feel all of her body through the cotton nightdress. He wanted to rip it off her but daren't relax his hold for fear of losing her. Their mouths moved on their own, kissing, licking, sucking and biting. He lowered a hand to her bottom and pulled her tighter to him.

He had to have this woman. He had spent all his free moments thinking about her, even when he hadn't wanted to. He groaned again as reality surfaced with an animal licking his hairy leg. He bent his head to her shoulder and inhaled heavily as his breathing calmed.

She spoke softly saying, "You'd better put me down before we're both in trouble."

"I don't want to," he admitted, hugging her to him tenderly.

He put soft kisses on her neck and shoulder but he could feel her hands pushing herself away gently. So, he set her on her feet and stood flat against the wall again, palms feeling the cool texture of the paint.

He was glad that it was dark. She wouldn't be able to see the desolation he felt.

She left quietly with the puppy in the dark. He stood against the wall until all was silent and then he returned to the water closet to relieve himself in a way that he hadn't, since he was fifteen.

Faith kept Wizz with her. No point wandering around risking her virtue again. She kept losing candles too. She sniffled. What was she to do? She was faced with a predicament and no solution in sight.

Quentin Wolfe was a loner, that was obvious to her now. So much would depend upon whether it was by choice or circumstance. If it were by choice, she was doomed whatever she did. If he wanted her badly enough, he could use the children to get her into his bed or she could refuse and leave. No commitment there on his part and her loss if she refused.

There was the tiniest glimmer of hope that it was circumstance which made him solitary. He may not have met a woman who attracted him. There was certainly a strong attraction between them, whatever else one might say about a clashing of characters. In that case, he might consider marrying her and forming a family with the children.

Wait a minute — marriage? She didn't know him. She hadn't liked him and only tolerated him now because of the physical effect he had on her. She'd seen how rude he was when they'd come home earlier. He tended to sulk if he was contradicted. He made no attempt to get to know people. No wonder he might be solitary from circumstance. Who would want to know him?

She groaned.

She loved those children and they loved her. That was the crux of the matter. As her aunt would say, 'you have to start by aiming high.' She'd talked him into twenty pounds, hadn't she? Maybe she could talk him into marriage? If she were prepared to sacrifice herself for the children, better aim for marriage.

Mistress or wife, the only time she would have to spend with him would probably be in bed, so that was all right. It would be one place where they would like each other. Feeling that she'd found a solution, she was able to sleep with an easier mind.

Quentin now lay in his bed wide awake. He couldn't escape the inner ache he felt for Faith no matter which way he turned in the bed. He knew it went deeper than his physical attraction to her. He wanted her to want him in the way she did the children.

His birthday would be soon but who knew or cared? It all came down to wanting to have someone to love and who cared. He was pathetically jealous of the children, because they already had her affection. Tomorrow he would have to talk to Miss Eversley and establish exactly how things lay between them, because he couldn't bear the situation as it stood today. And the idea that she might be considering James Reed...

He slept fitfully but without dreams.

Quentin prepared himself carefully the next morning. He wore grey trousers with a dark blue superfine coat, white shirt and a dark blue neckcloth. The mother of pearl pin he used in the neckcloth had no particular value except Jeremy had given it to him when he had begun to wear neckcloths. The sentimental value was more binding than the monetary value could ever be.

Looking at himself in the long mirror, he knew he wasn't handsome, but that he did cut a fine figure. He was tall, broad shouldered and in good shape from the physical work on the estate and from his horsemanship. He had a thick head of hair, all his teeth and decent hands. He stood straight and had no fat on him. Women were supposed to take all of that into account when looking for a 'mate', weren't they? He had the added attraction, for all his other failings, of being rich and a Baron to boot.

This was going through his head as he was preparing himself to confront Faith. Before going down he suddenly realised this was the Saturday he met with James Reed.

Blast! That took the wind out of his sails, but it had to be, as it was too late to cancel.

He hadn't been seated at the table with breakfast more than five minutes before James arrived. Quentin looked at him trying to see him as a woman would. Unfortunately, he could see that he would be called handsome.

Not good.

Bugger! It was a futile exercise in self-torture, so forget that.

"So how did your time in London go?" James enquired. "Did you make any new acquaintances?"

"It was fair to middling but it palled at the end. I'm not made for city life. I doubt I'll return, unless there's a dire need for me to go. Did everything go well in my absence?" Quentin tried to keep his tone neutral, although jealousy was roiling away in his gut.

"Nothing out of the ordinary to report. We had rain while you were gone which came just at the right time, so it's going to be a good crop this year.

"Apart from that, yesterday, we all went to visit Miss Eversley's aunt as she hadn't seen her since coming here. That's where we'd come from when you saw us arrive. The outings are a great adventure for the children."

"So your excursions have become a regular occurrence?" Quentin forced himself to ask.

"Not as much as I'd like. Miss Eversley is charming company and I hope that she is not indifferent to mine."

He smiled.

Quentin's stomach lurched. He had to leave the room now or he'd be sick.

"Excuse me just a minute..."

He stood and left hurriedly. He went to the kitchen to ask for a glass of water as an excuse. He returned to the dining room and stuck his head in the door for James Reed's benefit.

"I'm going into the library now, but you don't have to hurry. Join me when you're ready."

A little while later, Reed appeared and they began to go over the estate's business. The morning passed with Quentin half listening. They had lunch and an hour later, they'd gone over everything and finished. It was a relief for Quentin.

James took his leave asking Quentin to pass his regards to Miss Eversley when he saw her. Quentin resisted grinding his teeth in front of Reed, but he couldn't shut the door quickly enough behind him as he left. He returned to the library trying to slam its door, but it wouldn't slam. Something to do with air pressure, he guessed as he finished shutting it with his foot.

He went and sat behind his desk and slouched in the chair his hands over his face. Tired, mentally tired.

In his absence, things had got out of hand.

Someone tapped at the door. He thought it might be Miss Eversley. He straightened in the chair and called to 'come in.' It was Whittle who was making it known that they were back from London.

"Glad to see you back safely, Whittle. You and Ted may take the rest of the day off. And you can have tomorrow off too."

"Why, thank you, my Lord. I'll tell Ted, and if you feel you can manage, I'll go into St Albans to my sister's. I'll be back in action for you first thing Monday morning."

"Perfect. Enjoy your free time."

Whittle left with a smile. He didn't have a sister in St Albans.

Five minutes later, another knock on the door.

'No point in trying to guess,' Quentin thought. 'Too many servants lived in the house. It might even be Ted coming to thank him for the free time.'

"Come in."

This time it was Miss Eversley, and he was surprised. He'd had a mounting resentment within him that she had been continuing her life enjoying herself without him, while he had been unhappy without her.

He jumped to his feet and asked her to be seated. She was back to her washed-out blue dress. Hadn't she been on an 'excursion' to St. Albans yet? He'd have to mention it to James that she needed her dress allowance filled. James was slipping in his attentions, he thought sarcastically, inflicting pain on himself so he wouldn't relent now that Faith was in front of him. He looked at her and he couldn't imagine why he hadn't seen her as 'impressive' before Reed had mentioned it. She was lovely even in a faded, plain dress. It wasn't fair.

"Mr. Reed asked me to give you his regards. He left about a half an hour ago."

Why was he turning the knife in his own wound?

She sensed he wasn't happy so didn't say anything.

"So what may I do for you, Miss Eversley?"

"May I speak frankly?" she asked tentatively but with a smile.

He didn't like the sound of that question but he tried to remain bland.

"Yes."

It was all he said.

"You know I am devoted to the children?"

She saw that he nodded but was not reassured by his coldness.

"And you may have noticed that we have a certain attraction to each other?"

He nodded again with a wry smile. He knew only too well that they were physically drawn to each other. Where was this leading, he wondered, almost worried. Was she going to find something to hold against him?

She hesitated now.

What had seemed a reasonable solution lying quietly in her bed now struck her as ludicrous, but she didn't want to back down now, so she continued.

"I thought that perhaps you might consider marrying me...?" she said rapidly before trailing off so the 'me' was barely audible.

He relaxed as he understood that he, in fact, had the upper hand.

"Now why would I do that, Miss Eversley?"

"Blackmail?"

She ventured the word as a jest, but then saw that there wasn't the least hint of humour in his look.

"Ah, but I have a better word," he retorted. "Coercion."

She didn't understand.

"I'm sorry. I was only joking about blackmail, I thought you realised..."

"But I'm not joking about coercion. I admit that I am attracted to you, but two encounters hardly merit marriage. What I suggest is that you pass an entire night with me in my bed, and then we will see what arrangement might suit. Where the coercion enters is — if you are not agreeable, consider yourself dismissed."

Her face drained of blood. She was paralysed. She tried to raise a hand to wipe a strand of hair from her cheek, but the hand missed her face and her eyes began to fill with tears. The moment had come when she had to decide. She'd never really thought it would happen. Why had he become bitter like this? He had been tender last night and she had really thought that she would have given herself to him had they continued any longer.

"Are you perfectly sure you don't wish to retract what you've just said to me? I will treat it as pleasantry if you do."

She gave him a half smile and the chance to change his mind.

"Yes, I'm perfectly certain," he said confidently.

"Before I leave, Mr. Wolfe — because I will be leaving — let me tell you that I might have given myself to you without coercion and without marriage."

She stood without another word and left.

Miserably, he watched her go, wondering how he could have misjudged everything so badly. He'd calculated that if she'd agreed to one night, it would give him the last word. She would be his and then he would marry her. Now it was certain that he'd just ruined at least three lives in one blow.

Jealousy is a nasty sentiment when it gnaws away at you...

Chapter 6

Faith had been gone for more than a month.

At first, he hadn't believed she would really go, even after her speech. And then, he'd thought she'd come back, once she was satisfied he'd been duly punished. Too late, he knew now he'd lost her, and at the same time, any hope of happiness he might have harboured.

Maids were relaying to watch over the children, but that couldn't last. When he'd known for certain Faith had gone, he'd forced himself to go up to the nursery to see the children. It was the least he could do to begin to purge his guilt. He was amazed every time he saw the transformation of the four rooms on the second floor. There were bright colours everywhere he looked. There was an abundance of flowers with a fragrance that permeated the rooms, because Christopher had continued to pick them for Faith. Everything was neat and tidy but there was an air of the place being lived-in. He sat on one of the small children's chairs which made him look ridiculous. They hadn't said anything expecting him to start. Christopher sat in a similar chair next to him holding the puppy in his arms giving him kisses to his head every now and then. Helen was sitting on the rug a thumb in her mouth. Something he'd never seen her do before.

"I'm afraid we argued and Miss Eversley decided to leave us. I'm sorry. I shall have to find someone else to take her place, but if you would try to be good in the meantime, I would appreciate it."

What else could one say to infants? He wondered how his brother Jeremy had managed, but when one is present from the beginning, perhaps it comes naturally? He got up ready to leave and then added, "If you need to speak to me, don't be afraid to come and find me."

That was probably why brave little Christopher had come to him, willing to give up his dog if Miss Eversley would come back. He'd thought the puppy had been the reason for their dispute.

A note had arrived for Faith from Eloïse Brosnan a little after she'd left. Quentin had been surprised, as it was yet another change which had taken place without him being aware. She had evidently made the acquaintance of the Brosnans. He didn't open the note but put a quick note of his own with it to send back. His note had said he was sorry to say that Miss Eversley had decided to leave without giving a forwarding address. He hoped the family was well and to have the pleasure of seeing them again soon.

What else could he say? That he was a nincompoop?

There was a middle-aged woman looking after the children now. She was pleasant enough and they hadn't complained. She was a nursemaid, not a governess, so he found he was trying to spend more time with the children to compensate for the blow they'd been dealt. It was true Christopher was a bright little boy. He actually found himself having conversations with him. Who would have thought it possible with a five-year-old? Helen was likeable too. She didn't hesitate to put her arms around his neck and kiss him before running off distracted by something else. Was this the flip side of the coin? Through commotion he had found harmony in a semblance of family.

James Reed hadn't said anything to him, but there was now a chill on their working relationship. Perhaps he'd guessed there had been more going on between them than an employer and employee? Perhaps that was why he hadn't tried to win Faith for himself once she'd gone.

Quentin was tired of trying to analyse, decipher and to understand non-substantial quantities. He preferred it when he could write it down or touch it, but that wouldn't get Faith back.

He'd never felt so bereft in his life.

Irene had disappointed him, even secretly embarrassed him, but he'd felt a sense of relief once he'd stepped back from her. Irene and Faith were of two different worlds. It would be like comparing gems to fruit — you can't. He'd already established in his mind that Faith was fruit. He supposed that Irene was the gem. Something that sparkled but which was hard and cold.

She had been one of the young girls who had entered the social scene looking for a marriageable man. The London Season drew hundreds of girls at all levels of the aristocracy each year. Everyone was expected to play the game and participate, he no less than anyone else. He was marriageable and an above-average 'catch.' The day was bound to arrive when he would need to marry to produce an heir. The display of young innocent girls with their dowries, hinted at or blatantly put on the table, added to the thrill of the chase. Everyone knew the rules.

Irene had made a point of catching his attention. She was exquisite, and he was flattered. The other men at the same gatherings were heard to make envious remarks wondering why he deserved such a beauty and suggesting that he wouldn't be able to keep her. At eighteen, she was already sophisticated beyond her years.

Of only average height, she nonetheless knew how to draw one's attention when she entered a room.

Her black, shiny hair was dressed to suit her and not the fashion. A luxuriant mass piled and pinned to the top of her head added inches which also added to her elegance. It made one want to let it down to see how far it went. She was blessed with a pale, blemish-free complexion which also made one want to know how far it went. Her hazel eyes were framed by thick dark lashes she fluttered with an innocence that could send the blood rushing in a monk. And having escaped from the hypnotic hold of her eyes, her heaving breasts could finish a man. They had nearly finished him.

There was something cold and calculating about her, though. He'd never done more than kiss her and that had always left him feeling dissatisfied. Her mouth was there, but she wasn't. Kissing her was more of a challenge than a real desire. Maybe that had been her plan all along; to be just out of reach so that you would be the one to catch her. You would be the one who would initiate her to love and bring her alive. But how do you bring a gem, a stone, alive? That had been part of the illusion.

He hadn't been aware he had shown any reticence about their relationship, but perhaps she'd thought he was hesitating or maybe she was tired of waiting. He would never know.

Her dowry was negligent. Her family had suffered losses for one reason or another, so she had to aim high. His title was not the target. A baron is nothing compared to a duke. The target she was aiming for was his money. He was wealthy, very wealthy. It just so happened that his brother Jeremy was as well, but he wasn't the baron. He guessed she'd decided to set her cap for the baron first.

He had reached the point where he was tottering on the threshold of asking her to marry him. They were at one of the lavish balls of the season and she looked particularly desirable, and he'd finally decided.

They had gone into the dining room to have something to eat and were sitting apart from any of the other guests.

Thank God, she had spoken before he'd had the chance. He no longer remembered her exact words as they had cut him to the quick, but the sense of them had been that he was in competition with his brother. If he didn't make a move, who could tell, she might just be snatched up by Jeremy, which she'd said with a smile.

That had done it quicker than any blade to the heart.

She must have seen her mistake, because after that her attentions were fully turned to Jeremy. He had watched her from a distance detached from emotion, seeing how she was so talented in her manipulations. He'd watched her repeat what he had already lived and the worst part of it was, he could not save his brother. Jeremy would never have believed him. He would have suspected he was envious.

She was a diamond, cold, hard and colourless. She only reflected the colours around her, nothing more. Each person who saw his own colours mirrored in her, thought she was his match.

Within the year, she was married to Jeremy. A year later, Christopher was born. A little over a year after that, Helen was there, and Irene had gone off with a rich Italian to Naples.

The saddest thing was that Jeremy had truly loved her. He'd been distraught, devastated when she'd left him, but the children had kept him focussed, most of the time. When he wasn't focussed, it was because he'd succumbed to drinking, wallowing in his misery. There was nothing Quentin could do to help. It had ended with Jeremy killing himself and a horse in a carriage accident when he'd been blind drunk.

There were no words to repair the damage done by Irene.

Now he was pleased Christopher spoke to him without being spoken to first. It was a breakthrough in their relations. Helen had accepted him, too, with an easy grace, holding his hand when she could. Christopher had told him about Kate Brosnan and her brother Ben. Quentin listened attentively as Christopher seemed to be a different person as he spoke about the times they had been with the other children. When he asked how often they had visited each other, he was surprised that it had only been twice.

On one occasion he'd gone with them into the woods to see where it was that they had climbed trees. They were happy to show him how easy it was, trying to get him up a tree. He hadn't planned on climbing, so his clothes wouldn't allow it, but he promised he would the next time. Christopher pointed to a branch quite high up and said,

"That's the branch Miss Eversley reached."

The boy realised too late that it was a subject to be avoided. Guilt washed over him, but Quentin soothed the moment by saying, "It is very high. I'm not sure I would be courageous enough to reach it."

They moved on to another topic.

On the way back to the house, Christopher had looked up at Quentin and asked him if he had liked Miss Eversley. Of course, he had meant it in the sense that one likes peas—or not.

"Yes, I did like her," he replied, realising it was the truth. The pain that stabbed him reminded him that it had been a little more than that. For all her provoking ways, it was more than that.

"Are you still angry with her?" Christopher persisted.

"No, I don't think I was ever angry with her. I was angry with something in me."

"Then why don't you go and bring her back? I'm sure she won't be angry with you either," Christopher innocently commented.

Quentin stopped in his tracks. He had to think about this.

"Uncle Quentin, are you all right?" Christopher asked like a grown-up.

He felt both the children tugging on his hands as he resurfaced.

"Yes, yes I'm all right. Come on, I expect we can have some tea and biscuits when we get back to the house."

"I prefer cake," Helen stated.

He'd left the children with Mrs. 'Whatever her name was,' Faith's replacement. He took his tea and biscuits to his haven, the library. He did his best thinking there.

Did he want Faith back? Yes.

Did he think she'd come back?

He was mostly doubtful, because she had probably turned the page. She'd had to if she were to earn money. Coming back might be painful for her and anyway, how could she trust him? His terrible mistake had been the breach of her trust. He had wanted to possess her by bending her to his will, to show who was master, who was stronger and he had been doomed to fail because she was whole and solid. He was cracked and weakened by jealousy. He'd felt left out and had been like a spoiled child who had wanted to spite someone. He was pitiable.

If he went and found her, what could he possibly offer that might persuade her to return?

The children were, of course, the main incentive. But she'd made the break and life went on for them all. There was no need to go back, and it was impossible to recapture an unblemished happiness which no longer existed. He could and would offer her marriage, but who would want to marry him knowing what a poor example of an adult he was?

He didn't just want Faith back, he wanted her, her essence, and he wanted her to want him. While there was a modicum of a chance that he could bring her back, he would not be able to get on with his life. He had to know. But first, finding Faith had to be his priority.

He would begin at her aunt's.

One of his grooms had been to the aunt's. He went to the stables to find out who knew the way to Florence Warren's cottage, and to organise them to go with him tomorrow. It would probably take them just over an hour travelling at an easy pace.

He'd had the presence of mind to have goods prepared to take to the aunt and her companion, regardless of the outcome. They weren't well off, so no doubt extra vegetables, fruit and eggs from the farm would supplement their stores. He'd see if they had a smoked ham for them too. The short time he'd spent with Mrs. Warren had left him with the memory of an astute woman, and he could appreciate anyone with a quick mind and a sense of humour.

He honestly didn't expect to find Faith at her aunt's after all the time she'd been gone from Marshalswick House. Consequently, he had a bag prepared by Whittle with his shaving gear, and a change of clothing. He made it known to both Whittle and Stokes that he might be gone for an unknown length of time and that he would keep them up to date on his general movements. He and the groom left the next day in the phaeton. He didn't know how far he would be travelling and wanted something more solid that the curricle.

It was as he had expected. Faith was no longer at her aunt's. Mrs. Warren and Miss Warren had invited them both in for tea. Once tea was finished, Quentin gave George Bates, the groom, a nod, and he had excused himself and gone outside to wait.

Florence Warren was puzzled. She wondered what this man was now doing in her home. It was evident that it concerned Faith, but he'd waited too long if he'd hoped to make headway with her. She was gone. She and Nessie knew everything.

Faith had been terribly upset when she'd arrived, but as the journey had taken her several hours, she was over the worst when she'd got there. Looking at the man sitting in front of her, Florence had the impression that this man was on his own and had been for a long time. He didn't know how to live with other people.

He'd tried to coerce Faith into having sex with him, but, he hadn't forced her. He was certainly strong enough, had he wanted to.

She had no intention of telling him where Faith had gone, because she had requested it upon leaving. But, as her aunt, she had to ascertain his motives for being there. The simplest way was to be direct.

"Why do you want to see Faith?"

"Did she tell you what happened? If she didn't, I will but I must admit I'm ashamed of my behaviour."

"She told us everything, blackmail and coercion included."

He looked down at his hands not daring to see the reproach in her eyes.

"I am entirely responsible. I let my judgement be clouded by my feelings of the moment, which were dishonourable. I sincerely regret the results of which are two unhappy children who love and miss her."

"And you?"

He looked up. She could see that he was emotionally affected.

"Yes. I love and miss her too."

It was her turn to look down. There was one enormous credit due to him, in her way of thinking. As abject as his proposed coercion had been, he hadn't forced her...

"You do understand that there is little chance that she will go back as she can no longer trust you. If your attraction to her is that strong, there is nothing to prevent you from using the children again. She left after spending two months in your household. The damage was limited. A second time would be catastrophic."

"I regret more than you can imagine. I wouldn't ask her to return as anything less than my wife."

Florence wanted to be sure he understood.

"I can't speak for Faith, but I am able to say that she loves those children. What if she doesn't love you?"

"I would do everything in my power so she would love me. If she can't but still agrees to marry me, I would rather that than lose her." He shrugged as if the answer was obvious.

"She has asked us not to reveal her destination or resources to anyone. We promised and we have every intention of keeping that promise. However, I will act purely as an intermediary person if you wish. You have only to give me your letters and I will join them to mine. I will forward her replies to you. That is the best I can do for the moment."

"I understand. In that case, I will have my letter delivered to you in due course with the cost of the postage for all the letters. Thank you for listening to me. You were under no obligation to invite me in, and I appreciate the gesture."

He stood to take leave.

"We have an abundance of crops this year, so I thought you might enjoy the benefit of some. Bates will carry them into the kitchen for you. I beg to take leave of you now hoping that the circumstances of our next meeting will be happier."

He bowed slightly and she addressed him, "My Lord."

They parted ways.

Bates had driven back to Marshalswick because Quentin had wanted to think carefully about his options. He had decided that he could not wait for the post to go, then for Faith to decide if she would respond or not, and then for the return post. He had to somehow discover the address to which it was being sent. Bribery was not beyond his scruples, and the postman had only to give him the address on his own letter and nothing else. The letter could still go, but he would arrive before it.

He had to see Faith.

No other woman he encountered had the slightest effect on him, as he simply didn't heed them. He wanted to cry at the loss he had inflicted upon himself. He could no longer work, he slept sporadically, waking from erotic dreams of Faith, and he had to force himself to eat as food seemed tasteless to him. He was in a sorry shape even knowing that he was obsessing over Faith. It was the not knowing which kept him antsy.

The bribery provided the name and address of where the letters would be delivered. Quentin, of course, didn't know if Faith was living there, working there or simply had friends there accepting her post for her. He couldn't go barging in as he didn't want to frighten her away. He wanted to have a fair chance of stating his case, so it was best if he could determine her situation first. What he had was:

Miss Faith Eversley

In the care of Curzon's Haberdashery Shop

High Street

Chipping Barnet, Hertfordshire

He knew Chipping Barnet.

Everyone in this part of England did. Apart from anything else, it was known for its horse fair and its market, in existence for hundreds of years and also closely connected to St Albans. He could almost visualise the shop in the High Street.

He had told Florence Warren that he would do anything in his power to have Faith love him. He'd started by asking the children to draw pictures for her. They were happy to do a lot, because they were excited to think that he was going to try and bring her home.

He'd also brought a family ring, an heirloom, with him to pledge his troth, if she'd let him, and he'd go down on one knee if he had to. What did other men do? It was too late to ask. He was on his own — again.

He'd ridden to Chipping Barnet as it wasn't far, and it was easier to stable a horse than a carriage and horses. He hadn't needed his groom, so he was completely independent. He took rooms at the Red Lion Inn because he didn't know how soon he would find Faith, or how long he would be staying.

The landlord and his wife were pleasant. They needed to be with the competition of all the other inns existing in the town. He'd heard that The Green Man was their principal rival. It didn't much matter to him though, which inn he chose. They would all be noisy. There was an average of a hundred and fifty coaches, the mail coach included, passing through Chipping Barnet every day. It was the first stage on the main road from London to York and beyond.

The inn meal had been tolerable and their ale, not bad. The bed needed the ropes to be tightened but, for one person, it didn't matter too much. He would mention it to the landlord just in case he found the time to do it.

He was awake early, probably anxious to start looking for Faith. The maid had brought hot water and he'd washed, shaved and dressed by eight. Breakfast was hectic, but he didn't mind as the bustle was cheerful. It could have been a day in July rather than September for the sunny warmth that waited for him outside. The landlord had given him instructions to find Curzon's and he was now headed that way.

He found the shop and stopped to look in the front window to see if he might get a glimpse of her. Unfortunately, any view of the inside shop was blocked by the elaborate display which filled the window. The sign on the door had indicated that the shop was open from nine 'til seven. As it wasn't much after nine now, it might be the best time to go in when there weren't many customers. He could always buy something as an excuse for entering; ribbon that he would give to Helen or Faith when he found her.

He went in and a bell over the door rang. There weren't any customers yet, so he walked directly to the back of the shop and the main counter.

It had taken him a minute to adjust to the dim light in the store having just left bright sunshine outside, but when he could see clearly, he was elated (and afraid) to see Faith standing quietly behind the counter watching him approach. He couldn't smile when he saw how she stared. He held his hat in his hand and looked at it now before looking up at her again.

"Have you come to 'coerce' me some more?" she asked in a hard tone.

"I've come to ask you to marry me."

It was the first thing that he could utter.

"But I don't like you, Mr. Wolfe, and I don't find you attractive enough to marry now. Did you wish to purchase anything? I can recommend some pretty ribbon for a child of three or perhaps a silver buckled belt for a five-year-old boy...?"

He stood silently in front of her trying to see the tiniest chink of the Faith he knew. He understood that he had hurt her terribly, so he would accept any words she threw at him.

"We all want you to come home. I will make amends to you for the rest of my life, if only you will give me a second chance?"

"A second chance to humiliate me? You'll never change. It's too late. I've had many hours to relive that last encounter. I couldn't understand at first what had suddenly changed you to a mean, bitter man. But I woke up in the middle of the night knowing. You are jealous and possessive. I don't want to be on guard for the rest of my life on the off-chance that I might offence you and be humiliated in consequence. Marriage won't change you, but it will bind me to you. Please go and let me heal peacefully."

He could see the tears in her eyes. His heart stopped for an indefinite amount of time and then he drew in a gulp of air, because he had forgotten to breathe too.

"I am not going to give up trying, Faith. The children are at home waiting, hoping that you'll come back with me." He paused, searching for the words which might sway her. "I want to change. I want you to change me. I'm not happy as I am but I don't know anything else. I have never had anyone who cared for me, so, how am I to know what is right? Please give me some of your time so we can begin to know each other. Please?"

She looked at his clean-shaven face and saw that it was thinner. He looked thinner and older.

"How old are you?"

"Does it matter, if I'm willing to change? Some people mellow with age."

"I might not. We have been at loggerheads from the very first day."

"I don't care. I need you as you are."

He looked at her with an intense unsmiling face.

He didn't know, but she felt compassion for the boy he must have been. Christopher risked growing into the same cast and that saddened her. She had no qualms for Helen, because she was made of tougher stuff.

The bell rang above the door as a client entered.

"I'm at the Red Lion Inn. Please come and have dinner with me?" he implored.

"I finish at seven. You can come and accompany me."

He nodded.

"At seven then," he agreed. He daren't say more.

He left as the customer arrived at the counter with a box of buttons in her hand.

He didn't feel triumphant because the negotiations had only just begun. He knew that 'There's many a slip twixt the cup and the lip.'

He informed the landlord that he would be requiring dinner for two. He wanted the best of everything for the meal, because he hoped the lady would do him the honour of becoming his wife.

"Right you are, Guv'ner. You can count on me and the Mrs."

Quentin was there before seven, not wanting to risk that Faith leave without him. Her acceptance to dine with him had given him hope, but she'd had all day to change her mind. He waited near the shop not wishing to annoy her by entering in case there were customers. She didn't like his possessiveness and he admitted to himself he wanted to possess her, make her his. On the other hand, what woman wanted a man who hovered ineffectually outside a shop? He was totally lost with all this soul searching. He didn't know how to behave any more.

He didn't have any idea of her age. If she were twenty, she might think twice before committing herself to a man of thirty five. Mind you, he wasn't going to tell her his age if he could help it and might even lie if pushed to it.

He'd been leaning against the corner of the shop lost in his thoughts when he heard the bell over the door ring as she came out. He came to attention and began to move towards her as she was locking the door. She looked up at him without expression, and he felt he was no better than any man passing in the street. Or worse — a person one has known and forgotten because they weren't important enough to have made an impression. It made him angry. He'd wanted to be placating, but now he had to know. He took her arm firmly as she put the key in her reticule, which made her look up in surprise.

"Miss Eversley, please be honest with me. Tell me now if you have no wish for us to dine together. You know that the dining is secondary to me. I simply want to be in your company and know you better."

He'd turned her so her back was against the building and he was in front of her as protection from passers-by. She looked up at him as she had the very first time they had met in the market. She wondered, if she went back to that time and was given the chance to choose again, would she go to Marshalswick? He put a hand on the wall near to her shoulder and his dominating presence weakened her resolve to be hard on him.

"Mr. Wolfe, let's have dinner and talk. Perhaps the situation will become a little clearer for both of us."

It was feeling his body relax that made him realised just how tense he had been. He whispered, 'thank you' as he took her hand to kiss the back of it before tucking it around his arm. She saw the little smile he gave, and she thought immediately of Christopher. There was a resemblance now she looked closer, and it wasn't just physical. Her heart softened a little.

The landlord of the Red Lion had outdone himself on their behalf. He'd reserved a small, private salon for them and then proceeded to surprise them with tempting morsels in a variety of dishes. Both Quentin and Faith were surprised to find that they were eating heartily and enjoying the bottle of Burgundy produced from a dark corner of the cellar. Quentin felt he owed the innkeeper more than the price of the meal as the conviviality it had engendered was priceless. They were sitting on the same padded bench and Quentin saw Faith relax. She had worked all day and had probably been on her feet most of that time.

He didn't want to pry into the steps she had taken to be working there, but he did want to know if she was tied in any way. So it was the only question he posed that touched on the work she was doing.

She told him that she was bound to work until the end of October as the owners would not be back before then. His restraint was obvious, so she put him out of his misery by explaining that she'd known the owners before the job became vacant. They were travelling in Ireland and had left the shop in her care.

"Does that mean that at the end of October you will be unemployed?" he said with an eager tone to his voice. She looked down.

"Yes, but don't imagine that it means I will return to Marshalswick, Mr. Wolfe. I am still unconvinced after a dinner with you that anything would be any different. This has been a delightful meal, but we haven't really talked about our individual aspirations."

He took her hand again almost unconsciously. He entwined her fingers with his and then put it down again not wanting to reveal the tension he was feeling.

"My ultimate desire is to live with you and the children in Marshalswick or anywhere that would make you happy. I would like to have at least a child with you that would add to our family. That is all. I am wealthy, so you would never want for anything material and I would hope to make you happy enough that you wouldn't want for anything immaterial. What do you need to be happy?"

"I want to go slowly. I don't want everything at once. I want to enjoy anticipating even if there are disappointments. Would you be willing to go slowly, Mr. Wolfe?"

"If I had you to anticipate, yes."

"Why me? I don't understand why."

She shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"Because I have never felt alive before you. Of course I have lived, worked even enjoyed certain moments of my life, but you have made me lose the control I once valued so much, which also kept me in check. Since knowing you, I've accepted a dog. I've had conversations with a five year old. I've walked around naked. I've been miserable. I've been putting my whole existence into question, and I've had fleeting moments of pure bliss I would like to recapture with you."

He looked at her with such intensity that she was at a loss for words.

"Why you? I don't know why it was you. You've made me laugh but so have others, to no avail. You're lovely, you smell good. Part of my failing is that I have an analytical mind. I've tried to analyse my feelings — impossible. No one has ever turned me inside out or upside down as you have. You tell me why..."

He'd taken her hand again and was holding it against his cheek. He could smell the subtle perfume of her wrist. He wanted to lick her wrist. He had never licked a woman before in his life. He had never licked anything, except maybe his own lips. Where does such an idea come from? Last year, last month, yesterday it would have struck him as being entirely absurd.

"May I call you Faith? I think of you as Faith, another thing I would never have permitted myself before knowing you. I wish you would call me Quentin so I can be comfortable when I dream about you. It seems silly to call you Miss Eversley in my dreams when I'm kissing you."

He smiled cheekily.

"Oh dear, oh dear...what have you done?" she began with a hint of distress to her voice.

He looked a little concerned that he'd said something wrong. She moved the hand he was holding against his cheek to cup his other cheek and pull his face around to meet hers. She kissed his mouth and he stifled a groan that was only the tiniest indication of the turmoil which now flooded him. Her hand dropped as he turned her more completely towards him and he took her in his arms tenderly bringing his head down to her neck and shoulder. His breathing was ragged as he could finally hope that all was not lost.

"I do want to marry you. I wanted to marry you the day I was so mean, but I didn't want to admit it to you. Please, please forgive those words I spoke. There is no excuse for my behaviour and I only hope you will give me the opportunity to blot them out with happier times together."

The Landlord knocked on the door before asking if everything had been satisfactory, giving a wink to Quentin.

"You have served a meal to remember. Thank you." Quentin said with a winning grin.

Faith gave an appreciate nod and smile, too, so he withdrew to tell his Mrs. that it had been a success. Faith looked at Quentin closely.

"I must be going. It will be another long day tomorrow."

"You have made me feel happy again Faith. I will go slowly if it is what you need to be happy. Where do you lodge? I'll take you now," he proposed.

"Why, I am staying in the rooms above the shop. My friends have left everything to my responsibility."

"Come then. It has been a long day for us both in one way or another."

He pulled her to him as they left the inn and took her hand and held it on his arm while they walked back to the shop. There were few people in the street at half past nine. He was reluctant to let her go once they had arrived in front of the shop, but there was no way to put back the inevitable. He watched as she drew out the key from her bag to unlock the door. When she turned to him again, he pressed her into the doorway to enclose and to kiss her. She sighed as their mouths met tenderly and then more fiercely and then gently. He hugged her to him with his mouth near to her ear as he whispered,

"We are good together, aren't we? Don't you feel that we complete each other, Faith?"

She put her forehead on his shoulder without speaking. She looked up at him in the semi-dark night.

"It's physical. I admit it to you and myself now that I have spent an evening with you. I desire you, but I still don't know you. I am lost because ..."

"I know what I want, there is no doubt in my mind. Marry me and we'll have as much time as we need to discover one another as man and wife," he urged.

"Come for me tomorrow evening. I have to think about everything very carefully."

She went up on her toes and kissed him again, affectionately, before turning, entering the shop, and locking the door from the inside.

Quentin leaned on the doorframe while he felt his racing pulse slow down. He was more confident in the turn of things than he had been this morning. Perhaps he could win her yet. He walked slowly back to the Red Lion Inn, happy to be left in the dim light with his optimistic thoughts.

-o0o-

He was there with a posy at nine o'clock when she opened the shop. She didn't look surprised to see him, but then he'd not stopped telling her how important she was to him. He stepped inside the door and gave her the posy while asking her for just five minutes of her time. She agreed as long as he didn't interfere with customers. She was working for someone, and she couldn't let them down by neglecting sales.

"I will buy anything you like if it will buy me a little of your time," he proposed.

"That won't be necessary," she assured him. He took heart.

"I presume that the shop is shut tomorrow? I would like to spend the day with you by hiring a carriage and taking a picnic with us somewhere. I am going to have to return to Marshalswick for work, but I need to know if I may come each Sunday and spend it with you? If you like, I can come with the children too. They are longing to see you again."

"I understand. If you don't object coming here again tonight, we can decide about arrangements," she tilted her head waiting for his response.

"I'll be here at seven."

He leaned down to kiss her fleetingly on the lips, drawing in her tantalising fragrance. It reminded him of the rose garden at home. He couldn't stop himself taking her shoulders to pull her into his embrace. He hugged her almost desperately, and she let him hold her, enjoying his strength. He drew back and assured her he would be there at seven. He left.

He spent the day catching up with correspondence he'd neglected while searching for Faith had occupied his mind. Even so, he looked at the time often, calculating the hours, minutes before their evening meeting.

This was part of what Faith liked — the anticipation of a tryst. She had taken time to change into one of her dresses which had been stored away here. She had long ago grown tired of the only two dresses she'd had in Marshalswick. Those which Eloïse had given her had been left behind, as she felt guilty taking them with her when she hadn't even said goodbye. The dress she was wearing now was a dark blue that made her eyes seem bluer and flattered her figure with its soft lines.

When Quentin appeared at seven, she had him come in. She then locked the door and drew down the blind. As soon as she redressed herself and turned, he took her into his arms and held her to him putting kisses on the top of her head.

"You're going to have to stop that," she said into his jacket front. "You're reminding me of Christopher kissing Wizz on the head."

He chuckled giving her yet another.

"Come with me," she encouraged him to follow by taking his large hand as she passed him. She went upstairs to the flat above the shop. She'd prepared a light meal for them both, which touched him as she'd automatically included him in her plans. She asked him if he cared for a glass of beer which he accepted.

They sat for a while, side by side on the sofa drinking their ale. He couldn't help himself, or perhaps he didn't realise he was doing it, but he touched her hand, he pushed back a strand of hair off her face, he put his arm behind her on the back of the sofa and then clasped her far shoulder to pull her nearer. Then he took a hand with his free hand. She had the pleasant sensation that he was reassuring himself with each gesture that she was there. She took the hand holding hers and turned it over to look at it. She took his fingers individually and smoothed them from the crux to the tip. He watched mesmerised. She matched her palm with his, laughing at the difference of size and shape. There was no mistaking his man's hand with hers. He sighed softly as she got up pulling on the hand she held in hers. They went to the table to dine. They were to sit opposite each other.

As she left him to go to the kitchen, he looked at the room.

It was tiny compared to any of the rooms in his house, and there was little free space anywhere. A small fireplace was standing empty except for the grate. There were ornaments on the mantelpiece and a mirror above that. The wallpaper was light with dark wood floors and woodwork. A picture rail ran around the room making it look smaller yet. The carpet looked bright with a pattern of colours pleasing to the eye. The armchairs looked comfortable and, despite its size and crowdedness, the room was welcoming. He didn't understand why.

Faith brought in a dinner plate in each hand and she warned him that the plate was hot. It smelled delicious. He held her chair as she sat and then sat himself. He enjoyed the simple meal. She knew how to cook. They ate and talked and drank a little and at some time it became necessary to light the candles on the table. The room took on a fairy-tale glow and he wanted to laugh. So, he did.

They talked some more and it was the first time in a long while he'd conversed at length about something other than business. When they'd both eaten enough, she got him to sit and wait while she cleared the table.

He sat in one of the high-back armchairs with his hands behind his head feeling relaxed. When Faith came back into the room, he noticed how slender yet shapely she was. He wanted to see her hair down and the thought went to his gut, and then he felt a physical stirring as his desire for her increased. He tamped down the thought as his new found acceptance by Faith was something he did not want to jeopardize with his physical desire.

She had kissed him, and it had shown him that she had accepted him as a potential suitor. All was not lost. She approached and without prompting leaned towards him putting her hands on the chair's arms either side of him to place a kiss on his lips.

It was too much. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him taking her into his arms. Their kiss took over, and it was a mending of the breach.

"Faith, will you please marry me?" he beseeched her.

"I think it will be one of those things I need to anticipate for a while. I will marry you, Quentin, but not immediately. Will that answer do for now?"

"You really will marry me? You're not just saying that to be kind at this moment? You can have no idea how the thought of losing you has shaken my confidence."

It was beyond his understanding how a young woman, whom he had encountered in a marketplace, could exercise such power over him. He felt adrift, insecure. It was a troubling sensation for someone who had prided himself on always having control.

"I will marry you, but I need to return to the children and start afresh. I am drawn to you as I have never been drawn to another man, but I will not be submissive. I saw how my mother was deprived of a life because she was there for my father alone. He did not tolerate sharing her."

He nodded trying not to feel rejected or distrusted. He did feel a tiny stab of guilt though, because at this moment he wanted her for himself alone. The fact that she had mentioned the children had left him wanting the affection that she was so ready to bestow on them. He hugged her again, because she was with him and he didn't want to let her go.

She freed herself and stood pulling him up to be with her. He came to his feet slowly, sorry to lose the feel of her body pressed against his. She guided him into the next room which was a bedroom, and he looked at her in amazement wondering what she was proposing. Dare he believe?

"Faith?" he questioned.

She answered him by beginning to undo his neckcloth. He was unable to move, never imagining she would be so bold. Finally, he shirked off his jacket and continued undressing until there were only his trousers and boots. Suddenly, he was unsure of himself. She let him undo the buttons at the front of her dress and he could see by candlelight the shape of her breasts pushing against the soft cotton of her chemise. He let a hand pass over the form gently, and she caught her breath sharply.

She thought that maybe this stripping brought them to the same level. There was no longer a social order nor any secrecy. Both could see what they were getting in that brief instance of calm before the storm. Within a second, he grabbed her to him to find her mouth again. He picked her up and carried her to the bed and joined her immediately, kissing anywhere his mouth could find. It found hers. He kissed her fiercely, almost in a frenzy as he got the taste of her. From that moment on they were carried away by those instinctive actions that have driven man from the beginning of time.

They were matched.

Faith was overwhelmed by sensations and emotions. She knew now that she loved Quentin and she had no regrets of giving herself to him.

They were complete.

When they returned to the reality of the room, Quentin could not believe that she had sacrificed her virginity. He had been desolate with her loss, never imagining he would be victim of such gut-wrenching sentiments, and now he was humbled. He heaved an enormous sigh as he took in the enormity of the situation which had seemed so desperate yesterday.

"You have forgiven me..."

He looked so serious, so earnest that she put her hand on his cheek and turned his regard to hers. She wanted to make this man enjoy all he had surely lacked in boyhood. He seemed more vulnerable now with his emotions bared than he had been naked.

"I think you don't even need to ask. I am convinced you love me, and that is enough for me to want to join my life to yours. When I first suggested we marry, I was prepared to commit myself to you without love, as many couples do. Our attraction to each other was how I sought to persuade you. To find that we have more than that... well."

She kissed him full on the mouth and he stifled a sob. Seeing her gazing into the distance, he asked her what she was thinking.

"I was thinking how at ease we are."

She drew her hand across his chest absentmindedly.

"We are already like an old married couple, which reminds me, how old are you?" she suddenly wondered.

"Please don't ask. You may not want me when you know."

"Silly. You may not want me when you know how old I am," she retorted.

"Don't tell me you're under sixteen. I really would have trouble accepting you then."

"I'm twenty-six, soon twenty-seven, Quentin. Now where do I stand in your esteem?"

"You stand eight years behind me because I am soon to be thirty five," he admitted.

He had not begun to guess that she was that old, and it made him seem less of a lecherous old man.

"Does that worry you?" he asked.

It worried him.

"No, it suits me well. But now I'm curious to know when your birthday is, as you say it's soon."

"The sixth of October."

Her mouth dropped.

"NO! We were born on the same day."

He pulled her up to him to kiss her mouth again.

"That explains everything," he laughed loudly. "We were meant to be."

They slept very little in the night as they discovered other things about each other. They talked and laughed and hugged and kissed until they both slept without knowing who had had the last word.

Faith woke Quentin in the morning with tea, bread, butter and plum jam — simple fare that suited their naked state. They could see the day was lovely, but neither of them wanted to share yet with the outside world. More than anything, Quentin wanted to be reassured.

With her firmly in his arms he asked, "Are you agreed that you'll be home at the end of October? I want to tell the children so that they have something to look forward to, too."

She kissed his rough jaw which had a shadow of a beard.

"Yes, I will come."

"I could come and get you Saturday night and take you home? It isn't far and I don't mind sharing you with them," he smiled, more at ease.

"Yes, I would love that. You and the children have been a turning point in my life. It isn't easy to put aside something which has made such an impression on one. The trace lasts a very long time."

"That's settled then, you come home next Saturday for a night." he said with a laugh to his words.

At one point in their conversations, Quentin told her how he'd found her. It had weighed heavily on him that she might think her aunt had told him. She simply nodded her head. It was a fact which added to her certainty that he was sincere, because he had gone to a lot of trouble to find her.

In fact, finding Faith hadn't been that difficult. It was the keeping of her that needed work, and he was known to be serious when working towards a goal. She rubbed her face on his chest, enjoying the sense of daring it procured. He had revealed a little of his life to her and the more he told, the more she could imagine that Christopher was a little Quentin in the making. She hoped to remedy that soon enough to spare him the unhappiness.

He apologised for the rough jaw which he hadn't been able to shave. All his things were at the inn. She hadn't minded because it was a whole new masculine world which had begun to open to her. She had certainly never before seen a man's naked body. She knew statues of men existed but had yet to see a naked one. She was suddenly excited by the wealth of information which was waiting for her in Quentin's body.

He admitted that a year ago, the idea of walking about unnecessarily naked in front of a woman would have appalled him. With Faith, her admiration of his body gave him confidence and any awkwardness dissipated with her casual, natural behaviour. She tapped his bottom and he grabbed her yet again to cover her with kisses, laughing like a boy who has just repaid someone for a silly prank.

They finally got up, more from hunger than anything else. They washed and dressed and Quentin invited her to lunch with him in another inn in the town. The afternoon passed in a lazy sort of way as they had no priorities with which to contend. As the evening drew in, they both became quieter knowing their idyll was soon to end.

It was hardly surprising they were both tired. Quentin didn't know if he dared ask to spend another night with Faith. She had to work all the following day whereas he could do as he pleased. He didn't have to ask, as she presumed they would stay together. They wouldn't see each other for another week.

They went to bed as soon as they arrived back. It was more to hold one another and share thoughts, although later they made love slowly and tenderly. Quentin slept as he hadn't slept in years; just when he would have liked to stay awake all night. It was a novelty to them both to wake in the morning and be able to reach out and find that this overwhelming sense of happiness was embodied in the person lying in the same bed.

Quentin woke first at daybreak and turned on his side to face Faith who slept on. She had plaited her long dark blond hair, and he wanted to loosen it again and put his hands in it as he held her mouth to his. He knew he truly loved her, because he didn't touch, but let her sleep, even though he ached for her. She needed to sleep while she could as there was a long day ahead waiting for her.

Then the day truly began and he had to leave. He held her a long time in his arms, his head bent to her neck and shoulder breathing in the rose scented cleanness which was Faith. She finally told him he must let her go, and he replied, as he had once done before, that he didn't want to. She remembered and laughed turning his face to hers so she could plant a full mouthed kiss on his mouth. He sighed and forced himself to leave her. He had to pick up his belongings, settle his note and collect his horse at the Red Lion Inn. Hard reality finally came into focus.

"I shall come for you next Saturday evening, Faith, my love. This will be the longest week of my life."

Strangely enough, the week didn't have additional days and the hours were as they should be, but they all counted double for Quentin.
Chapter 7

The whole household at Marshalswick House shared the happiness which Quentin brought home with him. They had never seen their master showing any real emotion, so the transformation was startling. He told every one of them, with a grin stretching from one side of his face to the other, that he had found Faith, and she would be coming home, but better yet, she had agreed to marry him! And then he forgot whom he had told and repeated himself.

The children were overjoyed.

He was completely taken by surprise when Christopher wrapped his arms around his waist saying, 'You did it Uncle Quentin. You got her back. Thank you!'

He'd had to remind them that her job hadn't finished, but that she planned on visiting on Sunday because she had missed them so much. Then she would have to leave again to work.

Whittle astounded him by making a personal comment, something he had never done in all the years he'd worked for him. Not even after the episode in London.

He said that he'd wondered how long it would take for Quentin to come to his senses. Quentin laughed at his temerity and then tapped him familiarly on the shoulder.

Whittle had looked askance, but Quentin placated him by saying, "Sorry Whittle, I'm not myself and never will be again, so you'll have to get used to it."

Whittle smiled. His job was going to be a piece of cake now.

The week passed and Quentin asked Ted to come with him in the phaeton to Chipping Barnet to pick up Faith. It would leave him free from handling the horses for the return trip.

The children were already in bed when they arrived home, but then they didn't expect Faith until the next day anyway. The staff were all delighted to see her and to offer their felicitations. She smiled at Quentin who shrugged with a silly grin on his face. She knew he'd told them all that they were to marry.

When he dragged her into his room, she realised that this was the first time she'd seen inside. It was strange that she had lived in the house for more than two months without seeing it, but she'd had no reason to visit the first floor apart from the use of the water closet.

He knew when he'd taken her into his room that she had her monthly courses. She had told him without embarrassment, perhaps testing herself to see if they had reached that ultimate intimacy. Quentin had not done more than look a little disappointed, but he explained that it was because he had secretly hoped that they might have made a child. He then smiled saying that he would just have to keep trying, but in the meantime, he just wanted to have her to cuddle. They would have plenty of other times to indulge in their passion.

They spent hours talking. They spoke about their childhood, which wasn't very different in the end as they had both lacked parental affection. Finally, they fell asleep entangled in one another's arms.

In the morning, Quentin had awoken to Faith kissing him lightly all over his face. He'd pulled her to him in a tender embrace grateful he hadn't dreamed it all. He still had trouble believing she had forgiven him.

They were sitting on the bed's edge before going down to breakfast when he showed her the family ring that he would like her to accept as her betrothal ring. She was not expecting it and was lost for words.

Seeing her hesitate, he felt a slight panic. He remembered that she'd said that she would have accepted him without marriage and he prayed she hadn't changed her mind about marrying him. It was extremely important to him that she commit herself with marriage as it was the only way he would feel safe in having her. She must have noticed the pained look on his face, because she threw her arms around his neck and told him that he was beyond her wildest hopes, and she would be proud to wear his ring. He let out the breath he had been holding and squeezed her.

"You're going to squeeze all of the goodness out of me if you don't stop soon," she managed to say as her breath left her.

He hadn't realised how tight he was holding her and kissed her on the top of her head.

"I just can't seem to get enough of you," he admitted, "I thought if I squeezed a bit..."

She'd had to laugh.

The ring fit quite well. It was gold with a sapphire surrounded in diamonds. She immediately liked it, not for any monetary value but because she was beginning to be part of the Wolfe family and this ring was there to remind her. Before going down to breakfast, she wanted to go up and see the children. She surprised them still in their beds and the shrieks they made might have given cause to believe there were little pigs in their place.

They both hung on to her. Christopher was moved beyond words, but he took her hand and kissed it before raising it to his cheek. In a flash, Faith had him in her arms cuddling him and putting kisses on his head. Helen asked for cuddles too, but soon went her way, not wanting to be restrained. It was almost as though she wanted to show she cared without having any of the fuss.

Quentin had to pull Faith away saying that Christopher and Helen needed to dress and have breakfast, and then they would be back for them as they were going on a picnic.

It was the perfect day. The familial picture was completed by Wizz running back and forth not knowing on whom to jump next.

"But all good things come to an end," said Quentin a little sadly, knowing Faith had to return to the shop.

She took her farewells of everyone and spent extra moments with the children assuring them she would soon be home for good. Christopher nodded he understood but still looked sad.

She kissed him solidly on his cheek saying, "Keep that for me until I return."

And she was rewarded to see him smile.

They left in the phaeton with Ted driving.

When Quentin had spoken about 'good things coming to an end', he little imagined that his words were to be prophetic.

If he'd not spoken them, perhaps nothing would have happened, but it was too late, the words were said.

Chapter 8

Irene came to Marshalswick.

She was as beautiful as ever, but now she was a woman not a debutant. Her skills were honed.

It was at the end of the week and there had been a 'fuss' in front of the house when a carriage had arrived. Then there had been a 'fuss' in the entry hall. Any 'fuss' was left to Stokes to handle. He would then inform the master, if he felt it merited his attention. However, Quentin had heard two women's voices, so curiosity had pushed him to quit the library to see what was going on.

The blood drained from his face, and it felt as if it had left his body completely. He had hoped she was dead and had even convinced himself that in the three years since her departure, she probably was.

"Hello Quentin, aren't you going to welcome me? I have lost track of the miles I have travelled these last few weeks just to arrive here."

She put on a face which might express fatigue, while passing the back of her hand across her forehead.

Stunned, Quentin scowled at her without a word. She disregarded him and wasted no time in addressing the butler.

"Stokes, have the decency to bring me some refreshment in the drawing room, if you please, and show my maid where she can restore herself, too."

To her maid she said, "Jane, run along with Stokes to the kitchen and make yourself known. There's a good girl."

Quentin regained his wits which had temporarily disappeared with the blood.

"You are not welcome here, Irene. It is best you go before the horses are unharnessed."

His tone left no doubt as to his opinion of her.

"Goodness, you must have slept badly to be such a poor host," she said, ignoring his words.

If Quentin had not come from the library, he might have been able to stand in her way, but she was already next to the drawing room door. She entered it where she discarded, with little concern, her pelisse and bonnet onto the sofa before collapsing gracefully into a stuffed chair. Her ivory-coloured dress, trimmed with fine gold braid, was perfect for drawing attention to her black shiny hair, her own ivory complexion with a hint of pink in her cheeks and lips. Seductive hazel eyes completed the image she wished to project. Her taste was impeccable, as always.

"You've certainly not improved this room since I was last here," she commented with a wave of a limp hand. "It is as depressing as ever. Does that mean that you have still to find a woman who will accept you?" She laughed with a mocking undertone to her words.

He watched her with a horrified fascination. He refused to enter into a conversation with a harpy, but she continued unperturbed.

"Of course, I am no longer available to you, as a man cannot marry his brother's widow. So don't think I've come to trap you. Although, nothing prevents us from sampling from 'what might have been'."

This time she looked up at him from under those thick dark lashes he remembered so well. He knew that she was only trying to provoke him, and it added fuel to his fury. He continued to stare at her wondering if anything would shut her up, make her cease her nasty innuendoes.

The tea did.

It arrived and she really must have been thirsty, as she hardly waited for it to cool.

He caught Stokes before he left, speaking for the first time since they'd entered the drawing room.

"Stokes, please make sure that Madame's baggage is replaced in the carriage, as she will be leaving once she has finished her tea."

Whereupon, Irene looked up at Stokes with the sweetest smile before saying, "While you are at it, Stokes, please add those of the children. They'll be leaving with me."

The phlegmatic Stokes's face dropped. He knew that this was not simply a battle, but a war. This was going to finish badly for someone. He looked to Quentin for instructions and sensed he seethed. He honestly felt pain for the man who had finally found happiness only to have it snatched away from him through no doing of his own.

Quentin looked daggers at Irene. He wanted her dead, but she was the children's mother. There was no point denying to her that they were in the house because he was their official guardian — or was he, now that Irene had resurfaced in England?

"I am sorry Stokes, but I'm afraid we're going to have to accommodate Madam — until I have had a word with my solicitors. Please give her the most depressing room we have. It seems she finds this room rather miserable, so we may have to put her in here."

Stokes hid a smirk as best he could. He knew his master would fight to the death if need be, and the staff would be behind him to the last man.

Quentin left the room with the intention of finding the children. They were out, so he left word that they be brought directly to him in the library as soon as they returned. There he began writing to his solicitors in London wanting to get the missive off without delay. Wishing the letter to arrive in the quickest time possible, it made sense to send it with one of his grooms, so, when he'd finished, he asked Stokes to organise a reliable messenger who would then wait for a reply. If he had to stay over several nights, monies were to be provided.

Quentin could only hope that his title along with his fortune would pull some weight with the solicitors; that they would make an effort to be thorough and prompt.

He remained in the library completely unaware of the best course to take with Irene. Knowing how determined she could be, he didn't want her insinuating herself into his life. For him, she was persona non-grata.

He needed Faith now.

The thought had him shuddering, however. Irene was adept at decrying anyone with a viciousness that left its mark. It would be better to keep Faith away from her, if possible. He couldn't kid himself that Faith had the same type of experience as Irene, who had rubbed shoulders with the aristocracy.

Now that he had calmed down, his mind began to see the situation more like a game of chess. One had to evaluate the possible moves and counter them by thinking ahead — more steps ahead than his opponent.

What did she want?

He knew her ultimate goal was not to take the children. She'd never wanted them and had left them as soon as an occasion had presented itself. Also, if they went with her, they would prejudice her chances age-wise, as they got older. She wouldn't be able to imply she was younger than she was. He knew that if she took them, it would be to punish him or to put pressure on him, nothing else.

Did she need money?

She couldn't already be short of money, because as Jeremy's widow, she had been left a substantially generous sum, although some of the money had been tied up in trusts for the children.

Did she need somewhere to live? She could return to Jeremy's home which had stood vacant for the last six months, since Jeremy's death. He wondered why she hadn't gone there as it was now hers.

She herself had said that she hadn't come to trap him.

The law was such that it was considered incestuous for a man to marry his brother's widow. The intimacy of families living in the same home did sometimes lead to a shifting of partners but as marriage was illegal, it did mean that there was less chance of someone being assassinated for marital gain.

So, what did she want?

He was no nearer to knowing, and he was sure that she wouldn't tell him. He would only know once it was too late. She'd had years of practicing her intrigues and thrived on them. He supposed her Italian lover had either died, tired of her, or run out of money. But it was certain she would never discuss that black blotch in her life.

He couldn't say how long he sat testing his theories. The children's return interrupted his thoughts. Stokes brought them to him in the library with Mrs. 'What's Her Name' in tow and Wizz behind.

"That's marvellous, Stokes. Just take their coats please and Mrs....

"Mrs. Welby, sir."

She seemed resigned to repeating her name for him each time they met.

"Ah yes, Mrs. Welby, go have some tea and cake while I'm here with the children. I'm sure you deserve it. Come back in an hour, if you would, and — please take Wizz with you."

"Yes, sir." she smiled gratifyingly.

Christopher was still standing straight, obviously sensing something in the air. Helen had already scrambled into an armchair and was sitting comfortably, perhaps ready to doze? When the door was shut tight, Quentin signalled to Christopher to approach.

"I have some news for you. I hope it will make you happy, but if it doesn't, don't let it worry you. We are a family now with Faith, and I want you to know you will be part of the family as long as you want to be."

"What news, Uncle?"

Christopher didn't waste time. God, he was only five, and he was too old.

"Your mother is here in the house. I don't know what her plans are, but she will be staying for a little while," he explained.

"Do I have to see her?"

"It might be beneficial to you both if you did see her, but I'm afraid she does have the right to see you if she wants."

Quentin wasn't very deft when talking to children. He glanced at Helen who had indeed gone to sleep in the armchair.

"If you say so, Uncle Quentin."

He couldn't resist then. He took Christopher in his arms for a quick hug, but poor Christopher looked lost.

"Will Faith be home soon? She'll know what to do." He tried to reassure himself. He now called her by her first name as she had asked him to do.

"She'll be home for you to see on Sunday. In the meantime, you must be polite to your mother at all times. Come and see me if there is a problem, all right?"

Christopher nodded. His face showed no emotion at all. His mother had been gone out of his life for three years. He'd only been two-years-old when she'd left, so Quentin doubted he remembered her. It was her absence which had marked him.

"Come and sit at my desk and show me the numbers and letters you know."

The rest of the hour was spent with Christopher showing his uncle what he knew, which was considerable for his age. Quentin was in admiration of this little boy. He didn't want to lose Jeremy's son now. He wanted them to be a family.

Mrs. Welby arrived on time to get Christopher and Helen, whom she carried upstairs in her arms.

Quentin was free to think again. He then had an idea which struck him as ingenious. He hadn't even made the effort and it had arrived there like a flash of light. He picked up the quill to write again. This might take longer, but he was confident this was the 'ace' up his sleeve or perhaps 'dagger' would be more apt. The letter was soon ready to go, but by more orthodox methods.

Quentin felt better for having taken action. Now his adrenalin had subsided, he was decidedly miserable at the prospect of sharing a house with Irene. It would curtail his relations with Faith and cast a gloom over the household in general. He intended to lay down rules for her, but how to enforce them escaped him. He would, nevertheless, go to Chipping Barnet tomorrow as planned because Faith knew very little about Irene. He would rather that she hear the worst from him.

By the end of the evening, he'd heard that Irene had made herself at home in the room she had been given with Jane in the adjacent service rooms. It was down the corridor from his room, but that didn't worry him as he intended to lock his door each night. He laughed as he imagined changing rooms with Whittle and the shock and the embarrassment she would feel if she did attempt anything. He might just do it...no, he didn't want to lose Whittle. She hadn't made an effort to see the children yet. That comforted him in the idea they didn't really interest her. The evening meal had been served to her in her room. She was evidently resting to regain her full force before going to the attack.

Why did this have to happen now when he thought his life had reached perfection? He was sure Socrates, Plato or Aristotle would have had a good explanation and it wouldn't be simple. His life-line was knowing that Faith was there and with her support and even her way of viewing things, he could accomplish so much. He could hardly wait to join her.

He was on the point of departing in the phaeton the next afternoon when Irene breezed into the hallway. If he hadn't known she was a 'sorceress', he could understand the strength her looks gave her, because she was beauty personified. She now had the luscious figure of a twenty-five-year-old woman and she was groomed as only the Italians knew how.

Her dress in heavy dark green silk must have cost a fortune. The braiding on it was with gold thread, as was the intricate embroidery. Her movements caused the sheen on the silk to subtly change colour, so that one way or another, all attention was drawn to her. It didn't stop him from feeling sick when he thought of the havoc she'd wreaked with Jeremy and the children and even himself. He turned to leave without acknowledging her, when she spoke up.

"Off so early for an evening of entertainment? But of course, I remember, you did keep uncivilised hours. Will we be seeing you later?"

"We!" he exclaimed. "Don't incorporate yourself with anyone else in this household. You've done nothing to merit the right to say 'we'."

He slammed out of the house not giving her time to riposte. Ted was ready and waiting for him. A fine rain had begun which dampened spirits more than they were already.

Faith would be a balm for any problem he had.

-o0o-

She put her arms around his chest and hugged him to her so spontaneously that he thought he would burst from his love for her. She went on her toes to place an open kiss on his mouth that had him drawing in his breath with the taste of her. He found himself uncomfortably tight in his trousers but couldn't allow himself to indulge in any fantasy until he'd talked with her about the critical situation at Marshalswick House.

"Quentin, I received your letter this week. If I hadn't already succumbed to you, I would all over again."

She referred to the one sent before he had found her.

"You may seem gruff sometimes, but you certainly know how to write. If it were possible, I'd love you doubly."

She kissed him on his heart before going to get her bag.

But before they went, he wanted to be sure that she would be prepared to come face to face with Irene.

"We need to talk before we leave," he told her. "There is a new development in Marshalswick."

Seeing his frown, she didn't hesitate to take him upstairs with her, so they could talk calmly.

He studied her, taking in her graceful movements. She was wearing a long-sleeved dress in soft cotton the colour of butter. The buttons in the front and on the sleeves were cloth-covered in a darker yellow. The neckline was low with a fine scalloped edge just above the swell of her breasts; those breasts which had lain on him. He shut his eyes briefly as he remembered the feel of the tips as they'd teased the hair on his chest.

He admitted to himself he was a novice when it came to love. He shuddered to think how close he had come to contenting himself with Irene. He'd needed to flush Irene's image from his mind, and Faith had done that the instant she had come to him. There was no comparison. With Faith, there was an aura which bathed all who was around her with warmth and light. Her beauty could not be categorized, because it was more than physical. How had he lived before knowing her? The answer was simply, he hadn't.

After he'd talked and explained the tragedy surrounding Irene for more than an hour, Faith laughed. Quentin looked at her surprised once again by her self-confidence.

"What are we doing here when we could be more than half way home?"

She jumped up and pulled him to his feet.

"This is going to be a wonderful challenge, because I'm not obliged to follow any rules. I am a commoner. The worse she can do to me is aggress me physically, and I would have no hesitation in retaliating."

Although she'd voiced the idea of violence, it was not something she had ever had to deal with. For her, violence would come in the form of a defensive act. Only the children would be able to provoke her to violence in their defence.

She kissed him with such enthusiasm that he believed that she was going to enjoy herself.

"Those poor children have been used unmercifully in all sorts of strategic moves. Luckily, they haven't been aware of the details. This time Quentin, we have to get them to help. They have to be so obnoxious that no one would want them. You'll have to pretend you would be happy to be shot of them, and the only reason you hesitated when she first arrived was because you didn't want to give her anything she wanted," Faith told him. "Anyway, something like that. Your staff will have to play along as well, and I'm sure they will. They are devoted to you."

Her suggestion seemed a bit of a gamble to him. He didn't want Irene to call his bluff and disappear with the children. He was convinced, though, that she didn't want the aggravation of them now as young children. Hard to tell what her sentiments would be as they grew and she got older, but they weren't there yet.

Faith also suggested he hire someone trustworthy to investigate her, even if it took a while. Best to know your enemy. As it had been his intention to do just that, his spirits lifted with the confirmation that he and Faith thought in the same way. He pulled her close to him in the carriage so he could feel her thigh against his. He kissed her mouth and then her neck below her ear. She had too many blasted clothes on. He couldn't wait to get her to himself.

They arrived home later than the last time because of their delay in Barnet. Stokes had hardly greeted them when Quentin dragged the poor man into the library. Even though it was late, there was no time to be lost. He quickly explained to Stokes what they intended to make Irene believe and asked him to tell the staff, with the exception of Jane, to go along with the 'terrible children' fiction.

Stokes smiled and nodded. His intense dislike for Irene would make this easy.

"Say no more, my lord," he said as he glided from the room.

Quentin had only one idea left in his head.

He yanked Faith after him, up the stairs to the first floor. Unromantic as it was, they took turns in the water closet before locking themselves into Quentin's bedroom. They had both had a week to fantasize, so there were few preliminaries. Faith's presence in his room was all it took to arouse Quentin's imagination. Locking the door had added the 'forbidden' quality' adding a thrill to the moment.

No other woman had ever entered his bedchamber. There had never been anyone he cared for enough to invite — until Faith.

Now he was transformed into a man bursting with passion. He was not aware of their gestures, their shedding of clothing, only the thought that he wanted to hold this woman as close as he could. He wanted to see his body stretched out alongside this enchantingly lovely woman so that he would have memories to tide him over the times when his bed would feel empty without her.

When they had exhausted their physical desire for each other, Quentin spent a long time passing his hand the length of her body. He took in the long measure from her hip to her ankle, appreciating the silken quality to her skin. His hand passed over her shoulder and along her arm to finish by intertwining their fingers which he brought to his lips. He then took her by her shoulder to turn her to him that he might whisper his feelings in the dim light.

"I cannot believe you are here with me. It is the very first time in my life when I have felt unmanned by the bounty I've been accorded. If this should only be a fleeting moment of my life, I am grateful you have deigned to pass it with me. I love you, Faith. Never doubt the sincerity of my words."

"There is no reason this should be a fleeting moment. I am prepared to commit myself to you, and I can reassure you that you have given me more than physical pleasure, my love. It would seem we have more in common than one might suspect. I need to love and to be loved so I think we are quite suited, don't you?"

Smiling, she held his face in both her hands and began to kiss him everywhere. She loved his flavour and was surprised to find he had one. It led her to laving his lips and his mouth with her tongue. He gasped at the sensation and returned the kiss. He laughed and clutched her to him as they entwined their limbs in the jumble of novices discovering that it was possible to wrap yourself around your lover.

"I want you here with me now. I don't want you to leave, ever again," he said with a serious face and a touch of whine to his words.

She could nearly hear the little boy in him. This grown man needed to be spoiled. His life had been so regulated there had been no fun in it. She was going to try and put things right. They spoke about a thousand different things before finally drifting off to sleep.

Hardly any time seemed to have passed when they both jumped awake with a banging and thumping on the bedroom door.

Quentin sat up rubbing his face and looking down at Faith, who tried to get below the sheets. The noise continued. Quentin got up and put on his dressing gown, not the happiest of men. He unlocked the door and yanked it open to see Christopher and Helen standing there. Down the hallway he caught a glimpse of Irene looking furious before she pushed her door shut as hard as she could.

Christopher grinned at him.

"Is that naughty enough?" he said smiling.

Quentin brought them both into the room before carefully shutting the door. He towered over them, but Christopher wasn't worried. He wasn't surprised to see Faith in the room, as he knew his uncle and she were together 'forever.' Helen was too young to think about it at all.

"Uncle Quentin, we were told to be as naughty as we like, and you would be pleased," Christopher explained.

It was too much. Quentin roared with laughter, his deep voice filling the room. That made Faith laugh and then the children were running around the room madly before jumping on the bed.

"Faith, it's fun being naughty. We can do as we like."

Helen was nodding her head in agreement.

"I like to be naughty too," she agreed with her brother.

Quentin squeezed back into bed with Christopher and Helen at the foot of it.

"Well, that was a good start at being naughty," Quentin agreed, "but you mustn't expect to see me look happy. I shall have to pretend that I'm annoyed; Faith too. Don't worry though, we still love you. We just don't want you to be taken away from us, and if you're naughty, you'll stay. Do you understand?"

"Yes. It's so that Mother won't take us with her."

"Do you want to go with your mother?" Faith looked serious as she asked. "You are allowed to go, if that is what you really want."

"Oh no. We're much happier here with you and Uncle Quentin and Wizz, aren't we Helen?"

Little Helen nodded and smiled before throwing herself onto Faith who was having trouble keeping the covers up around her naked body.

"It might be a good idea to bang on your mother's door tomorrow," Quentin suggested, "but don't wait for her to invite you in. Run away quickly."

Quentin thought he might be able to think up a few other naughty things for them to do. This was all strange to him — in bed with the love of his life and two wonderful children smiling and happy in the middle. He felt his eyes smart, so he turned and kissed Faith in front of the children who clapped with enthusiasm.

He got up and shooed the children out, telling them to go and have breakfast with Mrs. Welby. (ah, he'd remembered her name, at last). He would come and get them later for an outing. They left happy enough. He locked the door, dropped his dressing gown and went straight back to bed with Faith.

"Nothing like a bit of excitement to get an appetite worked up and I'm hungry for you," he said. "Bloody hell, Faith, I never say silly things like that. What has happened to me to get me spouting idiotic hyperboles?"

She didn't answer as her mouth was already on his.

They prepared themselves before going down to breakfast. There was no sign of Irene. She probably slept until midday. He'd worried unnecessarily about her meeting Faith, although now he was sure that Faith could give her as good as she got.

They decided to take the children into St. Albans to show them all the Roman vestiges which marked its history as a Roman settlement. There were Roman mosaics and parts of a Roman wall which they thought might interest Christopher. Faith would be happy to read to them later about the Roman army too. The more gruesome history of the martyr St Alban getting his head chopped off was, perhaps, something they would mention another time.

They stopped at The Goat Inn for lunch and the naughty children were very well behaved.

The serving girl remarked on what a nice, happy family they made. Faith smiled and took Quentin's hand under the table. Every time she showed him a mark of her affection, he thought of how nearly he had lost her. It still made his stomach drop. He knew he had to marry her before he would feel truly secure, and yet it frightened him to speak about it for fear of scaring her away. He raised her hand and kissed it to reassure himself.

They were home in time for tea.

So was Irene. They had already asked to have it in the drawing room when Irene appeared.

"So, I was wrong. You have found a woman who will have you," she said with a laugh one might think pleasant. They all knew the comment wasn't meant to be pleasant.

"I am much honoured that Quentin would have me. It is not every day that one meets a man who is: Intelligent, Handsome, Generous, Humorous, Diligent, Altruistic and Caring. I believe that gives you a fair idea just how honoured I am," Faith said with a similar tone to her voice.

"You forgot wealthy," Irene was quick to add.

"Oh yes, ...and I forgot to mention an excellent lover."

Faith spoke as though she hadn't heard Irene's sharp remark.

Quentin sat with a grin on his face. He was enjoying this. He knew Irene would have stamped her foot in a tantrum had she been standing.

"Yes, well they do say that 'Beauty in things exists merely in the mind which contemplates them'. It probably holds true for all the rest."

"What does it matter as long as it holds true for me?" Faith lifted her cup in a toast to Quentin, who winked at her.

"I can see I am 'de trop', one too many, so I'll just go and see my children."

She tried to use her words to slice the ambience, but, before she could open the drawing room door, there was the sound of breaking china in the hallway and childish cries and protests before more china crashed to the floor.

They both saw Irene hesitate before opening the door, but she could hardly back down now.

Faith turned to Quentin and said, "We're going to have to replace the Sèvres service. Those children have broken more pieces than I can count."

Irene opened the door and went out as the children ran up the stairs and disappeared. Stokes appeared with a maid carrying a pan and broom. It was obvious Irene tried to bang the door behind her, but Quentin already knew from experience that none of the doors slammed.

'Air pressure,' he thought smiling.

He got up and leaned over Faith holding the arms of the chair on either side of her.

"So I'm an excellent lover?" he beamed down at her.

"Yes, and I thought it would irk her no end."

Faith grabbed his waistband and he had to pull back quickly.

"Don't do that to me, unless you want to spend the rest of the day in bed."

"It still wouldn't be enough, Quentin. I want you all the time," she whined.

"At last I have found a way to get you to do what I want, if not..." he grinned.

"Faith, I want us to marry. We have to decide when and then set things in motion."

He looked hopeful.

"Shall we say that the day I am carrying your baby, we can begin the formalities. Does that seem fair?"

She looked at him with her head on one side. He suddenly pulled her to her feet.

"Come on then, let's not waste time," he urged.

He was joking but not a hundred percent.

Stokes had informed them that the broken china had actually been old chipped pieces of kitchenware. This was part of the plan to make Irene change her mind about taking the children. Both Christopher and Helen were enjoying the comedy. He warned them not to be surprised at anything unusual which took place with the children, as the staff had come up with a ton of ideas. There was nothing like a conspiracy to meld the troops.

Quentin did get Faith back in his bed in the late afternoon. He couldn't bear the idea of the week ahead without her. He wanted to hold her in his arms, their flesh touching and breathe in the arresting perfume which was Faith. She had discovered the strange pleasure she received from licking him. Did other women like to lick and suck? She doubted she would ever know. She had so much to anticipate. Oh how she loved him and to think she had nearly left him aside.

"Thank you, God," she whispered.

She returned to Barnet that evening.

"I'll see you next month, Quentin."

When he looked puzzled, she giggled saying 'next Saturday is the first of October.' He breathed easier.

Monday saw the return of his groom with correspondence from his solicitors. The news wasn't good because, although he had been named the guardian of the two children, it was in the case that their parents were dead or untraceable. At Jeremy's death, they hadn't known if Irene was alive or dead and if alive, where? That was how the children had come to be in his care.

But Irene was back, so she now had legal responsibility for them, unless she relinquished it in his favour. The idea of losing them troubled him deeply. He had to determine what she was really after. He'd hired someone to investigate her, but it would take a lot of time due to the fact she'd been living in Italy.

So, this week would end September.

Quentin found he was wishing his life away so that he could be with Faith all the time. The thought sent the tiniest sensation to his lower abdomen, but he tamped it down not wishing to spend the week in agony. He shook his head in disbelief. Unlike some of his peers, he had never had a rampant libido in all this adult life and yet now... He was going to have to concentrate more on the ethereal side of love if he wanted to make it through the next week... sane.

He made a special effort to catch up on business which had been neglected during the month, but tomorrow, James Reed would be there to give account of the monthly finances. He smiled as he heard the children screaming at each other and things dropping. He doubted that Irene would be smiling.

The library door opened without a knock and there stood an indignant Irene.

"Haven't you any control over those children? They are abominable!" she screeched.

"You're their mother. If you'd been more caring when they were babies, they'd certainly be better behaved today. Be careful whom you tar with your brush."

She swirled her skirts and left the library unsuccessfully slamming the unslammable.

He loved those children.

The Saturday routine took place without variance. Except, James Reed offered his congratulations to Quentin, having heard from a number of sources that he and Faith were reconciled to the hilt. He wouldn't go as far as to saying the best man had won, because he didn't believe he had. He was just happy if Faith was.

He knew Irene from long date and did his best to avoid her. He considered her a viper and had never understood the attraction men found her to be. She must have sensed his dislike, because when their paths did cross, she ignored him. None of her wily ways wasted on him.

After lunch, there was a crisis when Irene found snails crawling up the mirror in her room. She yelled for "Stokes!" at the top of her lungs, but his back was aching, so he took longer than usual to arrive.

"I will not tolerate anyone entering my room without my permission, do you hear?" she ordered.

"Would that mean maids as well as your children, ma'am?" Stokes dared ask.

"Don't be daft, Stokes. You know I mean those little devils one calls children."

Stokes organised his face to look shocked, but it was lost on her.

"Now, get rid of those slimy creatures and get someone to clean the mirror." With a grimace, she gestured towards the snails and their trails on several mirrors.

He very slowly left the room holding one hand on his non-existent ache. She couldn't see the smile on his face.

Quentin left at the first opportunity to get Faith. How was it that he was still excited and still in a hurry to fetch her? His enthusiasm hadn't waned an iota. He had the impression that the more time went by, the more he regressed in age. He was acting like an adolescent now, and yet he didn't remember ever feeling like this at any other period in his life.

In his youth, there had been one or two girls whom he'd lusted after, and he'd had full sex with maybe six women, all told, but that didn't make him much of an expert. He'd never felt happy afterwards. In fact, he was hardly more experienced than Faith, when it came down to it. He'd never had a durable relationship with a woman. It was beyond him to understand why it was so good between them. Faith wasn't experienced, but she was naturally responsive to him, which fuelled his passion. It wasn't just because he loved her. He'd been drawn to her before that. He did know that he was also enraptured by her smell, her taste. There really must be some invisible ingredient at work.

To think, all he had to do to keep her was to give her a child and he was more than willing to do that. There was only a month separating them from a life together, and it would have to have thirty-one days in it.

The weekend with Faith passed in a blaze of bliss.

At one moment, Faith had asked Quentin if it were possible to go and visit the Brosnans, the time it would take to let Eloïse know that she was back. She didn't want to stay. If they were not receiving, she would leave a short note to the same effect.

They went with the children in the pony trap and Faith had the pleasure of seeing Eloïse, who was now quite large with her pregnancy. Eloïse had asked them to stay, but Faith explained that they had not planned on it and had promised other activities to the children. She told her that she would be back permanently at the end of October, and that she hoped to be able to spend a little time with her then. She also announced that she and Quentin hoped to marry at some time in the future. They left the Brosnans on their doorstep waving heart-felt goodbyes.

The afternoon was spent teaching the children to ride on the pony. Helen took to it with the greatest of ease while Christopher was a little nervous. Once he saw Helen laughing as she went around in the saddle, he managed just as well. Not even Irene was able to cast a shadow on the weekend with her mean jibes or her criticisms. Faith and Quentin would just look at each other while trying to stifle their laughs whenever they heard her make a snide remark. It was the quickest way to end any of her comments. More often than not, she left in a huff.

The saddest moment was when Faith had to leave, yet again. They both agreed that it could have been worse. What if she'd found a job much farther away — in London, for example?

"Don't give me nightmares, Faith. I would have been stuck here on my own with Irene."

Quentin had planned to return to Chipping Barnet on the Thursday, sixth of October, their joint birthday. It was to be a surprise for Faith as he'd implied he'd see her as usual on the Saturday evening. For their birthday celebration, he had reserved the best room in The Mitre Inn in the name of Baron and Baroness Isleworth. It would assure them of the best birthday dinner possible.

His 'surprise' for Faith nearly killed him...

At seven o'clock on the sixth, he was waiting across the road from the shop when he saw Faith leave with a tall young man. She locked the door before the young man took her hand to his arm, and they began to walk down the street chatting and smiling to each other, obvious friends.

It was as though he had been rammed in the chest. He backed into the brick wall behind him and had to hold on to it to stop from falling. He didn't know what to do. He gasped. He managed then to gulp in great quantities of air as he tried to take control again. His mind tried to refute what his eyes had seen.

Then, before he could move from the wall, he saw a woman on the same pavement as the couple, walking towards them. Upon reaching the two, who acted surprised to see her, she took the man's other arm and pulled them round to return to the shop.

It had been a false alarm. Faith hadn't deserted him for another man.

The sweat on his face mingled with the water brimming from his eyes. He took his handkerchief and wiped all his face and then wiped it a second time without thinking. The relief he now felt made him want to laugh hysterically. How easy it would have been to think the worst. Was he so insecure? It seemed that love brought pain as well as pleasure.

He waited five minutes before crossing the road. He wanted to be sure that he was breathing normally and that his face was no longer perspiring. The shop door had been closed with the blind pulled down as it was well past seven o'clock. He knocked sturdily on the door and waited until Faith peaked from behind the blind.

Her face lit up, leaving Quentin in no doubt that his visit gave her pleasure. He still had trouble functioning, so when she opened the door to him, he nearly fell into her arms. He seized her tightly burying his face in her neck breathing heavily.

"What's the matter Quentin? Are you ill?" she asked anxiously.

"No, no. I'll be all right. I think I must be more tired than I realised."

He tried to excuse himself.

"I wanted to surprise you for our birthday, my love. Happy Birthday."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. He kissed her and couldn't stop. He deepened their kiss and finally had to pull back or disgrace himself on the spot. He knew that somewhere in the building there were at least two other people. She sensed his uncertainty or his insecurity, so pulled him to her to hug him. She never again wanted to be responsible for making this man unhappy.

"Quentin?"

He looked at her squarely with the thinnest smile. He didn't want to explain anything, at least not now.

"Yes..."

"Will you marry me as soon as possible?"

She added as an afterthought, "Please."

"Do you think you're with child?" he asked tentatively, remembering the condition that she had made for marrying him.

"No. I want you for you. I want you to be mine for no other reason than I want you. With your earnestness, I've realised the seriousness of marriage. I shouldn't have taken your proposal lightly, but I've never had anyone to tell me or show me the importance of being wedded. I want the real thing NOW."

She laughed.

He kissed her face on every exposed surface and then began again until someone coughed in the back of the shop.

Faith turned while saying to Quentin, "This is my dear friend Lydia Curzon. This is their shop and they've come home early. Lydia, this is Quentin Wolfe, the man I am going to marry, in the shortest possible time."

Then everything was normal again. Niceties were exchanged and Quentin invited them all to have dinner with him at the Mitre Inn. As Faith hadn't expected the Curzons, it was the perfect solution in every way.

The Curzons were surprised when the landlord addressed Quentin as 'my Lord'. Faith hadn't said anything to them about him being titled. He didn't seem to notice, so nothing was said. They were taken to a table away from the main bustle and began to order their meal. As they ate, it was agreed that Faith would finish the week and would leave them on Saturday, late afternoon. Now that they were home, there was no need for her to stay longer.

Quentin liked the Curzons. They were simple and unpretentious. Mr. Ciaran Curzon obviously had Irish blood in him, because he had the gift of the gab along with a wonderful sense of humour. Of course, he had an Irish accent, too. They had a lovely meal, and it was the first time that he and Faith had socialised as a couple. He felt good again. The inn's landlord came to their table after the meal was finished with a small birthday cake and a bottle of champagne which Quentin had ordered beforehand. They all toasted the happy and unusual event of the double birthday.

As it was getting late, the Curzons left saying they would probably see one another tomorrow at some time. There was no embarrassment apparent about Faith staying with Quentin. Perhaps the Curzons had indulged before marrying, or perhaps they were just happy that others were happy too.

He and Faith went up to the room he had booked which was decent and adequate with a corner reserved for washing behind a folding screen. They both undressed and passed to their ablutions before getting into bed. Once in bed, Quentin pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her and caress her with a vigour he had never before shown. He was hardly aware of the overflowing passion he felt. He brought her to fulfilment without taking possession of her and continued to stimulate her until she herself lost control and she urged him on, pleading for release yet again, but he held her on the brink until he could wait no more. They melded.

He was breathing raggedly at the edge of his emotions. He realised that the shock he had received earlier in the evening had pushed him to claiming Faith as men had done, time immemorial. He had branded her with himself. He had wanted to mark her with his body.

Guilt now predominated as he remembered what she had said about him. He was jealous and possessive and would never change. He covered his eyes with one of his large hands and took deep breaths. He couldn't stop. He was afraid to look at her.

For some inexplicable reason, Faith understood his distress. She didn't know what had provoked it, but she somehow understood. He had been alone too long, and he wanted her to belong to him. She now kissed him gently on the lips. She half pulled her body onto his so her face was above his and she hugged him while kissing his chin, his cheeks, his ears until he lowered his hand. She took his face between her two hands and turned him to her. She whispered to him that she loved him and nothing would ever change that.

"I'm sorry Faith. I love you too much. I don't know why there is a limit but I have the impression that I passed it. I am just so afraid of losing you again."

"You're mad, Quentin Wolfe. Can't you tell that I'm addicted to you? We can be married by the beginning of next month if banns are called soon. In fact, after tonight we'd better hurry because I'm sure you've taken possession of me in more ways than one."

They interlaced themselves with their mouths at kissing distance and went to sleep exhausted.

In the morning, everything was well with the world. Quentin and Faith had slept comfortably, each reaching out for the other at different times in the night so as to be reassured that they weren't dreaming. Quentin cuddled Faith and she had the impression that the panic which had enveloped him seemed to have passed.

She hurried to get ready for work and then Quentin came awake and had to hurry too, because he wanted to have breakfast with her. He walked her to the shop and left her saying he would meet her at seven. He planned to keep their room at the inn so that they would be able to spend Faith's free time together. He kissed her tenderly and left. Faith watched him until he was out of sight, suspecting that she wasn't the first woman in the world who had a man with doubts.

The two days went very quickly as Lydia was with her in the shop.

Lydia described their trip to Ireland, which had lasted too long for them both. There had been so many aunts, uncles and cousins to meet that she was afraid that she only remembered half of them. She would never have asked Ciaran to cut short the visits, but it was he who asked her if she minded if they left sooner than planned.

The journey around Ireland was supposed to have been a holiday, but the real holiday was coming home. She confided in Faith that she was increasing and that the baby would be due in less than six months now. She was grateful that they had been able to make the trip at this time, because knowing the extent of the family now, she was daunted by the idea of making the rounds with a babe in arms.

She had been surprised to find that Faith's situation had changed so dramatically in the time they had been away, but from the beginning, she had suspected that there had been more to the story than Faith had been willing to tell. She was very happy for her, and as it seemed that Quentin had enjoyed their company as much as they had his, there was every chance that they would visit Marshalswick. As Marshalswick was relatively near, the farewells weren't as sad as they might have been.

Some of Faith's belongings were still in the Curzons' storage, so they knew they would be meeting again before too long. Faith assured Lydia that she would be ready to help her in any way before or after the arrival of the baby. Lydia smiled saying that she hoped that she would agree to being the baby's godmother, but they would speak about it at a later date. There was no point in tempting fate...

'Faith had become free on the eighth of October, so it didn't matter how many days there were in the month after all,' Quentin thought.

They were able to load a good part of her belongings into the phaeton and they left feeling excited as their new life together began.

"You better not change your mind about me, Quentin Wolfe, or you'll wish you'd never been born."

He laughed and began singing "I've got sixpence, jolly, jolly sixpence..."

She looked at him in astonishment. It was the first time he had ever sung in her presence, and he sang exceedingly well. My goodness, he would never cease to surprise her.

There was a happy time to be had by all when they arrived back at Marshalswick House earlier than expected. Even Wizz seemed to sense the excitement.

"You really don't have to leave any more?" Christopher questioned her. He wanted to be absolutely certain she was going to stay.

He came and put an arm around her waist and leaned against her as any child belonging to her might have done. In a flash of insight, Faith imagined she was seeing Quentin young, except at five, Quentin hadn't had anyone, because he had been two when his mother had died at Jeremy's birth. She would never be able to change what was in the past, but she would try her best to prevent him dwelling on it. It would become vaguer as happy memories supplanted distant ones and now he had his chance at a second life...
Chapter 9

Monday afternoon had the house in an uproar. Quentin's friend Jasper arrived with a great deal of hoo-ha.

Quentin was ebullient with greetings, as grooms rushed to take charge of Jasper's horses and carriage, and his own coachman and groom saw to the trunks with Biggs. Wizz went mad and ran around in circles with the children running in and out of the house offering to carry things for the new guest. Whittle and several of the servants had waited on the side-lines for instructions and lo and behold, Irene had materialised too.

Faith had been pleased to meet someone from Quentin's past and hoped she would get snippets of times they had spent together — school and university antics. Quentin was hoping that she wouldn't.

She found Jasper a very good-looking man.

His dark blond hair was thick, slightly wavy and cut short with sideburns that ended just below his cheek bones. He was slender and apparently in good shape, and although he was nearly as tall as Quentin, he was not as broad. One might describe him as sinewy rather than solid. Blue eyes were overshadowed by dark brows with a straight nose underlined by a well-shaped mouth. The charming smile he bestowed upon everyone showed that his teeth were good, too.

Within the first ten minutes of being there, he had them all in stitches, laughing at his witty remarks. He had it all, which made Faith wonder why he was still a bachelor. She was missing something...

Unknown to everyone, Jasper was a little aghast to arrive and to be greeted by pandemonium. It certainly wasn't what he had expected. He'd always considered Quentin and his life-style as staid, sedate, but this was definitely outside that realm. If he'd replied to Quentin's call for help, it was simply because he was bored. The London season had been over for six weeks as had the lease on the house in Cork Street and his latest mistress. The return to his country seat had palled after two days, and he'd been considering a tour of Europe now that Napoleon had been packed away to St Helena. The only thing which had stopped him was the fact he was on his own. What pleasure was there in touring on one's own? This environment, however, was going from one extreme to another — from boredom to bedlam.

Quentin's ladylove was quite delicious. He understood better why Quentin hadn't stayed with him in London the allotted time. It was obvious to anyone who wished to see it, that they were besotted with one another. He wondered how long that would last. Give Quentin his due though, he'd never really had a woman in his life. This one was, nevertheless, a little too unsophisticated, 'back to nature' for him, although he had immediately appreciated her sense of humour. Within minutes, he'd had the occasion of crossing wits with her, and she'd had him laughing in spite of himself.

But no, if there were to be 'dalliance', his choice would fall, without hesitation, on the beauty standing at the top of the steps. This must be the 'blight' that Quentin had mentioned in his letter. Jasper loved a challenge. He could feel a thrill running through him now with the anticipation of the hunt. The best part was the chase leading up to the kill and, depending on the prey, it could take weeks. He sighed without realising it.

After the presentations had been made, Jasper found himself being ushered into the drawing room for refreshments. There, his first impression of the stately home nearly overwhelmed him.

My God, the room was a disaster! How could they bear to spend any time in such a depressing place? Even the kitchen had to be better. He just might have to have a quiet word with Faith and hope she had some appreciation of good taste. He was renowned for his.

The armchairs were comfortable as long as one kept one's eyes shut; if not, their comfort was quickly overridden by their awful colour.

Better to feast one's eyes on the icy beauty called Irene.

He knew the two children were hers, but he wanted to start with them to test the ground and to assert his directness.

"This is going to be a bit of trial for me Quentin," he began. "I'm certainly not used to having little pests buzzing around me. Who has had the misfortune to beget them?"

"Not guilty," replied Quentin with a twitch to his lips.

"Sir, do I look old enough to have had two children?" questioned Faith with a mocking scoff on her face. It was a back-handed jibe at Irene who was, in fact, younger than Faith.

They all looked at the remaining tea-drinker, who was Irene.

"I was certainly very young when I had them," she said.

It was the only way she could decently stand her ground.

"I can quite believe it, ma'am. You hardly look more than a child yourself," Jasper flattered.

Faith noticed a slight blush colour Irene's cheeks. The banter continued until all the tea was gone.

Then Jasper asked if he might be shown to his room as he was sure that Biggs had already prepared a change of clothing for him.

There was a terrible ruckus in the hallway with the dog yipping and some shouting.

Irene rolled her eyes and turned her shoulder away from the door, disowning any connection to whatever was happening on the other side of it. The noise disappeared, so perhaps the children had, as well.

Quentin got up saying to Jasper he'd get Stokes to show him his room and the facilities. Stokes had just returned to the hallway, so he took Jasper up to his room next to that of his valet. He also indicated to Jasper where he could find the water closet at the end of the corridor.

The six main bedrooms were all on the first floor — three on each side of the corridor which led to the back stairway. A thick carpet assured guests that any passage in the corridor would not be heard inside their rooms. The only natural light came from each end of the corridor and the tall windows which graced the stairways.

Next to each main bedroom door was a less grand door leading to the dressing room and the valet or maid's room — two rooms running into each other. Once inside the dressing room, it was possible to pass into the master bedroom without returning to the corridor. Of course, all the doors could be locked, if desired.

This layout suited Quentin and Faith because they had opened up the two smaller rooms to accommodate their accumulated affairs. Quentin had made it clear from the start that he wanted Faith to share his room, none of that 'master and mistress bedrooms' business. Faith had no trouble accommodating his wish as it had never occurred to her that husband and wives would sleep apart. She couldn't understand why they would want to.

To placate Whittle, who had been turned out of the valet's room, Quentin had given him his own room farther down the corridor. It simply meant that one guest room didn't have the secondary rooms and Whittle had two rooms to himself to compensate. Quentin had only rarely had guests that stayed and then the five guest rooms had never been used at one time. In the last fifty years, the house had never had so many people living in it. Quentin actually felt a little smug with the house literally vibrating from all the activity. He'd begun to imagine how it would be the day Faith gave him a child of his own.

It seemed that everything went smoothly, and although Jasper might not have cared for the décor in his room, he was happy that it faced south and the gardens at the back. He'd noted with a wry smile that Irene's rooms were across from his. While he was at it, he wondered vaguely if Biggs might take a fancy to her maid, Jane. Hmmm...that would be a very amusing situation.

Dinner was served at half past seven. There was nothing to criticise about the meal. It was perfect.

'Quentin must know a thing or two about wine,' Jasper thought as the meal came to an end. It was something he had not expected of Quentin. But then, Quentin had never been one for entertaining, so there was no way Jasper could have known. This evening, each bottle had been well chosen to accompany the dish with which it was served.

"I have to congratulate you on your cellar, Quentin. I am impressed with the wine this evening."

"I have to admit that my 'négociant des vins', my wine merchant, should get the credit. I know what I like, and he hasn't failed me yet."

"Mrs. Wolfe, I understand that you have spent some time in Italy. Would you have a preference for Italian wine— or did you tire of all things Italian? I wonder as you are now returned to us," Jasper probed audaciously.

"I've discovered that one tires of exotic things quicker than the ordinary ones," Irene replied.

She would leave it at that as an explanation.

"Yes, I suppose we are ordinary. I'm afraid we Englishmen aren't known for being exotic, although I do have my moments when I have been known to excel. I personally would recommend variety over exoticism. Mr. Cowper was known to say that 'Variety's the very spice of life that gives it all its flavour.' I might even have said it myself, had he not said it first." Jasper chuckled.

"I believe you're right, my Lord. Did you hear that Quentin? We're going to have to add some variety to our life." Faith grinned at Quentin.

"Is this going to cost me anything?" Quentin teased.

"Come now, you have been known to contribute when it was worth it," Faith continued in the same vein.

"Well I'm on a spice-free diet for the time being. It would have to be something quite exceptional indeed to tempt me," Irene threw in.

She wanted to make her position quite clear.

"Well, you won't know if you like it unless you try it. Isn't that what all Nannies say to their charges when they're little? I believe it's true at all stages of life," Jasper finished with a smile. He hadn't appreciated his nanny all those years ago. He gave her credit now and then changed tactics.

"I wonder if I might get you to stroll along the drive with me, Mrs. Wolfe? A little fresh air is known to work wonders after a feast of this magnitude," Jasper suggested.

"That sounds banal enough for me," Irene replied. "I'll just get my shawl."

Whereupon, she left the room.

"If you don't mind, my Lord, I shall leave you to finish your evening as you see fit. Quentin and I still have a 'variety' of things to do, so we'd better leave you now."

Faith started for the doorway looking back over her shoulder at Quentin, who couldn't stop from chuckling to himself.

"I can't understand why you spent as much as three weeks in London, Quentin, old chap..." Jasper shook his head as his words were lost, because Quentin was already half out the door.

Whatever the spice used by Quentin and Faith, there was also a lot of sporadic laughing which did their souls good too.

Jasper was actually finding himself fascinated by Irene. He had been on the London social scene for years. He had seen women of all calibres come and go or linger if they weren't successful, but Irene was by far the most beautiful. He also knew that she was by far the most cold and calculating. It fuelled his desire to strip her to the essentials and dominate her. But first, he needed to do a little reconnaissance work. Like Quentin, he wondered what she was doing in Marshalswick.

The stroll along the drive had been banal as Irene had suggested it would be. The drive was illuminated every fifteen feet by a pair of wrought iron lamp-posts enclosing great tallow candles behind glass panes. The candles were lit for a couple of hours each evening. They gave enough light to line the drive and make the walk pleasant.

The walk rendered no information that they didn't already know. Irene was twenty-five and had just returned from three years in Italy. Jasper was thirty-four and a wealthy viscount with his country estate in Hertfordshire.

They were both unmarried, although Irene was a widow. Jasper knew the story.

He decided that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. As there was no sense in taking a detour, he homed in on Irene by telling her they were both of the same species. She heard a description of herself which amazed her for its accuracy. She was speechless. It was the first time in her life that anyone had been blunt with her and called a spade a spade.

She had been brought up knowing that Society was subtle. One manoeuvred in Society, testing the ground before putting a foot down. Everyone knew that one never revealed one's hand before knowing it was a winning one. Experience had taught her that a winning hand always consisted of a card up one's sleeve, just in case one had miscalculated.

The one time she had misjudged — her first serious attempt of manipulating Quentin — she had been young and too sure of herself to have allowed for the extra card. She'd acted spontaneously.

Never again.

She had to admit, though, that Jasper had taken her by surprise. He was alarmingly clairvoyant, perspicacious, so she was now forced to determine what effect this might have on her. What she hadn't realised, because she was still that much younger and less experienced that Jasper, was he had deliberately put the focus on her to better draw attention away from himself.

He could see her, even in the dim light of the drive, re-thinking her position. He could almost imagine her with a finger to her mouth as she thought. This gave him the thrill which goes with power. He also knew something she probably didn't know about herself. To be complete, perhaps even happy, she needed someone who was more than her match. Someone who could frighten and thrill her with their superiority. It might take her a while to realise that he knew her better than she knew herself — and that he was that someone.

As they parted company in the corridor, Jasper took her hand to kiss the back. In lifting it, his hand brushed her breast almost imperceptibly and he heard her take in her breath. He smiled to himself. He was going to enjoy his stay in spite of the pests...

-o0o-

Almost before opening his eyes, Quentin put out a hand to reach for Faith. A little voice at the end of the bed said, "Are you awake Uncle Quentin?"

He groaned as he pulled the covers up making sure that both Faith and he were decent before focussing on the wooden foot of the bed.

There they were, Christopher and Helen, smiling in his direction.

'Lord, they must have forgotten to lock the door in their haste to strip last night. Thank goodness, the children hadn't come in ten minutes later this morning. Who knows what they would have found?' Quentin thought. He had been reaching for Faith when Christopher had spoken. He quelled at the thought.

"You said you would take us fishing when you woke up," Christopher reminded him.

"You're awake," Christopher stated simply.

Faith began to stir, although Christopher had been speaking quietly. She realised what was happening and reached to Quentin to tickle him. Taken unawares, he roared and pulled up into ball trying to avoid her hands while staying decent in front of the children.

It was chaos.

The children climbed onto the bed and tried to tickle him too. Wizz, who had been invisible until then, jumped, also trying to get on the bed yipping excitedly. Quentin was now laughing heartily in a room full of good humour.

He grabbed Faith to stop her hands and gave her kisses all over her face. Helen wanted kisses too, but Quentin put one on her cheek and said that if they were going to go fishing, everyone had to wash, dress and have breakfast first. He sent them out of the room to find Mrs. Welby, and once the door was shut, jumped out of bed in his 'Faith aroused state' to lock it. Faith had only to touch his bare body and he desired her. Her admiring stare was all he needed to be encouraged and they only took ten minutes to begin their day on a climax.

"Everything is going to seem dull after that," moaned Faith. "Fishing isn't the most stimulating pastime..."

"Ah, but you did tell me that half your pleasure is the anticipation. Wait until tonight," he teased.

"We do make a good family, don't we?" Faith stated earnestly. "I just wish that Irene would leave without the children."

"That may happen yet. I have set things into motion and it will only be a question of time before there is some real action."

He kissed her as he left the bed.

-o0o-

The fishing outing was an experience for them all. Faith had never been before. She was as naïve as the children. Quentin had worms and a small tin of grubs ready to take with them, and all the old tackle had been sorted through and made ready by Humphries, the gardener, who was the only one who took any interest in fishing. Quentin had last fished over ten years ago and wondered why he hadn't bothered since, because it had always been a moment of peace for him.

They had taken a picnic with them to eat on the banks of the lake. The actual fishing didn't last long as the worms didn't stay on their hooks and no one wanted to touch them except Quentin. The whole episode brought them a lot of amusement and Helen finished by slipping into the shallow water.

"Well, I suppose the fish have all decided to go to the other side of the lake now that Helen has tried to sit on them. We might as well have our lunch," Quentin was quick to suggest amidst much laughter.

Helen was dried as best as they could with napkins. As the day was warm and sunny, they didn't worry about her, as they knew she would soon be dry. They sat in a shady spot beneath a leaning tree and enjoyed the meal of hard boiled eggs, cold meat, tomatoes, pickles, cheese and chutney with lots of buttered bread. A bottle of lemonade suited everyone as refreshment. Millie had put in her best seed cake for dessert so they were all very full for the trip home.

Helen went to sleep in Faith's arms on their way back in the pony trap. Christopher looked as though he was tired too, but the pleasure of being part of a family prevented him from missing anything. Sitting in the middle of the pony trap, he leaned against Quentin in such an endearing fashion that Quentin took the reins in one hand and put his other arm around him.

It was Quentin who sighed. He remembered James Reed in the same situation. They must go and speak to the parish vicar about announcing the banns, because even now he wouldn't feel completely secure until Faith married him. He looked at her looking down at Helen in her arms and she must have sensed his regard because she lifted her face towards him and whispered, "I love you."

If it were possible, his very soul ached for her.

Chapter 10

Jasper was enjoying his role of cat. He toyed with Irene when he sensed she was in her most vulnerable state. He caught her once in her dressing gown going to the water closet and saw her hesitate as to whether she should continue or return to her room. Her hair hadn't been brushed and looked a bit wild. In fact, it looked delightful, but he knew that she would feel at her disadvantage because of it. So he held her in trite conversation in the corridor. She'd finally made an excuse to return to her room.

He noted that she tried to avoid her children whenever possible. That suited him, because he had never had the slightest inclination of having anything to do with any human under eighteen. His little assaults on her had stimulated him, but his bouts of lust didn't trouble him particularly as they had always heightened the final and ultimate assault accorded to the victor.

He made no obvious attempts to find her, although he was quite subtle keeping track of her movements. He had known she was going to ride with a groom so he'd made a point of being in the stables long before she arrived, so it would seem he'd had the idea before her. As they were both out to ride, it seemed a good idea if they rode together. Jasper made a point of telling the groom that he would still be needed, leaving it unsaid that it was because he didn't wish to compromise Madame.

Jasper was perfectly confident of the image he gave when on horseback. It was one of his favourite pastimes and he mounted exceedingly well. His clothes were tailored to perfection for him, and his command of any horse drew looks of admiration or envy. It was what he did second best in life, but not everyone would know what he did best. Only those fortunate women whom his choice had fallen upon could vouch for his outstanding prowess as a lover.

He was surprised to see how well Irene rode. She looked so feminine that it was hard to imagine her anywhere near a horse or manure or mud. When he complimented her, she admitted that it was the way she escaped from the impression of being enclosed. She needed to feel she controlled her own freedom. Jasper registered the remark, because he knew Quentin would be happy to hear it. It meant that taking on her two children would certainly curtail her freedom, and he didn't believe for a second she had any intention of doing that.

Putting himself in her place for the briefest instant, the idea of having two young children hanging onto a leg or a neck made him sympathise with her. He would have run away too. He suddenly looked at her with different eyes. She had been lucky to be so young when she'd had the children. Her body had definitely recovered its youthful shape and riding had toned her muscles. She didn't look her age and her wardrobe flattered her, being of the highest quality and in extremely good taste. Jasper himself favoured Italian fashion over French. This line of thought led him to his desire to tour Europe. He looked sideways at Irene surprised by the idea that he might enjoy touring with her. Stranger things had been known to happen to him, so he mustn't discard the idea without giving it a chance.

Hmmm.

Now that Jasper was in residence at Marshalswick House, dinner automatically included him. Quentin and Faith alone would have been able to arrange for their meals to be 'intimate' but Jasper's presence changed the equation. He was a guest and had to be catered to and the by-product was that Irene attended the dinners in the dining room too.

One often imagines the worst only to find that reality is never quite that bad. This was the case with the dinners. Both Faith and Quentin managed to get through the first dinner in Irene's presence, without any outstanding unpleasantness.

Faith later said to Quentin that she thought that Jasper acted as a buffer. Irene didn't seem as virulent with him present. Perhaps she was trying to impress him or rather, trying not to make a bad impression? It was apparent, though, that Quentin spoke as few words to her as possible and certainly never engaged her in conversation, but Jasper made up for any awkward moments with his charming wit.

Once again, Faith found herself wondering why he wasn't married. He showed no signs of leaning towards the company of men and the occasional remark made by Quentin left her with little doubt about his skill with the women of his choice.

-o0o-

Mrs. Welby continued to work as nursemaid to the children while Faith relayed with her, hspending time on their education. It actually seemed to be the perfect solution for all concerned.

Mrs. Welby found that she had more free time to herself than had been planned, so it made her very amenable to everyone. Faith too had more time than had originally been organised, so she was able to devote more time to Quentin without the worry of the children. The children now found that they were surrounded by people who cared, and it made Faith happy to see how Christopher seemed to have some of the spirit which came to Helen so naturally. She sometimes heard brother and sister laughing together.

They both got on very well with the Brosnan children, so they took turns visiting each other whenever it was convenient.

They continued with their naughty, dissuasive ways, but Irene had realised it did no good to complain. No one listened to her.

On one occasion they had tied her door handle to that of the adjacent door. It meant she couldn't get out of her room even if she went through to the dressing room. The servants who were present counted that she pulled the bell-rope in her room at least ten times before giving up. Rose, the maid, finally went up to open the door asking 'why she hadn't used the bell-rope to call someone...?'

"Mrs. Wolfe growled," she told everyone later with a giggle.

Jasper's presence did mean that Irene was on her best behaviour. They were both seen to go riding a lot, and of course, the servants will talk, especially as they were now going without a groom.

Quentin and Faith had gone to see the vicar about publishing the banns. Quentin was thrilled to have a date for their marriage. It was to be on Saturday, 12th of November, which was less than a month away.

As Faith had no desire to go to London for the new clothes Quentin insisted she have, it was arranged that she go into St Albans and have herself measured for anything she wanted. He even said he would go with her if it would please her, although he had no real idea about today's fashion for women. He was sure the dressmaker would be perfectly up to date with current fashions, being so near to London.

They made a list of people they would like to invite for the wedding breakfast. Then they crossed off most of them. They were both happy with keeping it 'intimate.' Faith would invite her aunt and Nessie, and Ciaran and Lydia. He would invite Henry and Eloïse Brosnan, hoping that Eloïse would feel well enough to attend. James Reed and Jasper would be the only others he wanted. When they had both agreed the list included the people who counted for them, they looked at each other with the unspoken question concerning Irene. They could only suppose that she would still be there, so she would no doubt invite herself. Of course, they both wanted the children to share the meal with them even if they didn't stay the whole time. That meant that they included Kate and Ben Brosnan in the invitation as well. That way it would be a special day for all the children.

Faith wrote the invitations and they both signed them. It was best to get them sent as soon as possible so that everyone could plan to be there. She put in a note with her aunt's and the Curzon's invitations telling them that they would be expected to stay with them at Marshalswick House, and they would be happy to send transportation to pick them up if they needed it. The invitations were sent the next day.

There was a delicate balance needing to be found between the life as it was before Faith agreed to marry Quentin and the life afterwards. If too many changes took place, it could only lead to altering the people involved. That was the last thing Quentin wanted. He loved Faith as she was and didn't want to risk upsetting the balance. However, there was one thing he felt should be added to help Faith and that was her own personal maid. He broached the subject with her.

She was to become a baroness with a certain standing with all the tenants and workers who depended on them for their jobs. The neighbours would be looking at her critically as well, and although there was no need to exaggerate, it would be important that she have a wardrobe of clothes for formal occasions which would most certainly occur once they were married. Her clothes would need to be a little more sophisticated than the ones she presently owned.

There would be all manner of underclothes, corsets, stockings, shoes, slippers, dresses, shawls, pelisses, bonnets and gloves and so on, that would make up her wardrobe. A personal maid would handle her wardrobe making sure that there were no stains, tears or wrinkles. If need be, the maid would also know how to create hairstyles. She would be as discreet as Faith would like, but hopefully, she would be someone who was pleasant enough that Faith would appreciate her and her skills.

Faith was reluctant to complicate her life, but he finished by insisting saying that she would soon get used to the advantages. He suspected that for all her vivacity, she would nevertheless feel out of her depth in the beginning, even if they didn't socialise a lot.

As his status changed from that of a bachelor to a married man, Quentin knew that he and Faith would find themselves invited to all sorts of gatherings which would be difficult to refuse. He was also the only titled man in the region, so invitations would also come from people wishing to include their local aristocrat in their venue. It was best she began their married life with the help and knowledge that a well-trained maid could bring. Servants knew all the other servants in the area and in consequence, all the gossip. It was best to know where not to misstep, and a maid would be able to discreetly direct her mistress.

Faith was a little taken aback by the idea, but she did see the usefulness, if she were to do honour to her husband. Quentin was also imagining that she would soon be carrying his child and a maid would be needed to help her as she increased.

So that was settled. It just needed them to decide if one of the maids in the household would suit or if they needed to bring in someone new for the job. Faith asked him if she might have a word with Millie before they took any other action, and he agreed, although he frankly preferred bringing in someone who already had experience.

When Eloïse received the wedding invitation, she came to see Faith as soon as she could.

The enormous smile on her face told Faith that the news had pleased her, which she soon confirmed verbally. She joked with Faith saying that she had kept her secret very well, as no one had imagined that she and Quentin had feelings for one another.

Faith had to laugh as she replied, "We didn't know either, until we were separated."

Of course, Eloïse confirmed that they would all be happy to come to the wedding breakfast. If, she felt she couldn't make it, Henry and the children would be there regardless, as she was counting on someone to tell her all about it.

Faith felt she could ask her how she was managing now that there were only about six or seven weeks before the baby was due. She was relieved to hear that Eloïse felt very well, although she found she was bigger this time than she'd been the other two times. Her mother had reassured her that it often happened. Each time one had another baby, one seemed to be larger. Eloïse was grateful that her mother would be there when her time came near, as she'd had six children which gave her some authority on the subject.

"Some women have ten babies or more. Can you imagine how big they must get? I wonder that they can even walk around. They probably end up by rolling around," Eloïse said with a laugh.

Together they spent an agreeable afternoon talking of wedding clothes and the children. They parted saying that they would try to see each other the following week.

Quentin came home in the evening in time to have a bath before the evening meal. He'd been helping to clear some of his property of fallen timber. A portion of it had been rotten because of lying in a mire of undrained land, and he felt sure he must smell like a troll from a bog.

He came down to the evening meal looking shiny clean and handsome. He'd washed his hair and combed it back and then shaved because it seemed silly not to do everything properly. He'd dressed for the meal in a black coat and trousers with a pristine white shirt and neckcloth. The clothing was plain but it suited him. Faith's breath caught in her throat as she suddenly saw him in a different light. He had always impressed her with his physique, but now he looked positively beautiful to her. She could hardly wait for the dinner to be over to drag him away and tear off all those flattering clothes.

Jasper raised an eyebrow as they left before the dessert.

Faith didn't know what was different. Perhaps nothing was, but she desired him as she never had before. As soon as they were locked in their bedroom, she pulled him to her and began sniffing him. He looked at her like she was mad until she licked his jaw and then his mouth, his lips and inside his mouth, intruding with her tongue, savouring his flavour. He groaned as he tasted her. She put her hand down to his pantaloons in the most provocative way. He grabbed her hand while he caught his breath. She laughed into his mouth and he groaned again.

"Don't do that Faith or I'll be finished before I'm undressed."

"You'd better hurry then, Mr. Wolfe as I don't intend to wait more than two minutes," she threatened.

"That will teach me to dress for you," he complained lightly. "Why didn't I come to the table naked? It would have saved a lot of time."

She had shed her clothes and stood before him helping him shed his.

"Your two minutes have gone," she said, putting her hands inside his unbuttoned shirt to caress his chest before putting her arms around him to hold him tight. He picked her up effortlessly and carried her to the bed kissing one of her breasts tenderly. He laid her there while he stripped his remaining clothing and left it in a pile on the floor. Then he joined her.

It was as the first time. They were both awed by the depth of their sentiments and the wonderful sensations that carried them away yet again. When Quentin returned to reality, he reached down with one hand and pulled the sheet and covers up before taking her in his arms again.

"You have made me very happy," he whispered softly.

He seemed to sleep as he said it. Faith knew his day had been exhausting, and yet he had been tender and affectionate. How she loved him.

She went to sleep feeling satiated and happy.

Chapter 11

Quentin had received the first report from his investigator, who had arrived in Italy. Only of the briefest account, its purpose was more with a view to reassuring him that the investigation was taking place. It did tell him that Irene's voyage had been traced back to Naples where she had last boarded with a Neapolitan family by the name of Esposito. From the information given by the Pensione Esposito, the Esposito boarding house, she and her maid had only stayed one night before continuing their journey. She had made an impression on the family by her outstanding beauty — 'bellissima' — that all Italians were known to appreciate. Before that, it would seem that she had come from Sorrento, where she had been living with the Count Cuda. There was nothing more to tell until discrete inquiries were made concerning the said aristocrat. It was not even certain that he was of a noble family, although he was still alive, rich and withdrawn from public view.

More information would be sent as soon as it was obtained...

Quentin shared the information with Faith even though it didn't advance them very much with understanding why Irene was now in their home. In fact, it tended to cloud any explanation Quentin had imagined, up until then.

Her lover wasn't dead, he hadn't run out of money. So, did it mean he'd tired of her? It was evident that it would be the very last thing to which Irene would admit. Would she confess if the opposite were true and she had tired of him, or would that make her seem at fault for leaving a husband and children for a superficial affair?

Faith thought it served no purpose wasting time wondering until they had more information to work with, and Quentin had to agree.

Faith had spoken to Millie about the possibility of one of the two maids becoming her personal maid. Millie didn't like to be obliged to comment on the two girls as she said that they were both hard workers. With encouragement from Faith, however, she admitted that in her estimation neither would ever be capable of being a lady's maid. They were young and both hoped to marry. Then they would be off like fish escaping a hook.

As a result of the conversation, it was decided that as Faith was going into St Albans the next day to be measured for garments, she would also take advantage of the trip to go to the employment agency.

The agency's professionalism would ensure that they would be getting a lady's maid who might only need a minimum of training to adapt. Quentin decided he would go with her. He suggested that she go to the dressmaker and he would go to the agency and meet her later at the 'boutique'.

In fact, he was known in St Albans, and he didn't want there to be any misunderstanding about the hire of the maid, and he certainly didn't want Faith to be fobbed off with someone who wasn't the best. Not wishing to hurtle Faith's sensitivity concerning her soon to be position as Baroness, he didn't bother explaining that to her.

The agency was delighted to count him as a client. They discussed the time limit for providing someone, the wages and conditions, their commission and then promised they would find him someone perfectly suitable within two weeks. They would advise him when there were candidates to be interviewed and set up appointments. It had taken him under an hour to establish his requirements and to engage his custom with the agency.

Knowing that Faith wouldn't yet be ready, he took advantage of his time in St Albans to go to a reputable jeweller's to buy a wedding gift for her. He began with the gold wedding ring which he wished to be engraved and dated on the inside. He knew her size and chose the ring without hesitation. The actual gift was going to be more difficult, as she didn't attach much importance to objects. While he was in the jeweller's, he casually chose a set of gold earrings and bracelet with a sapphire and diamond setting to go with the family betrothal ring. This was to be a gift quite apart from the wedding. It was as he examined different pieces of jewellery that his mind settled on another idea for his gift. The present would be, in fact, a clock as a symbol of the time they would have together as man and wife. He knew her father had been a horologer, so he hoped she would value such an object. He left the jeweller's with the assurance that the ring and the bracelet would be delivered to Marshalswick once the engraving was finished — within a couple of days.

Now that the idea of a clock had firmly fixed itself in his mind, he strolled without hesitating towards the shop 'Frick's Fine Clocks and Timepieces.' Johann Frick was Swiss and Quentin supposed, quite rightly, that his articles would be of high quality.

Mr. Frick himself catered to Quentin and indicated a beautifully enamelled, eight-day clock which he felt would do justice to a queen. There was no doubt in Quentin's mind that he was right. The cost was not exaggerated for what it was, so he bought it with instructions for it to be delivered to his home a couple of days before his marriage.

He felt particularly pleased with himself as he went to meet Faith. He had wanted to show her how much he cared in a tangible way, and he hoped his gifts would do that.

All the time he had spent shopping equalled that which she had spent on being measured, choosing materials, colours and patterns. She was only just ready when he arrived. The 'modiste' would come to Marshalswick House for the first fitting on the fourth of November. The wedding dress was a simple cream-coloured, heavy silk dress with yellow primrose embroidery on the hem and sleeves. It would be adorned by a cream and pale-yellow shot silk shawl with similar primrose embroidery. The bonnet was a dark shade of yellow with a primrose yellow on the inside and ribbons to match. Quentin would not see it until the day of their marriage, because Faith wanted to be wearing it when he saw her in it for the first time.

Entering the shop and seeing her before she saw him, he beamed, feeling proud at how lovely she was.

She was his.

Her hair was piled on the top of her head but at some stage it had begun to let blond wisps escape. That only added to her natural charm. He wanted to brush them away from her face so he could touch her. She glanced up as he approached and smiled and blushed sensing his admiring appraisal.

Her dress today was without adornment. It was dark lavender which made her eyes look the same and complimented her warm colouring. There were tiny, tight pleats down the front of the dress which made him want to run his hand across them and her breasts beneath. He found that he had to resist the urge to sweep her off her feet in the shop. Now that she had broken his rigorous self-control, there were moments when he paid no attention to anyone but her. He could quite easily fondle her in public, if he weren't careful.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the full length mirror and hardly recognised the smiling man.

-o0o-

Jasper almost seemed to be part of the family after two weeks. Quentin was surprised he was still there, but then, the icy Irene seemed to have more of a hold on him than he would care to admit. The empty house which used to echo, no longer did so.

In bed with Faith at night, Quentin discussed how much his life had changed as well as the children's. He softly thanked Faith with kisses for being the missing piece in the puzzle which now held them together. There was rarely a night which passed when they didn't make love. It was love as they both tried to merge their bodies into one. There was often that ultimate moment when, as one, they reached a place beyond the physical act and they both wanted to weep after glimpsing it.

Whittle had an easy life now. Quentin hardly needed him, except for the basic preparations for the day, and as Quentin certainly had no desire to leave Marshalswick House while Faith was there, Whittle felt his life was now on an even keel.

So, he decided to put pen to paper and write his 'Memoirs.'

He had a few hair-raising events he could recite...no names mentioned, although he might give heavy hints.

Faith had gone over the wedding breakfast preparations with Millie and Stokes. They had received acceptance notes from everyone. That meant there would be eleven adults and four children. If Eloïse didn't feel well enough to come, it would only be one meal more or less to deal with. The breakfast was in fact lunch. Millie suggested the menu from her long experience, and Faith was more than happy to give her free rein. Stokes would take care of the preparation of the dining room with its crystal, porcelain and silver. He already had an idea for the wines and drinks for everyone having collaborated with Millie and her menu plans.

The agency in St Albans had not wasted time in contacting Quentin with the news that they had found someone they felt to be exceptional for the position of lady's maid. If he would give them a date and an hour when he would be free to see the woman, they would set up the interview.

It didn't take long to realise that the agency had indeed found the perfect person to be Faith's personal maid. Putting their heads together, both Faith and Quentin immediately agreed that she would also suit their unusual situation at Marshalswick House. They doubted that anything would shock her as she had spent the majority of her service in London.

Christina Pierce was a forty-five-year-old widow. For the past ten years, she had been Lady Fitzgerald's personal maid and would have continued so, had Lady Fitzgerald not died at the respectable age of eighty.

That had been the only respectable thing about her, as she had been quite notorious in London for her outrageous parties and her inability to keep a civil tongue in her head. Mrs. Pierce knew how to be discreet, hold her tongue, and was blind when necessary. Qualities she had needed to remain with Lady Fitzgerald, who had been particularly generous with her as a result.

In fact, Mrs. Pierce had an independent income which would have permitted her to live comfortably without working — had she wanted to.

Therein was the crux of the matter. She had to be active. She had to be part of an animated household. She had no family and craved to be part of one, even if it were indirectly.

Everything about her was impeccable — her dress, her manners, her experience, her education (she had travelled extensively with her husband until his death) and of course, her references.

The interview had gone exceedingly well. Quentin and Faith had passed the test and Mrs. Pierce had agreed to come and work for them. There was no point in her returning to London, so she arrived at Marshalswick House two days later, having settled whatever outstanding business she'd had. Within hours of her arrival, she was integrated into the Marshalswick household and there was no looking back.

It was quite amazing how smoothly life was now proceeding at the house, given all the potentially conflicting elements. Irene didn't cause any undue agitation and the children didn't think about being naughty any more. They were naturally noisy and even boisterous, which meant that Irene stayed away from them, but they were visibly happy too.

Days were slipping by, bringing the wedding nearer, much to Quentin's delight. It seemed that peacefulness had descended upon them.

Everything was, for all intents and purposes, satisfactory.
Chapter 12

Until the day Irene disappeared...

If it had happened a year before, a month before, things would have continued to be all right, but now there was someone who felt her loss. In fact, her disappearance had left a void for everyone. Whatever one thought about her, she did impose a presence which was hard to ignore. There was also the mysterious way in which she had upped and gone. She had left everything behind (including her maid) and no word of her reason for leaving.

Jasper was frankly disconcerted. They had arrived at an 'entente,' an understanding which he enjoyed. There was no sex involved, yet, unless passionate kisses and fondling counted. He was absolutely certain that something bad had happened to Irene, because he didn't think she would have gone without giving the slightest indication of her intentions.

He cornered Quentin as he was leaving the library. He backed him into it and got him to sit while he voiced his concerns, pacing back and forth. It hadn't really been necessary, because Quentin was already uneasy about the circumstances. They agreed that they had to take some action.

It started by calling all the staff into a meeting to ask if anyone had noticed anything out of the ordinary. They tried to establish the last person to have seen her and where they had been. The only thing out of the ordinary was a gypsy who had come to the kitchen asking if any knives needed sharpening or replacing. This had happened before with a different band of gypsies, but there was no particular time lapse between bands passing.

Millie said that she'd always had trouble understanding their accent and words, but this time had been worse, although that didn't mean they were more suspicious than usual. They'd been the day before Irene had disappeared.

The maid, Rose, had seen Irene in the garden chasing after Wizz who had one of her slippers in his mouth. Everyone knew that the last thing to do was to chase him, because he ran all the faster. One only had to say in a loud voice 'drop it, Wizz,' and he would. Nothing else unusual had been seen to happen.

So all they knew was that she had last been seen a full day ago. Her maid, Jane, said Irene had given her instructions to not disturb her until she called, as she had the headache. Chasing after a young dog would give one the headache, they all agreed.

The next step was for them to search her room for elements which might give a clue. Jasper and Quentin didn't waste any time. Jane went with them to show where Irene kept her different belongings, and then she was dismissed to wait outside the door. Quentin and Jasper began a systematic search.

Jasper went through all the drawers of the different pieces of furniture without finding anything of any interest (except she had some lovely underclothes and garters — Italian, of course).

Quentin searched in her wardrobe trunk which had been emptied. It was quite an impressive piece, apparently made of exotic wood with brass hinges, brass reinforcements on the sides and brass corners. Each end had brass handles which folded flat into the trunk to allow it to stand on its end. As it stood open, he examined all the beautifully tooled wooden drawers on the right-hand side. They were empty. He opened the different wooden compartments on the left-hand side. There he found padded places to hold toiletries in place so they wouldn't move if the trunk was shifted roughly. Other compartments were for holding gloves, shawls, slippers and a selection of shoes. The trunk was to hold the basic necessities while travelling to avoid opening several different trunks or chests.

He re-examined the drawers ag ain, because it seemed to him that the bottom one was shallower than the others. As the drawer pulled out, he saw that it had an overhang making it look the same as the others from the front but in fact it allowed for a secret compartment in the trunk itself. Having completely removed the drawer he began to feel all around the vacant space it had left. He discovered a sliding piece of wood which came forward to uncover an area with letters hidden in it.

They probably had nothing to do with Irene's disappearance, but everything they found had to be considered. Quentin showed Jasper before putting them aside and continuing to search. Her jewellery box revealed some exquisite gems, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, rings and pins. He was sure that they weren't paste, which meant she wasn't short of money if she needed it. Having found one secret compartment, he verified carefully that there wasn't one in the box. He found nothing.

Jasper hadn't found anything in particular. He'd even lifted the mattress to check on all sides. They were very thorough, running fingers around ledges, moving curtains, lifting rugs and turning vases upside down. After an hour of looking, nothing more surfaced.

They began to look at the letters which were written on heavy, expensive paper. They were in Italian and signed 'D'. Quentin was fluent in French but he could only guess at Italian. Jasper was a little more acquainted with the language having often spent time there in his youth. They sat. Quentin waited as Jasper tried to decipher the writing and the words. After some time, Jasper breathed out heavily.

"This has to be connected," Jasper stated firmly. "Perhaps we should ask Jane if she reads Italian? We can also question her about what I suspect," he suggested.

They asked her to enter and to have a seat. Jasper began, "We are really very worried for your mistress, Jane. Do you read Italian?"

Jane looked a bit startled.

"No, sir. I have enough trouble with English."

"We found some of your mistress's correspondence which is written in Italian. From what I can understand, they come from someone whose initial is D. Do you know who that would be?" Jasper questioned.

Jane looked down hastily, but not before they had both seen her face redden. She was fidgeting with her hands too, which gave the impression she was nervous. Quentin took over.

"It is obvious that you aware of something, Jane. I'd advise you to tell us all you know. It will go better for you. We can always get someone else to corroborate what is in these letters, but we will be losing time. We need you to tell us all you know, now."

He couldn't see her softening at all, so he added, "The constable in St Albans will not be happy if he finds you have been withholding information."

"Not the constable, sir!" She replied so hastily that they knew that she was wary of the law and those who represented it.

"There isn't much to tell. My mistress made me swear that I wouldn't talk about our time on the continent... She's bound to dismiss me if I talk at all."

"This may be a matter of life or death, girl," shouted Jasper.

It was no show. He was seriously worried. He was also frustrated by the time which was being wasted.

Jane began sobbing, so Jasper handed her his handkerchief.

She managed to stammer out that 'D' was the initial for Count Damiano Cuda, Madam's lover in Sorrento. Jasper looked at Quentin with a very pessimistic expression on his face. Then he turned to Jane and said she might go. She quickly got up to go to the door, and then remembered she was holding Jasper's handkerchief, which she tried to give back to him. He only needed to give it the briefest of glances to know he didn't fancy it in its soggy state, so gestured for her to keep it. She left without another word.

Jasper began to explain what he had gleaned from the letters.

The last letter, which he had read first, had been sent to Irene, care of her solicitors in London. She must have stopped there on her way to Marshalswick to collect all the letters, papers and miscellaneous information that had accumulated in her absence. She had probably wanted to give a new forwarding address too. Jasper began to tell Quentin the general contents of the last couple of letters he had perused. He could only surmise what must have happened.

"It seems to me that Irene decided she didn't want to remain with this Count Cuda for whatever reason. It doesn't say why in the letters that I can see. However, the letters are threatening her saying that if she doesn't return immediately, he will send someone to get her. No one leaves without his permission. If she makes him angry, she will regret it bitterly... They were practically death threats," Jasper finished in a tone which showed he was furious as well as being disturbed.

"I do not believe that Irene would have left without her jewels. In point of fact, she disappeared in only the clothes she was wearing, so I suspect that she has been taken," Quentin offered his opinion.

"It may be that she came to us here as the 'Count' already knew where she had lived with Jeremy and the children. Perhaps she hoped he wouldn't know or suspect that she was with me at Marshalswick House. That would explain quite a lot," Quentin said.

"So what do you think we should do now, Jasper? I'm convinced she's been abducted."

Jasper was looking very abstractedly at the carpet as he thought. It didn't show, but he was seething inside. He might not have had honourable intentions towards Irene when he'd first arrived in Marshalswick, but his feelings had somewhat shifted since then. He did not want to think of anyone else having her. Whatever happened, he was not going to let her be taken against her will. His dishonourable game with her was only that — a game. He would never have forced her to do something against her will. The challenge was to win her over, make her want him. There was no possible way that he was going to give her up, unless he was convinced that that was what she wanted.

"We have to go to St Albans and inform the constable," Quentin said.

"I have a gut feeling that the gypsy who came, whether he was a real one or not, is involved. It is the only unusual occurrence this past week. I am going to get my men to go out and question all the tenants and neighbours in the area as someone else may have valuable information without knowing it."

Quentin was determined to try his best for the children's sake.

Jasper agreed with the actions Quentin had proposed. They got all the men together to give them instructions before sending them out in pairs. It was safer and if they got a lead, one of them could return with the information while the other followed at a distance. Quentin asked that they all return home by six in the evening so they could go over any information they had collected. The quicker they could move on any leads, the more chance they had of finding Irene before she disappeared in the greater world. He made sure that they all knew that it might be dangerous and no one was to take any chances as it would be better to join forces before taking action. They were also asked to be discrete in their enquiries. They disbanded to get their mounts.

Before leaving for St Albans, Quentin told Faith the basic elements, and she naturally put her arms around him, with her head on his chest, asking him to be careful.

Constable Stephenson was an alderman in St Albans. He usually dealt with problems of unruly behaviour, disputes arising between neighbours and various other minor disturbances. He hadn't had to deal with something as important as an abduction — ever. Consequently, he was only too happy to listen to the suggestions put forward by two noblemen who appeared to know what they were doing.

Jasper had related, on his honour, the contents of the letters they had found. Constable Stephenson had accepted the letters as proof of a probable misdoing and called two of his men to legally assist in the search and possible interrogations. It always carried a little more weight to have the legal seal of approval when investigating.

Jasper would not consider for an instant that Irene had been killed or was dead. Having established in his mind that she was now a captive, it was obvious that she would have to be hidden. He supposed that it was the Count Damiano Cuda who had put his demands into action. He wanted her and had the means to follow through with his threats. The kidnappers would be obliged to travel off main routes and possibly even at night to avoid leaving a trace behind them. Gipsy caravans did not move quickly and were a memorable sight when passing through anywhere. Jasper felt confident that they would find her, if they moved quickly. It was Quentin who persuaded him that they needed to return home one last time to see what had been discovered and to prepare for days of search. They couldn't go off without being prepared.

Not everyone had returned by six o'clock, so they had gathered in the kitchen around the large table waiting for the last to come. Millie got a simple meal ready for them all and then went about preparing packs of bread and cheese and a water flask for them to take with them. A blanket was also distributed to each man. There would be ten people, including the two constable's men, out scouting.

When the last two men came in quite late, they were able to say that the gypsies had been seen heading east. They would no doubt skirt London. The unusual clue was that no one else in the vicinity had had gypsies asking about knives.

Quentin got out a large map of southern England and everyone agreed that if it were Count Cuda responsible for the kidnapping, they had to catch the abductors before they left England. It would be a whole new kettle of fish if they managed to get across the Channel with Irene. English law would no longer hold sway, apart from all the other problems, including language, money and the enormity of Europe. They had to take the chance that the crossing would be made from the south east coast of England; probably Dover to Calais as it was the shortest. However, they had to spread out just in case an unorthodox crossing had been planned. It was to be assumed that Irene would probably only depart with a couple of capturers once they'd reached the coast. The gypsy band would only have been used as cover.

They split into two groups of five. Jasper took control of one group and Quentin the other. Each group would fan out during the day to reassemble at night with any news. Both groups would send someone to meet up at different given towns to compare their findings before reporting back to his group. This was to avoid continuing a search that one of the groups may have already concluded. They were all, needless to say, armed for any eventuality...

They rode out the next morning at six and the search began in deadly earnest. They went east.

The month of October had been clement. The mornings were fresh but the days warmed as soon as the sun appeared. As the search party was mounted, it was able to cover more ground than that of the gypsies. They had traced the nomads to Romford, north east of London, but there they had lost them for some unknown reason. Enquiries made to the locals had not turned up any information about gypsies travelling east or south east. It was only by chance that one of the grooms had had the sense to add to the question 'had they seen any gypsies going in any direction?'

That had turned up trumps. It would seem that the band had back-tracked with the view to losing anyone on their tail. The band had been seen going west. They were now, no doubt, using a parallel route to the one Jasper's group had been following. They had sacrificed some time for secrecy and might even be behind their two groups.

The two groups came together just before arriving in Rochester. They crossed the old stone bridge spanning the Medway to enter the town, where they decided to spend the night in a coaching inn. The gypsy band would have to use the bridge to cross the Medway if they didn't want to lose more time. They set up a relay of guards who would watch the bridge from afar, observe anything of significance, note the direction the band might take, and all this without alerting the travellers.

The caravans crossed that night at about three in the morning. They let them continue without any interference, watching the direction they took. They now knew they were heading towards Chatham.

At dawn, Jasper and Quentin began to organise a raid of military perfection to take place later when the caravans came to a stop. They did not know if Irene were in one of the caravans, but there were too many coincidences for her not to be. They waited expecting to see Irene emerge at some time with the need to answer nature's call. They were rewarded when she climbed down from one of the caravans with an older woman. It was what they needed to see to launch their attack.

Jasper seized Irene as she came out of the bushes while the others descended on the caravans. The travellers gave no resistance, whatsoever, and were quite offhand about the number of men who had suddenly appeared. It wouldn't have surprised Quentin if they'd all been invited to breakfast. The nonchalance may have been due to the fact that they were out-numbered or that they could see the artillery.

Or it may have been that they were fed up to their teeth with Irene!

Whatever the reason, it made the whole campaign seem exaggerated, bordering on the ridiculous. Quentin did wonder if the Gypsies had been aware of them all the time...they were known to be observant.

To Irene's credit, she did thank them for coming to get her. She had reached a point of intolerance with the life the travellers led, which was pushing her patience to its limit. There was no way that she was going to eat hedgehog!

It turned out that two of the men were Italian. They had paid the gypsies well, but had also threatened reprisals if anything went wrong. The two Italians were bound and taken in charge by the constable's men. A wagon with horses was purchased for their transport, which Jasper was more than happy to pay for. They would be held for abduction, punishable with imprisonment or worse, to follow.

Everyone was happy to be going home after five days of rough living. In Rochester, Jasper booked into an inn with Irene, who could hardly wait to have a bath and a decent meal. Quentin decided to stay the night too, as he wanted to know all the details concerning the Italian Count with the possible repercussions which might result from the venture.

Irene had been on the road a week since her kidnapping. If telling all would prevent another episode in the same vein, she was only too happy to be rid of the whole story. Besides, they already had the bones of the abduction.

She managed to be beautiful while looking like a nomad with her hair down and her skin coloured from outdoor living. So, sitting in her colourful gipsy clothes between the two men, she told her tale.

Count Damiano Cuda was indeed an Italian nobleman. He had been in London four years ago for business reasons and had had the occasion of meeting her. Not only had he wooed her persistently and persuaded her to leave everything behind to follow him, he had taken her as his possession. Irene admitted that she had never loved her husband and had certainly not wanted to have children so young, if ever. After her second childbirth, she'd had enough.

She had been impressed with the Count and the Italian way of living. He had also assured her that he did not want children and took it upon himself to prevent it happening. The only problem was that she'd discovered that he and his family belonged to the Camorra in Naples. He was party to organised crime. The isolation he had imposed, because of his obsession with her and for protection from other families of the Camorra, had soon worn her patience thin. It had taken her a year to escape.

Jasper wondered what it was about Irene which made one want to possess her? Her beauty had certainly caught his attention, but everyone knows beauty is only superficial. She was like a spoiled child, in fact, but it was the challenge of taming her which must draw men. He shook his head, still unconvinced of the cause for her attraction, of which he was equally a victim.

He had naturally taken a separate room from Irene in the inn. Quentin was only too happy to wash and fall into the bed in the chamber he'd reserved. They agreed to be up early the next day, tired of the whole episode. Quentin wanted to get back to Faith, whom he was missing terribly. He could understand Count Cuda's obsessive desire for a woman, because he'd been bitten by the same animal.

Jasper had only been in bed for about an hour and had drifted off to sleep when he suddenly came awake. There was someone in his room. He could hear their breathing. After the day's raid, he didn't want to take the chance of having his throat cut by one of their adversaries, so he slipped out of bed on the far side from the door. It was when he was flat on the floor that he could just make out a sniffling noise.

"Irene?" he called.

"Jasper, I don't want to be in my bed all alone. Can I come in with you?" Irene hiccupped.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Irene."

Jasper didn't want to have to fight any more battles for a while, even if this one was with himself. Then Jasper could hear Irene crying, sobbing.

"Bloody hell," he said to himself and the room as he got up off the floor.

Now that he was standing, the sound was more acute and he could have kicked himself as he went around the end of the bed to find her. He should know better. Surprisingly, he felt sympathy for her and not lust or desire as he'd feared. She had lived through an ordeal. He didn't touch her in the dark, as he was completely naked. They obviously hadn't been travelling with dressing gowns or valets.

"I'm sorry, Irene. I'd take you in my arms for a cuddle but I'm stripped to the skin. You can't have much on you either..."

"I'm in the Gipsy tunic they gave me, but I don't care if you're bare Jasper. We could sleep with a pillow between us, couldn't we?"

"I don't think so," he replied, although he was beginning to relent.

"I don't want to be on my own!"

She stamped her bare foot on the wooden floor.

"Maybe Quentin would let me sleep in his room?"

Jasper lunged for her and held on to both her arms.

"Good grief, you're a proper infant," he chided. He couldn't see the smile on her face. It looked as though he didn't always have the upper hand. She'd used the ploy many years ago with Quentin and it hadn't worked. But then, he hadn't loved her, or she him. She had to admit to herself that if it hadn't worked with Jasper, she really would have cried. She did love him in her way. It was a first. She sighed into his bare chest, as she put her arms around him.

"Oh, come on. But don't push me too far if you know what's good for you. I'm only a man and you're a very beautiful, endearing woman," Jasper said softly.

They spent an innocent night in bed together. Jasper was weary and he really did not want to have sex with Irene under these circumstances. It would almost be an anti-climax and certainly not up to his usual high standards. He'd had the good sense to realise that he cared for Irene, something that hadn't been part of his plan. So many elements entered into the equation now that he wanted to be able to consider them all before ceding to physical desires or needs. He would think about it in the morning and the hours to come before taking an irrevocable step.

They woke in the morning and kissed a very chaste but friendly kiss. They both smiled secretly to themselves thinking of things to come, both imagining that they had won the prize.
Chapter 13

Quentin left Jasper and Irene to their own devises for getting home. Jasper was going to hire a carriage of some sort to drive home with Irene so Quentin didn't wait for them. He rode as long and as hard as he could to get home. He stopped in coaching inns at night as he found them and was home in just under three days.

Faith had heard the horse coming up the drive and had run out to Quentin. The separation had been difficult for her too. She had worried for the safety of them all. A groom took the reins from Quentin's hands as he wrapped his arms around Faith and drew in her flower-garden odour.

"I have been miserable without you, Faith. Does that seem silly when it has only been eight days?" he mumbled into her neck.

"Don't talk. Come with me now," she ordered. She dragged him up to their room and began to take his clothes off him and then her own. He grinned the whole time.

"I hope you haven't got lascivious ideas roaming around in your head," he joked.

"They are certainly not in my head." she groaned from frustration.

He seemed too slow in taking off his boots and clothes.

"I am not the cleanest person as I've been riding all day."

"I don't care," she said as she pushed him into a chair and began pulling off his second boot. "I'll just have to refrain from licking you."

He picked her up and swirled her around, her feet off the ground. Then he kissed her fully. She sighed into his mouth and then neither of them remembered what came next. They had been lucky that they had reached the bed.

Jasper and Irene arrived home the next afternoon.

They made their presence known to Quentin before disappearing, each to his or her room, to try to recapture a semblance of dignity. Jasper also needed to be alone to think. He got Biggs to prepare a bath for him, to combine his return to civilised living with his thinking.

The last ten days had shaken up his whole way of looking at life. In fact, it was more than ten days; it had been since he had arrived in Marshalswick. He didn't like children much. That sentiment had been confirmed by the two at Marshalswick House. He certainly had no desire, whatsoever, to have any of his own. Let his brother's brood worry about the title when he was gone.

What had left its mark was the activity, the life in Marshalswick. It was impossible to be bored or indifferent. He wouldn't be able to survive long on a diet of constant activity because it would drive him mad, but, it had made him aware of the difference of being alone or with someone. He didn't want to be solitary any more. That brought him to Irene.

It was really quite amazing the number of significant things they had in common. He began counting on wet fingers the main points that he felt important.

He admitted that his education hadn't been terribly serious. Irene was certainly not a blue-stocking either. However, neither of them was stupid. She had a lively mind which had the facility for subtle manipulation. His was just that little bit more developed, that little bit more experienced than hers.

They both appreciated anything of high quality and in the best taste. Yes, they were both materialistic.

They were not interested in children, and she had convinced him without trying that she did not want any more.

He now knew that she was wealthy, which meant that it wasn't his money that interested her.

She might be interested in his title, so what did it matter?

They enjoyed each other's sense of humour. It is difficult to feign laughing.

They appreciated each other's physical aspects even though they hadn't crossed the line sexually. He could see the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't aware.

She took his breath away. He felt drunk when they kissed. Even now, thinking of her, he felt himself stirring with desire. That had never happened before without the woman being in front of him. He'd always had control and it had only ever been purely physical pleasure. If he was considered an exceptional lover, it was because he liked to draw out his own pleasure. That might certainly be enhanced by the fact he was circumcised, no matter. It came back to this new state of him desiring Irene, even in her absence.

Did that influence his judgement? Yes.

He supposed that she was still in danger. When the Count finally realised that his first attempt of retrieving her had failed, he would probably send a second delegation to get her. He had the money and the means.

Would he still bother if he knew she'd married? There was no guarantee that it would stop him trying to get revenge. The only viable way of escaping him would be to disappear, possibly, seem to die.

If she then married, all traces of her would be swallowed up in her husband's name and affairs and they could live in any country. The world was large and even Count Cuda wasn't that powerful.

Did he wish to marry her? He supposed that he did. This was certainly the first time he had ever wanted to take someone away with him. It boiled down to the selfish attitude that this was probably as good as it would get for him, so he shouldn't let the occasion escape. The funny thing was, he was absolutely certain that this was what Irene was telling herself.

So, they were both selfish, but they understood each other. No illusions there. The only question that hung in suspension was — should he have sex with her before proposing, in case they were incompatible? It was a gamble, because if they weren't compatible, and he didn't marry her, he would be alone again.

No, no. He didn't want that. He was thirty four years old and he would never be able to start the process of looking for someone again. He knew already that he would never find anyone more suited to him than Irene. He sank down in the bath, letting the water wash over his head, taking his last doubts with it. He arose a new man. His new life, hopefully, was about to begin.

Dinner brought everyone together and was, surprisingly, a pleasant affair. Each person had a reason for being agreeable and the result was an evening which passed easily, leaving a feeling of camaraderie that had never existed before. Irene had managed to look sophisticated in spite of the healthy colour she had acquired from living without a bonnet.

She had worn a heavy, satin gown of deep burgundy with black brocade trim. It had had the effect of making her skin look paler. Her jewellery was of the blackest, shiniest jet. Her choice of dress immediately reminded Jasper of her diabolical tendencies. She was definitely devilish with the conversation at the table, having a sharp, witty response when it called for one. Quentin didn't ignore her or ridicule her in any way, so it seemed that a new state of grace had come into its own.

Faith was easily the opposite side of the coin to Irene. Her pale blue moiré dress changed colour as she moved, the white silk chiffon about her shoulders gave the impression that clouds were passing, while the sparkling diamond and sapphire earrings Quentin had given her, added to the illusion that she was celestial. Her conversation at the table was in every way equal in wit to that of Irene's. In fact, both women outshone the men, who were subjugated by their partners.

Jasper decided that the moment had arrived when he would discuss with Irene the ploy of 'disappearing' before marrying him. The only doubt that subsisted in his mind was that she might not want to leave her children after all. He would have to convince her that it would be the one action which could dissuade the Count from continuing his search. What mother would abandon her children? (He didn't take into account that she already had abandoned them once). It might encourage him to believe that she was dead. He would speak to her after they had said their good nights to everyone.

Quentin and Faith wasted no time in disappearing into their room after dinner. The discussion Jasper had planned to have, in all seriousness with Irene, didn't take place as she somehow managed to corner him and then proceeded to seduce him with a speed that took his breath away. He hadn't been on his guard.

'She shouldn't have done it,' Jasper tried to tell himself each time he surfaced from ecstasy. She'd managed to get him in her room and lock the door.

'I have to talk to her...' as she dragged him under again. Icy Irene was not icy at all. It seemed that she had finally found a match, or if one wanted to be clever, the match had lit her fuse.

Jasper could not believe that they were so well accorded. Their love making was tuned to perfect pitch. The amazing thing was, she said that it was the first time in her life that she had ever behaved so wantonly. If he were to believe her, and there was no reason that he shouldn't, she had never before had an orgasm. Now she was making up for lost years. His own years of experience only just allowed him to take precautions with their love making. Probably the horror of having a child, was the best contraceptive he would ever need.

As far as Irene was concerned, she didn't seem to be concerned at all about the possible consequences. It was evident that she had been carried away by her newly discovered passion and was incapable of thinking of anything else. Jasper had ended up by dragging himself from the room to cool his over-stimulated libido. When in his life had he ever done that? Irene would feel a little different when she came to her senses and realised that she had abandoned her principals about not having more children, for a few hours of pleasure. Luckily, he hadn't.

He was going to have to stock up with the rather expensive sheaths he normally used, as he wasn't sure that he could continue to resist the whirlpool of emotions she created. No cost was too great, though, to avoid the conception of a child.

It was decided the next morning, when they were both sane, that they would leave for Scotland after Quentin and Faith's wedding. Their first stop would be Gretna Green to marry and then on to Dumfries, where Jasper had a hunting lodge. She would have conveniently disappeared while they decided exactly where they would go from there. The order of events wasn't quite right but there was little chance, anyway, that the Italians would bother to go as far north as that cold, uncivilised country, Scotland.

The children wouldn't be going there either.

Chapter 14

There were three days left until the marriage.

All the banns had been called and no one had raised any objection, not that he'd imagined that anyone would. Quentin was almost holding his breath because he couldn't believe his good fortune. In the space of a few months, everything had been transformed, thanks to Faith.

He looked down at the carpet in the library from behind his desk. He wasn't really seeing it now in the light of day but rather in the moonlight. He was re-living that first time that he had put his mouth on hers, his drunken mouth which might not have dared otherwise.

He sighed.

He'd wanted her then, as he'd wanted no other woman. That had not changed. He wondered if the day would come when he could work without his thoughts straying to her? Men weren't supposed to be emotionally vulnerable, but he supposed it really meant that they weren't supposed to show they were.

His stomach dropped as it did each time he thought about how his life might have been without Faith — empty.

He drew his hand down his face, bringing himself reluctantly back to the moment and the papers in front of him.

-o0o-

The 'modist' had come to Marshalswick for the second and final fitting for the wedding dress and two other dresses. They had been left with the promise that the other dresses would appear within the week. Christina Pierce was quietly thanking her lucky stars she had found such an interesting position.

She was not only working for an unassuming young woman, whom she liked, but had arrived at the start of a whole new regime. She would not have to struggle to make a place for herself, and brand new clothes had begun to fill the wardrobe. What more could one ask for?

The jewel in the crown was, of course, Whittle. They had discovered that in years gone by, they had moved within the same circles without having ever met. They had known the same people and knew the same scandals. She did not gossip, but Whittle had begun his 'memoirs' and had hinted that there was every chance that she would be able to collaborate with him. She had never imagined that in mid-life things could get better.

Quentin's purchases had been delivered and, as he'd instructed, Faith was not aware of their arrival. Whittle had already prepared Quentin's clothes for the day. A carriage had been organised to pick up Florence and Nessie on the Friday. That would avoid any panic as it would leave ample time for them to arrive and to settle in. Ciaran and Lydia had their own transport, so would come to the wedding breakfast on the same morning. The shop would be shut exceptionally on the Saturday and they would spend the night there before leaving on the Sunday afternoon. All that remained unfinished were the preparations for the wedding breakfast itself.

The wedding was to be simple. Normally, there would be only those people present who needed to officiate and witness it; but Florence had requested that they attended too, as Faith was their only family. They would like to sign as witnesses. Faith and Quentin were very happy to have them there with them on that special day. Jasper was to stand as Quentin's best man but there had never been any question that Irene be there. She wouldn't be.

It seemed that Eloïse was still keeping well and was planning on coming with her family. Her mother had been included in the invitation as soon as they knew she was in attendance at Farland. They could hardly exclude her and leave her on her own when she was such an accommodating person.

Christopher and Helen were so excited that Mrs. Welby had a hard time keeping them busy and out from under everyone's feet. All the staff were walking around with idiotic smiles on their faces.

Anyone coming from outside of the district, unaware of the goings on in Marshalswick, would think they had stumbled into an asylum for the mildly mad. It was certain that nothing would ever be quite the same again. Jasper and Irene's announcement had been the icing on the cake.

If Faith and Quentin hadn't already been seated at the time, it is certain that at least one of them would have collapsed onto the nearest chair, and it wouldn't have been Faith. Quentin had known Jasper since they were adolescents and it was beyond his ability to assimilate the fact that his friend Jasper had fallen for Irene.

JASPER....

IRENE!

He'd finally succumbed to a woman's charms.

Faith had been more affected by the knowledge that Irene and Jasper would be leaving without the children. It was an indication that Irene had no intention of reclaiming them. Thinking about it, Faith thought it might even be better that Irene make an appearance occasionally in their lives rather than not at all. As they grew older, their dealings with their mother might improve and she hoped for their sakes that they would, but in the interim, she and Quentin would try to compensate.

Friday was another busy, busy day as Aunt Florence and Nessie arrived in time for lunch. They were shown to one room as they had already insisted that they wanted to share. What was the fun of all this animation if there was no one to discuss it with at the end of the day?

They were both impressed by the size of the rooms and the service lavished upon them by the servants. There were moments when they felt a little intimidated, but they bolstered each other up, and soon they really did begin to enjoy themselves.

Mrs. Welby was particularly grateful that the children were distracted by the two old ladies, whom they'd already met. The children insisted so eagerly on taking them out and about the property, that neither Florence nor Nessie felt they could refuse their hospitality. Who could have imagined that one day they would be attending a noble wedding and residing in a mansion? Would wonders never cease?

It was a little reluctantly that Faith asked Quentin to allow her to sleep on her own the night before their marriage. She watched his face carefully, alert to any sign of contrariety it might show but was reassured to see him grin. He understood the ritual.

The more time they spent together found him easing away from the solid hold he would have liked to have had on her at the beginning of their relationship. His possessiveness had never equalled that of her father's for her mother. Her father's had stemmed from selfishness while Quentin's had come from his insecurity. He was gradually being transformed as his life filled and took shape and he realised that he was wanted and needed.

"Other people like the feeling of anticipation too, Faith. This is the first time I've been on the brink of something so extraordinary that I almost want to postpone the marriage for a couple of days to draw out the excitement," he teased.

She took his biceps in her hands and shook him like a pillow.

"Don't you dare tease me, Quentin Wolfe, if you know what's good for you."

She then hugged him and he returned her embrace.

"I'll get Whittle to move my things to the bedroom next to his. Are you sure, though? It will be the last time we can have a bit of illicit carnal knowledge, and it means mussing up an extra bedroom for just one night," he grinned without expecting an answer.

"Quentin, you are quite incorrigible," she retaliated.

November isn't the best month of the year in the British Isles. What does it have to boast about? Days are deprived of light. Leaves have abandoned their trees. The weather tends to be cold and wet with the damp penetrating to the bones.

The Guy Fawkes 'celebration' on the fifth of November is in fact celebrating the failure of a plot by Roman Catholics to blow up Parliament, a dubious reason to celebrate when one considers the havoc Parliament has wreaked over the centuries. However, it would soon be the proud month to host Quentin and Faith's wedding day. For Quentin and Faith, that one celebration would redeem the month's poor achievement record.

The day was light by eight o'clock, but the household activities had been under way for some hours. There was much to do for the wedding breakfast now that the day had arrived. Fires were lit in the rooms to be used and flowers from the green house were to be distributed. Stokes had begun the dining room preparations while the kitchen was a-hum with the making of the courses for the meal. The wonderful odour of fresh bread permeated the house. Millie was at her best when presented with a challenge.

Faith had begun her day at seven with a hot chocolate in her room followed by a rose-scented bath. Christina was all smiles and soothing words which buoyed up the mistress, who suddenly found she wasn't as self-assured as she was normally. A hundred things that might go wrong in the day had invaded her thoughts, only to be swept away by the all-knowing, reassuring lady's maid.

The reflection in the mirror showed a woman whom she hardly recognised with hair that usually sat in a pinned pile on her head now held there with tiny plaits. Fine, yellow satin ribbon had been taken up in the twists of her hair, adding softness to the severity which gave her a sophisticated air. Christina helped Faith to slip into her wedding dress, sighing as she fastened the tiny buttons. How she would have loved to have had such a dress for her wedding, but a coachman's daughter was only permitted her imagination. Today it was enough that she dressed Faith. Her wedding slippers and the doubled silk shawl finished the picture.

Christina thought she looked like a princess but told her mistress that she looked lovely. Faith wouldn't have believed her otherwise.

It had been proposed and accepted by Faith that her aunt and Nessie would travel in the coach with her to the church. She hadn't realised how nervous this marriage would make her. She hadn't slept well, which had surprised her, because she'd had all the bed to herself, but it was her mind which had been retracing every little step leading up to this moment.

She loved Quentin. She did.

There was, nevertheless, that little doubt about his possessiveness and jealousy which had reared up again when she thought about the father whom most brides had to give them away. Quentin wasn't like her father, was he? She'd never heard her father laugh. Quentin laughed. She would be binding herself to Quentin for life and relinquishing all her rights, but she trusted him to treat her as his partner and not his possession. So why was her mind doing this to her now? Did all brides have second thoughts? It was a question which would remain unanswered.

And then she tried to imagine life without him.

Impossible.

They had melded and each held an essential understanding of the other within him. They would no longer be complete without each other. The thought was enough to eliminate any hesitation.

She took up the charming little posy which was waiting for her. The gardener, Humphries, had picked little yellow rosebuds and tied them with green ribbon to compliment her dress. She was very glad to have something to occupy her hands, as she didn't wish to fidget or worry her shawl with her nervousness.

The groom gave her a hand to help climb into the carriage after her aunt and Nessie, who sat beaming at her all the way to the little parish church.

"You are a very lucky girl, Faith. I do believe that you and Mr. Wolfe are well suited," her aunt said.

Nessie nodded her head in agreement. Once they'd entered the church, both women gave Faith a kiss before leaving her in the vestibule.

It was only a short distance to the altar and the men standing there were watching her. The vicar was a pleasant man in his thirties. His short stature made him look a little plump but he carried it well by holding himself straight. Jasper was as handsome as ever, although Faith hardly noticed him as her eyes were fixed on Quentin.

How had she ever doubted?

He was the figure which dominated the scene by his height, his elegance and his beautiful, intense face. His eyes had not veered from her since her arrival. They took in every graceful line as she came towards them. He felt a breathlessness as his emotions rose to his throat and tightened it for the briefest instant. Jasper whispered something pleasant that broke its hold, and he was able to smile. She felt her eyes mist with happiness as she approached the altar, and his smile encouraged her. It was as if they were the only two present.

The marriage rites were a haze and were over before she realised that they had both responded as was expected of them. The papers were signed and witnessed. Felicitations were given by everyone and Jasper seemed to enjoy thumping Quentin on the back.

She looked down incredulously at the ring which now circled her finger. Quentin took her hand and kissed the back of it on the ring.

"Mrs. Wolfe, are you ready to begin the day with your husband?" he asked looking into her eyes.

She was unable to resist. She threw her arms around his neck to pull herself up onto her toes to kiss his wide mouth. His arms went around her waist instinctively. It was the first, and would probably be the only time in her life when she would publicly kiss him on the mouth.

"Quentin, my love." she whispered to him before letting go. He grabbed a hand and they left the church followed by the others. The carriage was waiting and they all squeezed into it for the short ride home. Quentin had hugged Faith to him and she could tell that his calm had only been superficial.

She wished that they might disappear somewhere together but unfortunately, they would have to wait. Their guests had arrived and were all there to welcome the bride and groom; behind them stood all the staff. It was an occasion which wouldn't be forgotten in a long time.

Christopher and Helen ran to meet them as they left the carriage and then tried to monopolise their attention by both talking at once. Helen had seized Faith's hand and Christopher was walking along with Quentin, copying him by holding his hands together behind his back.

The day may have been a little overcast but no one noticed, because they were all carried away by the wonderful event and the joy which it generated.

Chapter 15

They were all there for the wedding breakfast, Irene included.

James Reed raised an eyebrow when he saw how subtly she had staked her claim to Jasper. He knew Jasper to be a man of the world and not easily duped. Then he decided that perhaps he and Irene were a fair match for each other after all. They certainly made a handsome pair.

He knew the Brosnans well and enjoyed their company. Henry and he had had business dealings on the occasion, and he appreciated the man's integrity. He smiled inwardly seeing how Eloïse was now struggling with everything she attempted, hampered by an impressive pregnancy. It was not easy to remain elegant at the same time, but she managed it. She was such a lovely looking woman that one didn't dwell on her extended waist. Obviously, she hadn't wanted to miss out on the festivities and her doting husband had, no doubt, wanted to humour her. Her easy-going mother was present, keeping an eye on the children, who were sitting at another table with Christopher and Helen. The four little friends were in a world of their own, animated and laughing.

James could see Faith's aunt and her friend had found something in common with Eloïse's mother. All three were discussing something with intensity and they looked as if they'd known each other for years.

Ciaran and Lydia Curzon were a delightful couple too. They didn't appear the least bit awkward mingling with unknown people. Having their own business was certainly an advantage when meeting new people, but then the Irish accent coming from Ciaran reminded James of his origins. And since when had an Irishman ever had a problem with socialising?

His gaze was arrested by Faith. He had refrained from more than a polite smile and a word or two but he felt a tightening in his stomach, as he realised that he would have liked this woman to be his.

Yellow ribbons in her sophisticated hair style made her look soft and feminine. Her wedding robe gave her the air of a princess or someone from a fairy story. She was lovely but then, she was lovely even in the plainest of dresses.

He did wonder if he had ever stood a chance with her, and then wondered why he hadn't even tried. He supposed it was because he had sensed, from the start, the undercurrents between Quentin and her. He could see they were devoted to each other and didn't begrudge them their happiness. He was fast coming up to thirty, so perhaps he should start thinking of finding a wife for himself.

The children's nanny had come to take them all away after a while. They left with no fuss and didn't bother to look back as they were too busy looking forward to what they were going to do.

The meal was almost at its end when the contractions began.

Involuntarily, Eloïse let out a yelp before putting her hand and napkin to her mouth. If there was anything that could put an end to polite conversation, it was certainly a very pregnant woman yelping.

All eyes were fixed upon her embarrassed face, expecting some form of explanation. It came quite quickly as she grabbed her extended abdomen and moaned. There was a moment when all the men paled, perhaps Jasper more than the others. He certainly looked as though he might faint. No wonder he didn't want children.

Henry was the first to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process and then chaos took over. Everyone was talking at once (well, perhaps not Jasper) and waving arms. Eloïse's easy-going mother ended it all by shouting "STOP!" in a voice which commanded attention. She knew what she was doing. She'd had six children, hadn't she?

Some of the men were quickly dispatched to get the doctor and to inform the rest of the household to be on alert. Henry was a little wobbly, but he had already endured two other births, so his sensibilities were a little more hardened than those of the other men. James Reed had come to his senses and had offered his aid in helping Eloïse to climb the stairs to the first floor.

Faith had already rushed ahead to open a spare bedroom for her. She then took one of her night rails to be used because there was now little doubt that Eloïse intended to have her baby in Marshalswick House. Irene surprised everyone by remaining quite calm once the situation had been clarified. She left Jasper to recover in a corner, placing a glass of brandy within his reach.

She followed the men and Eloïse up the stairs with a carafe of water and a glass which she deposited on the bedside table in the room which was now ready to receive the mother-to-be.

Eloïse's contractions were coming rapidly so that her progress up the stairs didn't go in one smooth move. Every four or five stairs, she would crisp up while a contraction took hold of her body. She managed to stifle any strong noises that might have weakened the men helping her.

They finally arrived at her newly assigned bedroom.

Throughout, her mother remained remarkably in charge. She asked for old sheets, towels, boiling water and wanted the fire to be built up. Henry stayed with his wife, holding her hand and trying to sooth her. His pained expression matched that of Eloïse's.

The bustle in the house was comparable to that of a coaching inn.

The doctor had not been available immediately, so Quentin had returned with the midwife. She was apparently a well experienced woman in her fifties who put Eloïse and her mother at ease with little effort.

Her first step was to throw out the husband.

She deemed that Eloïse's mother had had enough experience to stay. There was a moment between contractions when Eloïse laughed out loud. The midwife had taken out and put on spectacles before examining her to see just how advanced she was.

Eloïse thought to herself that the last thing she would have done, would have been to put on spectacles. It probably wasn't a pretty sight to examine.

The midwife, Mrs. Lang, gave them the news that all was proceeding as it should. She added that it was 'a fortunate thing that this was a third birthing as it would make it easier for both babies and the mother. Of course, it was rare that there would be three, but one couldn't be sure at this stage of the deliverance...'

Eloïse's mouth would have dropped open like her mother's if a contraction hadn't occupied her thoughts at that precise moment.

-o0o-

Everyone had taken advantage of the disruption to leave the room and change into more casual clothing. It was the moment when Quentin and Faith found themselves, once again, reunited in their room. Before Faith changed, Quentin sat her on one of the chairs and gave her his wedding present. He stood before her, watching her remove the paper and ribbon. The look on her face as she discovered the beautiful eight-day clock was enough for him. He knew he had chosen well as her eyes brimmed with tears to run down her smiling face.

"Oh Quentin, my love, this is the perfect gift," she said.

"It will keep time for the rest of our lives together..."

She opened the door at the back of it to see the engraving he'd had made on the brass:

'TO MY BELOVED WIFE ~ MY REASON FOR BEING'

She stood slowly and took his hand to kiss it before holding it against her cheek. She regained her composure and placed the clock on the marble mantelpiece before turning and going to him. She pulled him towards her to lay her face against his heart.

"This is probably an ill-chosen moment to give you my present," she said, "but I have waited until now as I wanted you to have it on our wedding day."

His brows creased a little as he wondered about the gift.

She stepped back taking one of his hands and placing it on her abdomen.

"With Eloïse in labour, I'm afraid that you now know what to expect when our baby arrives. At least you may have had time to adapt to the idea."

"Faith. We're going to have a baby? Our own baby?"

He was incredulous, even knowing they'd done nothing to prevent it happening.

"That is the perfect gift!"

He pulled her quickly into his arms and bowed his head to kiss her shoulder before kissing her lips.

"What have I done to deserve you?" he whispered not expecting an answer.

"We can expect the baby in July, some time, so we still have a long wait."

She finished by hugging him.

"We must change because our guests will certainly be downstairs by now and I have to see how Eloïse is faring," Faith grinned.

"I now have a baby to anticipate, Quentin. I'm so excited."

She turned so that he could unbutton her dress. He sighed as he kissed her smooth shoulder again and the dress slipped to the floor in a rustle of silk.

Eloïse had just managed to be delivered of the first baby when Faith knocked gently at the door. She heard the baby's first cry and felt a strange shiver run through her as she imagined the day when she would hear her own baby cry. Eloïse's mother opened the door with a smile on her face. Faith stepped inside just enough to permit shutting the door behind her. One of the folding screens hid the part of the room where the baby had just been born.

"She has just had her first baby and the midwife is moving the second to ease its birth."

"Two babies!" Faith cried. "Have courage Eloïse. How wonderful to have two babies in one go."

Faith directed her comments to the bed behind the screen.

A groan answered her and then a drawn out grunt and then, a baby's cry. After a minute she heard Eloïse say to her, "It may look wonderful on paper, Faith, but I wouldn't recommend it."

Both babies were crying and Faith wanted to, too. This had been the most extraordinary day that anyone could have experienced.

"I'm going to get Henry for you. Well, done Eloïse."

She slipped out the door knowing that Henry would be anxious to be with his wife. He was coming up the stairs, even as she descended.

"I think you may like to see your wife now."

She grinned without adding another word, as the surprise was not hers to reveal.

He ran the last few feet before disappearing into her room in a flash.

Later that evening, after a light meal had been served, all the adults (with the exception of Eloïse, who was sleeping profoundly) were gathered in the drawing room. For a stranger, it would have been a toss-up as to which of the two men was the father, Henry or Jasper. They both had that strained look on their faces so often seen when fathers have been through the ordeal of having a child.

In fact, Henry was now the proud father of a boy followed by a girl. Being twins, they were both smaller than usual but the midwife had assured him that they were both sound. No names were given because Henry wanted to discuss them with Eloïse. This had indeed been a surprise for them both.

He had been punishing himself for allowing her to come today and the fact that the doctor hadn't been present. Faith wiped away each of his concerns by saying that 'all is well that ends well', what more could one ask? The air became lighter as jokes were made about all the things which might have gone wrong in the day, starting with the vicar forgetting he was supposed to marry Faith and Quentin and finishing with Eloïse having the babies in the carriage.

By half past seven, Quentin stood and looked at everyone as he asked them to excuse him and his wife. The day had been exceptionally long and he would like to go to sleep in the arms of his wife and not in the armchair as he nearly had, not two minutes past. Surprisingly, nearly everyone had been waiting for the excuse to retire.

Florence and Nessie were virtually on their knees after such an exalting day.

Ciaran and Lydia were still as smitten as the day they'd married and wanted to sink into each other's arms as well..

Irene wanted to get Jasper into the privacy of her room so as to reassure herself that he really didn't want children, although a simple glance at him could have established that fact.

James Reed was about the only one who would have been happy sitting with a brandy, thinking about a woman he hoped to meet, who would warm his bed and heart.

In the space of five minutes after Quentin had stood, the room had emptied as everyone dispersed with record speed.

He was at last alone with 'his wife'. The flickering fire in the hearth shed warm colours on the room and the two people in it. The lanterns with their large tallow candles also added to the magic of the room. Quentin and Faith were standing across the room from each other, neither moving as they took in the enormity of the day that had just passed.

"Come here, Faith, I need you."

For a reason he couldn't explain, he needed her to come to him. As she slowly walked across the carpet to him, he could feel himself growing hard. She had only to sway gently as she walked and he wanted her. Silly to restrict it to swaying, he didn't even have to see her, to want her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and put her head on his chest.

"Come, let's get comfortable in bed," he suggested. "If you are tired, we will sleep. This has been the longest day of my life, sweetheart."

He picked her up and carried her to the bed. They both slipped out of their clothes and into their bed and into each other's arms.

For no reason at all or perhaps prompted by the arrival of two new lives, Faith began singing a low, soft lullaby in her husky voice. Quentin pulled her tight against himself, his head in the crux of her neck. He couldn't remember anyone ever singing him a lullaby. The low notes reverberated against his skin and he was purely happy.

When she had finished it, Quentin kissed her and thanked her again for her gift to him. Having witnessed a small part of the child-bearing process, he was humbled by the prospect. She rose a little and lay across his chest, looking directly into his eyes.

"Quentin Wolfe, you've finally got the better of me. Now that we're married, I have lost my most profitable blackmail victim."

He kissed her with a wolfish smile.

"Why do you think I married you?" he joked before kissing her yet again.

They slept in each other's embrace. Consummation of their wedding vows would wait for another day.
EPILOGUE

There had been two interesting developments at Marshalswick House. The first had been the publication of a book which had been an immediate success with the upper classes and, surprisingly, had trickled down to the aspiring middle classes.

'See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak no Evil' by a Valet and a Lady's Maid.

The title of the book referred to the qualities which were expected from a valet or a lady's maid. But what happened when those obedient servants left the service of those rather selfish, egotistical employers? They might, just might, want a little return on all those hours that they'd been kept waiting to serve until the early hours of the morning without so much as a thank you.

A copy had been seen to be lying about the house.

Of course, it was casting a light on scandals in the 'Haut Ton' Society. Who would know better than a valet or a lady's maid? They were almost as close to the people involved as their own skin, which was often seen when undertaking some of their duties. The book sold out in record time and needed to be re-printed.

Everyone loves a scandal. Where the success in sales lay was in the fact that people bought it to see if they were mentioned as much as to read about others.

Quentin had had an uncomfortable moment when he thought back to that catastrophe in Cork Street. To some, it might be amusing to read about a naked man awaking in bed with an unknown naked woman. His reaction of vomiting would be surprising, especially as one would expect him to take full advantage of the situation. It might even cast doubt on his sexual predilection.

Where had that book disappeared to? He really did need to check that he wasn't in it. Whittle had put his mind to rest by assuring him that he wasn't in the book. He had then winked...

What was he supposed to think now?

-o0o-

The second development was closely linked to the first.

When Whittle found he had time on his hands and had begun his 'memoirs', he'd had the interesting revelation that Mrs. Christina Pierce had more than enough to write her own 'memoirs.' Although they had both been in service in London for a considerable number of years, they had never had the occasion to meet. Comparing notes, it became apparent that they had been at a tangent in more than one situation. If it were important for those in Society to know everyone in Society, it follows that their personal servants are going to know everyone too.

Whittle and Pierce knew all the highest-flyers in London. They had seen them come and go at all hours of the day and night. Joy of joy, Whittle had seen his scandals from the male point of view, while Pierce had seen hers from the female point of view. Two halves make an explosive whole. They did not hesitate to combine their knowledge. In fact, neither of them had had as much fun in years.

Whittle found that things which had escaped his comprehension were now explained by Pierce, who had seen the part hidden from his eyes and vice versa. They became so engrossed in their discussions of past happenings that they had to drag themselves back to the pen and paper.

It was a bonus for them that the master and mistress were so absorbed in each other. They seldom interrupted the work on the 'memoirs.'

Francis Whittle began to look forward to the moments he spent with Christina Pierce. They were amusing, agreeable moments. He may have been fifty years old but his heart beat faster in Christina's company. She was a forty-five-year old widow who was still attractive in his eyes. Her hair was brown, although it had begun to grey a little at the temples. Her eyes were hazel with dark lashes and well defined eyebrows. They were the feature which captured Whittle's attention. He loved those eyes and found them remarkably expressive.

Some might say that she was plump, but Whittle would say that she had a full figure which rendered her soft and round in all the right places. If the truth be known, he was secretly in love with her.

When Christina had first met Whittle, she hadn't taken more than a passing glance at him. He was only a head taller than she and she wasn't considered tall. He was obviously a middle-aged man, although he was still trim and took care of his look. If she had passed him in the street, she wouldn't have looked at him twice.

However, finding herself engaged at Marshalswick House, she now found herself thrown into the company of fellow-members of staff. As one thing will lead to another, she also found an uncommon amount of things in common with Whittle.

The one thing which she hadn't expected was that he could make her laugh. He was exceptionally clever and witty with a dry sense of humour. Who would have thought it?

Perhaps the close association with nobility had rubbed off on Whittle, because one could honestly say that he acted like a gentleman when in Christina's company. Whatever the source, there were really times when it frustrated her no end.

Sooo, she'd decided to take matters into her own hands. No point beating about the bush, she'd seized the first occasion which had presented itself. She'd leaned across the table that they were working at and had kissed him.

It is just a shame that one can't repeat a first kiss. His expression alone had been enough to make her want to begin over and over. In that instant, he had been a young man and she had suddenly felt young too.

Middle-aged folk don't have time to waste. So Whittle and Christina found that they had a little more in common than they'd thought. They both enjoyed being in bed together. It really was most considerate of their employers to leave them so much free time.

Whittle's gentlemanly scruples obliged him to ask Christina to marry him. In her mind, they were already partners in business and it worked well, so why not marry? So they did, to the great astonishment and pleasure of all those in Marshalswick House.

Jasper and Irene had left Marshalswick not long after Quentin and Faith's wedding day. They had been married in Gretna Green to avoid any publicity in England which might alert Count Damiano Cuda to Irene's whereabouts. Scotland was a law unto itself. They had spent Christmas and the New Year in Jasper's hunting lodge in Dumfries while deciding what they wanted to do in the spring.

Jasper had wakened each morning and pulled Irene to him. He had not been able to believe that the day had arrived when he was happy to find he was still in bed with a woman when dawn broke.

Sometimes he had caught Irene with a smug smile on her face. She'd thought she'd got the better of him (and she had), but he would never have admitted it to her. He'd had to keep her doubting or his life would have been hell.

There had been one thing that he hadn't been able to explain. He'd continued to desire Irene wherever he was. He could have been out in a boat, fishing in a loch, and he'd think of her and he'd want her. He could have been sunk in mud up to his shins and he'd think of her and then he'd be sunk in mud up to his shins, decidedly uncomfortable in his trousers.

He wouldn't have dared tell her though. It would have meant handing her power on a plate.

It had been in early spring when they had received the letter from Quentin. He'd given them all their news about family, the Brosnans and their new babies, dog, house, etc. and had then happened to mention the information that his investigator had sent him from Italy.

Count Damiano Cuda had been dead for six months.

He and his family had been assassinated by a rival faction of the Camorra family. Had Irene still been there, she too would be dead now. Counting back on fingers, it had meant that he had died before Irene and he had been married. In other words, they hadn't needed to marry to escape him.

He'd looked at Irene to see her reaction, to see possible regrets. She'd grinned and shrugged. What was he supposed to have understood from that?

It had been almost as though she'd known...but that hadn't been possible, had it? Had it?

Faith's Aunt Florence and Nessie had been persuaded to leave their cottage and to move to Marshalswick House. It hadn't been an easy decision as the house held memories, although they weren't all pleasant. They'd realised that they were too isolated for women of their age. The upkeep of the cottage was becoming difficult. The thatch was in a state of disrepair which would soon need attention, and then it would be something else. It was the attraction of family life which swung the balance in favour of the move.

Faith was an exceptional woman whom they were proud to call their own, and Quentin loved the idea of filling his house with family. The two old women would never have imagined such a change occurring so late in their lives.

"How many people begin a new life at seventy?" her aunt asked with a great grin.

"I wonder if this means I might find a new man too?"

Everyone had laughed.

Their pony and donkeys joined the stables at Marshalswick house and their hives had even made the transition as well. They humbly thanked Quentin for his generosity, who responded by hugging the two old women to him.

-o0o-

He loved having all these people around him...

Jasper and Irene Coutts, Viscount and Viscountess of Wexton, were on their annual visit to Marshalswick House, where they usually stayed a month. They just couldn't seem to keep away, in spite of the incessant activity which greeted them each year. It took them both a couple of days to re-adjust to the noise and the constant movement in the place, but they were treated as family with no obligations attached. They could get up or go to bed at whatever hour pleased them and were absorbed into the vibrating environment at will, or not.

"I think they need us to remind them that their life is heaven the rest of the year," Faith said to Quentin. They were in the library together.

"To each man his own idea of heaven," Quentin replied as he pulled Faith to him, her back against his chest, his arms around her middle. He put a cheek to the top of her head before laying a kiss on it. His hands skimmed over her swelling abdomen as he released her gently.

"When one has been alone, really alone, and has then discovered the happiness which belonging and sharing can bring, there is no turning back."

He spoke almost to himself but Faith understood. She'd lived a lonely life too.

They could hear Helen and Christopher talking in the hallway. Christopher then called to Wizz.

"Come on Wizz, there are squirrels waiting for you."

His voice trailed off as they disappeared out the side door. No doubt Wizz had followed them because 'squirrels' meant running free through the woods.

"Andrew should be awake from his nap. I'll go up and bring him down," Faith said.

"You should tell Mrs. Welby to bring him down when he wakes. You mustn't over-tax yourself, my love."

"You are silly, Quentin. Walking upstairs is hardly going to tax me. Perhaps if I ran up..." she grinned at him.

She left the library without looking back. She didn't see the lingering look that he lay upon her. He loved the back of her exposed neck which flowed into ivory shoulders.

She was still the lovely, lithe woman he had married. It was impossible to see that she was six months pregnant from behind. It wouldn't matter, though, even if she did lose her shape and grow plump. He would love her just as fiercely. She had been his salvation.

In the four and a half years that they had been married, the house had been transformed. It thrummed. He had been transformed too.

The large drawing room, which had once been labelled depressing by a horde of people, now had the full approval of Jasper. He had made suggestions to Faith about its restoration. Perhaps the only reason he returned each year was to make sure that nothing had deteriorated.

The room's walls had been painted a creamy white. The upholstery on the furniture had been renewed with either green or gold brocade keeping the dark oak wood. The tables and cabinet in the room were also of the dark oak to match the parquet flooring. The enormous dark green carpet had a pattern of medallions which were red, white, black and gold. A mirror over the fireplace, nearly reached the ceiling. Its elaborate gilt frame was quite reminiscent of the Italian style. Not only did the mirror add light to the room but also an illusion of depth. The rich dark green velvet curtains were drawn back with gold rope.

Quentin didn't place much importance on the decorations in the room. He admitted that it looked more fashionable, but that was his limit in compliments. The only piece in the room which merited his attention was the painting which now hung on one of the walls. It showed them all as a family, a happy family.

He was the family head, standing just off centre with his wife seated to his left and their son Andrew (named after the son her aunt had lost) on her lap. His left hand rested on her right shoulder. Christopher was standing to his right, holding a canvas bag partially open. The artist had caught his attention as he was about to look in the bag. Quentin's right hand could be seen curling around and holding Christopher's right shoulder. Helen was seated on a stool in front of Christopher, leaning back into him. Wizz had been captured in the image too. He was at Quentin's feet looking up admiringly at Christopher.

He had never seen a better painting anywhere in his life. He never went into the room without going to it and gazing up at 'their life' caught in a painting. He'd glanced over at another wall which looked a little bare. When the new baby arrived, they would need another picture with him in it (all right, perhaps with her in it).

Yes, there was still quite a lot of space left on walls to be filled with pictures of the family. They'd need a new one with each new baby. But wait, better not get too far ahead of himself. He wasn't the only one involved in producing them. Although, he did have the better part of it.

His mind drifted back to that far-off day in the Hatfield market.

The image was vividly imprinted in his mind as he saw the young woman in the peach-coloured robe, sitting on a stool. He would like to relive that moment when they first spoke, if he could savour it with the knowledge he had today. He would gladly live through the moments of unhappiness again knowing that Faith would be his in the end.

The irony of it all was that his life, as regulated as clockwork, would become completely spontaneous after meeting Faith, the clockmaker's daughter.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

An Anglo/American who has lived in France for over 35 years, she began writing as soon as she retired. She moved to London in 2012 and spent more than a year there with family. She has since returned to France. Her laptop has never had any trouble following her.

Before retiring, she worked at a variety of jobs. Some of the more interesting have been : Art & Crafts teacher, Bartender, Marketing Assistant for N° 1 World Yacht Charterers (Moorings), Beaux Arts Model, Secretary to the French Haflinger Association...

With her daughters, she is a vegetarian and a supporter of animal rights! She is also an admirer of William Wilberforce.

Some of the other novels, novellas and short stories by this author:

RR = Regency Romance; MR = Modern Romance; TTR = Time Travel Romance

The Insignificance of Being a Spy (RR)

The Baron & the Clockmaker's Daughter (RR)

Capturing Constance (RR)

Hope in Winter (RR)

Bed Times. (TTR)

The Timely Gift (TTR)

The Repentant Viscount (RR)

Never Love Another (RR)

The Builders' Report (MR)

Tangling with Tania (MR)

Garnets (RR/TTR)

Gold Leaf Lover (MR)

More Than a Couple of Camels (RR)

The Winchmore Hill Tales series (M & MR)

Fiction on Command collection (Mixture)

Please be sure to visit the Suzy Stewart Dubot website:

http://suzystewartdubotbooks.weebly.com
