The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

The Dashing Miss Langley Amanda Grange

It was a perfect summer morning in 1819 when Miss Annabelle Langley drove her curricle through the streets of London, weaving in and out of the brewers’ carts and carriages with consummate skill. She was a striking sight, her Amazonian figure clad in a sky-blue pelisse and her fair hair topped with a high-crowned bonnet. She had no chaperone except for a tiger perched behind her. He was a splendidly clad urchin and he grinned impudently at the crusty old dowagers who looked on with a frown as the curricle whirled by.

In anyone else such behaviour would have been considered fast, but as Annabelle was twenty-seven years of age and possessed of a large fortune, she was grudgingly allowed to be eccentric.

She brought her equipage to a halt outside a house in Grosvenor Square and, handing the reins to her tiger, she approached the porticoed entrance. She lifted the knocker, but before she could let it drop, her sister-in-law opened the door.

“My dear Annabelle, I am so glad you are here,” said Hetty with a look of relief.

“But you knew I was coming. Why the heartfelt welcome?” asked Annabelle in surprise.

Hetty linked arms and drew her inside, much to the disapproval of the butler, whose expression seemed to say, Ladies opening the door for themselves? Whatever next?

“It is Caroline,” said Hetty, her silk skirts rustling as the two ladies crossed the spacious hall.

“What, do not tell me that she is not ready?” said Annabelle. “I suppose she has overslept and she is still drinking her chocolate? Or is it more serious? Is she standing in front of the mirror wondering which of Madame Renault’s delightful creations she should wear?”

“It is worse than that,” said Hetty with a heavy sigh as she guided Annabelle into the drawing room.

It was an elegant apartment with high ceilings and tall windows, and it was sumptuously furnished. Marble-topped console tables were set beneath gleaming mirrors, and damasked sofas were positioned between silk-upholstered chairs.

“Worse?” asked Annabelle.

“Much worse,” said Hetty emphatically. “It is A Man.” Her tone gave the words capital letters.

Annabelle stopped in the middle of stripping off her gloves and said, “I see. And who is this man?”

Hetty looked at her helplessly and groaned. “You will never believe it. If I did not know it to be true then I would not believe it myself. It is the Braithwaites’ gardener!” she said.

Annabelle raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Unless I am very much mistaken, the Braithwaites’ gardener is seventy years old!” she said.

“Oh no, it is not Old Ned. He has retired. It is his grandson who is the cause of all the trouble. Able. And a very handsome young man, it has to be said. But quite unsuitable. And, even worse, he is engaged.”

“Do you not mean, even better, he is engaged?” enquired Annabelle, removing her pelisse and bonnet.

“I only wish I did. If Caroline would accept that he was spoken for then all would be well. But you know how headstrong she is. She is convinced that he does not love his fiancée and that he is only marrying the girl to please his grandfather, who happens to be friends with the girl’s grandfather. The two men have had a very enjoyable rivalry over the last fifty years, concerning who can grow the best roses.”

“And what does Able say about it all?”

“Nothing. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other when she challenges him, and goes bright red, then pulls his ear, and says, ‘I don’t rightly know, Miss Caroline, I reckon I love ’er.’”

“Oh dear! But surely this must deter Caroline?” said Annabelle, bubbling with laughter.

“Not a bit of it. She simply says that he does not know his own mind, and that he needs a good woman to know it for him!”

“And the good woman in question, I suppose, is Caroline?”

“Of course,” said Hetty, sinking into a chair.

Annabelle looked at Hetty’s woebegone face and tried to pull a sympathetic expression but she could not help herself. It was too ridiculous! She burst into outright laughter.

“Really, Belle, it is no laughing matter,” said Hetty crossly.

“Oh, Hetty, I’m sorry, but of course it is! Caroline is a minx, but in six weeks’ time she will have forgotten all about Able, and she will be content for him to marry his sweetheart and grow roses for the rest of his days.”

“I only hope it may be so, but what am I to do with her in the meantime? She declares she won’t go to Whitegates Manor with you, and if she stays here, she will make everyone uncomfortable. The Braithwaites have already asked me not to bring her with me the next time I call. She distracts Able from his work. The last time we called he sent a cabbage indoors for the flower arrangements, and then enraged the cook by sending a basket of hollyhocks into the kitchen for dinner.”

“Never fear,” said Annabelle soothingly, putting her hand reassuringly on Hetty’s. “I will take Caroline to Whitegates with me, I promise you, and you can have some respite.”

“I only wish you could,” said Hetty dolorously, “but she has sworn she will not go.”

“A little of the sun, instead of the wind, will work wonders I am sure,” said Annabelle. Seeing Hetty’s bemused look, she said, “When the wind and the sun had an argument about which of them was the stronger, they agreed to a contest to decide the matter. There happened to be a merchant walking below them and they agreed that whichever one of them could part him from his cloak would be the winner. The wind blew as hard as it could, but to no avail, the merchant only held his cloak closer. Then the sun shone down and the merchant set his cloak aside, making the sun the winner.”

“And you plan to warm Caroline with sunshine?” asked Hetty dubiously.

“I do. The sunshine of flattery, coupled with an appeal to her generosity. And if all else fails, I will sweeten it with a treat.”

“I only hope you may succeed. I am at my wits’ end.” Hetty stood up and moved towards the bell. “I will send for Withers and she will fetch her.”

“There is no need for that. I will go myself. Is she in her room?”

“Yes,” said Hetty.

“Then I will go up to her now.”

Annabelle went out into the hall, threading her way between the marble columns and crossing the black-and-white squared floor before going up the stairs.

Twenty sets of ancestral eyes gazed down at her from Hetty’s family portraits, some haughty, some placid and some disdainful, but she ignored them all as she mounted the stairs and came at last to the bedrooms.

She went to Caroline’s door and knocked discreetly.

“Go away!” came a voice from inside.

“That is not a very friendly greeting,” Annabelle replied, “especially as I have come all this way to see you.”

“Oh, it is you, Aunt Annabelle,” said Caroline, appearing at the door of her room a minute later. “Mama has sent you to speak to me, I suppose.”

“No, I came of my own accord. Your mama thought it would not do any good for me to speak to you. She believes you are a hopeless case.”

“And so I am,” said Caroline, sinking down on to the bed with a dramatic sigh. “Hopelessly in love with Able.”

“Well, he is a very handsome young man by all accounts,” said Annabelle sympathetically.

Caroline looked surprised. Then a crease appeared between her brows. “And?” she asked suspiciously.

“And?” enquired Annabelle.

“Are you not going to say that Lord Deverish is handsomer, or that Able, for all his handsome face, is nothing but a gardener, and that I can do better; or that I am a foolish, obstinate, headstrong girl?”

“No. Why should I?” asked Annabelle.

“Because that is what everyone else says. They have lots of different reasons for complaining, but the moral of every story is that I must forget all about him.”

“If Able is your choice, then what business is it of mine?”

Caroline looked startled.

She really is very pretty, thought Annabelle, even with that open mouth and those widened eyes. With her lustrous dark hair and her entrancing green eyes, she is positively charming.

“I cannot understand it,” said Caroline, perplexed. “I was sure you would be just like Mama, and tell me it would not do. Oh!” she exclaimed suddenly, in a different tone of voice, and her face took on a sympathetic expression. “Of course, I was forgetting. You had an unhappy love affair, too! Aunt Annabelle, I am so sorry,” she went on, stricken. “This must have awakened painful memories for you, and now I have added to your pain by distrusting you. But of course, with your history, I should have known that you would take my side.”

Annabelle refrained from pointing out that her own unhappy love affair had been nothing like Caroline’s infatuation, for she had come to know and love a man who had been suitable in every way. But she made allowances for her niece’s youth, and she did no more than give an exasperated smile.

Fortunately, Caroline construed her expression as one of sympathy.

“If only Mama and Papa could see it as you do.” Caroline patted the bed beside her and invited Annabelle to sit down. “But they keep telling me that I cannot marry Able because they say that, in a few weeks’ time, I will forget all about him. Which is absurd, because I will never forget about Able, not for as long as I live.”

“Which is exactly why you should come to Whitegates Manor with me,” said Annabelle. “It will prove to your parents that you are serious about Able, and that your feelings will not change. Only imagine, when you return here and you are still as much in love as ever, they will not be able to accuse you of inconstancy, but will be forced to admit the strength of your attachment.”

“So they will,” said Caroline, much struck. “And then they must give their consent to the marriage.”

Annabelle was just congratulating herself on her stratagems when Caroline cut short her rejoicing by reverting to a lachrymose manner. “But no, I cannot be away from Able for so long. It would be insupportable. In fact, it would kill me.”

“Ah, well, we cannot have that. I see now that I must go by myself,” said Annabelle, rising. “A pity, for I was hoping to teach you to drive. There is an excellent avenue at Whitegates Manor that would be perfect for the purpose; it is long and straight, and the surface is very good. But if you cannot leave Able then there is nothing more to be said.”

She had gone no more than halfway to the door when Caroline asked, “Teach me to drive?”

“Yes. I thought it might amuse you. I have two new horses. Have you seen them? Perfectly matched bays. And such high steppers, with such soft mouths. They are a treat.”

“And you would let me drive them?” asked Caroline, half rising from the bed in her eagerness.

“But of course. Every young woman should learn to drive.”

She almost laughed as she watched the emotions playing across Caroline’s face, but out of deference to her favourite niece’s feelings she remained straight-faced.

“Perhaps you are right,” said Caroline consideringly, as a desire to drive her aunt’s dashing curricle won out over her desire to swoon over the hapless Able. “If I go with you, it will prove to Mama and Papa, once and for all, that I am really in love.”

“Then make haste and finish dressing. The sooner we are away, the better.”

“Do you know, Aunt Annabelle, I think it is for the best, after all. I will be with you directly.”

Leaving her niece to ready herself, Annabelle went downstairs.

“Ah! She would not come. I did not expect it,” said Hetty, as Annabelle entered the drawing room alone. “It was good of you to try. Girls! Everyone says that boys are difficult to handle, but boys are nothing to girls. Thank goodness I have only the one, or my head would be full of grey hairs.”

“She will be down in a few minutes,” said Annabelle.

Hetty looked at her in amazement. “You do not mean that you have persuaded her? How did you manage it?”

“By telling her that a few weeks’ absence will prove to you that she is really in love — and by promising to teach her to drive.”

“Oh, thank goodness! We are to have a few weeks’ respite! And, of course, at the end of it, she will have forgotten all about Able, and be ready to think of someone more suitable instead. I cannot thank you enough. Now, sit down, my love, for you have a long drive before you. I do so wish you would hire a coachman, but I suppose it is too late now to persuade you to change your ways?”

“It is.”

“Then let me offer you some refreshment before you set out. You will take a cup of tea, and some seed cake?”

“No, thank you, Hetty. I must not keep the horses waiting. As soon as Caroline is down—Ah! Here she is.’

Caroline entered the room with a sunny smile. She was dressed in a green silk pelisse, which brought out the colour in her eyes, with matching gloves, and on her head was a splendid hat, topped by a dancing plume.

“I thought I told you that that hat was too dashing for a girl of your age!” exclaimed Hetty in vexation when she saw it. “What have you done with the straw bonnet?”

“Oh, that,” said Caroline nonchalantly. “I decided it did not suit me after all, and so I returned it when I went into town with Charlotte. The only other hat that fitted me was this one.”

“I think it is time for us to leave,” said Annabelle diplomatically.

And before Hetty could react, she swept Caroline out of the house.

“It was very wrong of you to buy that hat against your mother’s express wishes,” she said, as they went down the steps.

“Mama never expressed a wish either way, she simply said it was too dashing for a girl of my age, but as I was then only sixteen years old, and as I am now seventeen, of course that changes things.”

“Ah,” said Annabelle, smiling at Caroline’s youthful logic — or should it be youthful impudence? “Of course!”

They waited for the curricle to return from the end of the street, where the tiger had been walking the horses, and then they climbed in.

“What—?” asked Annabelle in surprise, for a portmanteau and a hatbox had been crammed into the carriage. “Did your mama not send your boxes on?”

“Yes, she sent them on yesterday with my maid. But I forgot to put a few things in, and so I packed a box this morning and had the footman carry it downstairs,” said Caroline airily.

“And no doubt the ‘few things’ you forgot are dresses of which your mama would not approve.”

“There is nothing wrong with them, I do assure you. They are both of them quite adorable.”

“I am sure they are. But are they respectable?”

“They are respectable enough for a vicar’s daughter,” replied Caroline. “But they happen to be in various colours, and Mama is so fussy about me wearing white. I cannot think why. It does not suit me, and, anyway, young ladies no longer wear exclusively white. That fashion went out when Mama was a girl.”

“As long ago as that?” enquired Annabelle.

“Are you laughing at me?” asked Caroline suspiciously.

“Not at all.”

They seated themselves in the carriage. Annabelle took the reins, and then they were off.

Caroline revelled in the admiring glances that were directed towards them as they set out, though she was sensible enough to realize that they were directed towards Annabelle rather than herself, and she dreamed of the day when she would be the one holding the reins. What a figure she would cut as she dashed through the streets!

“How did you learn to drive?” asked Caroline. “Did your papa teach you?”

“No,” said Annabelle. “It was … someone else.”

Her mind flew back to the day when Daniel had said to her, “It is about time you learned to handle the reins.” And she remembered him putting them in her hands, then putting one arm around her so that he could show her how to hold them properly, and the way it made her feel, with his hands around hers and his breath on her cheek and …

“Aunt Annabelle!”

Caroline’s cry brought her back to the present just in time, as a brewer’s cart rolled out from a side road and she had to swerve in order to avoid it. The carriage behind her was not so lucky, and the sound of heated cries and barrels rolling on to the road followed them as they headed out to the country.

Green fields took the place of crowded streets. The air was fresh here, without the smell of fish or pies or a hundred other things, savoury and unsavoury, which perfumed the London streets. Annabelle breathed in deeply. It was good to be alive.

“I am looking forward to the party,” she said.

“But I am not. It will be very boring,” said Caroline with a yawn. “House parties always are.”

“There might be some interesting people there,” said Annabelle.

“And there might not.”

“There speaks the experience of seventeen,” said Annabelle, laughing.

“I know already who will be there. A retired general who will pinch my cheek and call me a clever puss. An old admiral who will talk of nothing but the sea and try to tell me all about the Battle of Flamingo—”

“I believe you mean the Battle of St Domingo.”

“And a whole bunch of mamas who will look daggers at me because I am prettier than their daughters.”

“But once they learn you are to marry, they will breathe a sigh of relief. They will thank heaven for Able because they will know that, for all your pretty face, you are no competition for their daughters. A girl in love has no interest in anyone else. She does not like to dance with the most eligible bachelors, she prefers to sit at the side of the room.”

Caroline looked at her suspiciously, but Annabelle preserved a countenance of angelic innocence, and they carried on their way.

They stopped shortly after midday, choosing an idyllic spot in a country lane. The tiger climbed over the stile and into the neighbouring field, where he spread out a rug and began to unpack the picnic hamper. Annabelle and Caroline strolled along the lane to stretch their legs before settling themselves on the rug, beneath the spreading arms of a chestnut tree.

“How much farther is it to Whitegates?” asked Caroline.

“We have a few hours more to travel,” said Annabelle.

“Can I drive for part of the way?”

“Very well. I will give you your first lesson after lunch.”

They started to eat their picnic. It was a delicate affair of chicken and ham, with crusty bread and newly churned butter, and they finished their repast with peaches and grapes.

Their meal over, Caroline looked at Annabelle hopefully, and, with a laugh, Annabelle said, “Very well. I was going to suggest another stroll first, but I see that you are eager to begin. The road here is straight and flat. You may set us on our way.”

Their things were soon packed and the two ladies climbed into the curricle, followed by the tiger.

With the reins in her hands, Caroline’s childishness dropped away, as Annabelle had hoped it would, and she applied herself seriously to the task in hand.

“Very good,” said Annabelle approvingly, as the curricle rolled smoothly along a straight, flat stretch of road. “You have light hands.”

Caroline glowed under the praise.

She was reluctant to give the reins back to Annabelle when the road became more difficult, but after a moment’s hesitation she did so with a good grace.

They had not gone very much further when the wind turned colder and the sky darkened. Soon it began to rain. It was nothing more than a light drizzle to begin with, but as the curricle had no hood, they were exposed to the elements.

“Urgh!” said Caroline, as the rain began to fall more heavily. “Is there nowhere we can shelter? We will soon be wet through.”

A quick glance at the countryside showed that there were no barns or stables in sight.

Annabelle said, “We must just go on and hope the rain lets up. It is only a shower, no doubt, and the sun will soon be out again.”

The English weather answered this optimism with its usual reply, and no sooner had Annabelle finished speaking than the sky clouded over threateningly and transformed itself from blue to grey. The horses became skittish, and when a flash of lightning sent them rearing, it took all of Annabelle’s skill to hold them.

“It is no good, we cannot go on,” said Annabelle, shouting to make herself heard above the thunder.

“Look ahead! There!” said Caroline, who had been looking about them. She pointed through the pouring rain, which had rendered the summer afternoon as dark as night. “I can see a light!”

Annabelle saw an orange glow shining through the blackness and, hunching her shoulders against the rain, drove the horses cautiously onwards. They did not like the weather any more than she did. They tried to turn their heads against the wind but she held them true to their course.

To make matters worse, the road was slick with mud, and the curricle slid from side to side. She saw Caroline gripping her seat tightly with her hands.

“Don’t worry, I won’t overset you,” she said.

The glow became clearer as they moved forwards. To her relief, Annabelle saw that it was attached to an inn. The hostelry looked well cared for, with white walls showing up brightly against dark oak beams. It had a pretty thatched roof. A freshly painted sign proclaiming it to be the White Hart swung in the wind.

Annabelle guided the horses carefully into the yard. She gave a sigh of relief as she brought the curricle to a halt, for if they had been forced to go any further she was sure they would have had an accident.

The thunder rumbled overhead, making the horses dance, and a minute later the ostlers appeared and hurriedly took the horses out of the traces. Assuring Annabelle they would be well cared for, the ostlers led the horses off to the stables.

Another flash of lightning sent Annabelle and Caroline hurrying towards the door, whilst the rain jumped in the puddles all around them, splashing up against their ankles and soaking their stockings. They gained the door and went in, to find themselves in a cheerful corridor with wild flowers in jars on the deep window ledges. In front of them were two bedraggled ladies, one with a sodden hat whose plume sagged over her eyes, and the other with water streaming down her face from her high-crowned bonnet. It took Annabelle a moment to realize that the two ladies were herself and Caroline, and that she was looking in a mirror. Caroline realized it at the same time and they both laughed to see themselves in such a state.

The landlord hurried forwards to greet them. “A terrible day,” he said sympathetically. “We haven’t seen a storm like this in years. What can I do for you, ladies?”

“I think we had better have a room, landlord, if you please,” said Annabelle. “We cannot go on today.”

“Shocking this weather is,” he agreed. “I said to my wife this morning, as soon as I saw the sky, ‘Depend upon it, we will have rain.’ ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘and a storm, by the look of things.’ But don’t you worry, we have a fine room here, I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable,” he continued, as he led them upstairs.

Along the corridor they went, with its oak beams and its white walls, and then through an oak door and into a very pleasant chamber. The windows were latticed, but large enough to let in what little light the storm allowed, and the room was clean and spacious. A large bed was set in the centre, with a smaller one pushed to the side, and both were covered with clean counterpanes. Rustic pictures hung on the walls, and a brightly coloured rug lay on the floor. The grate was empty, but the landlord told them that there was a fire in the parlour.

“It’s a private room, just right for you ladies,” he said.

“Thank you, that will be most welcome,” said Annabelle, looking down at her sodden clothing.

He offered to light a fire in the room as well, but Annabelle declined the offer. It was not cold and she did not want to put him to any trouble.

“I am sure the fire in the parlour will suffice,” she said.

He bowed his way out of the room.

“Thank goodness I brought some extra clothes!” said Caroline, who had snatched her portmanteau and hatbox from the curricle before it was taken away. “I am longing to get out of these wet things. I would lend you one of my dresses, but I am afraid they will be too small,” she added in dismay, looking at Annabelle.

“Never mind, I will go down to the parlour and dry myself by the fire,” said Annabelle. She removed her gloves, bonnet and pelisse, and set them down on the window ledge, then tidied her hair as best she could.

“I will join you as soon as I have changed,” said Caroline, stripping off her wet clothes.

“Would you like me to help you?”

“No, thank you, I believe I can manage, and if not, I will ring for the landlord’s wife. Do not let me delay you, Aunt Annabelle, I will never forgive myself if you catch cold.”

Satisfied that Caroline could not get up to any mischief in such a short space of time, in a respectable inn, Annabelle went down to the parlour.

She opened the door … and then hesitated, because the parlour was already occupied. A gentleman was seated by the fire. Steam was rising from his clothes, showing that he too had been caught in the downpour.

She was just about to apologise for intruding when he stood up and turned towards her, and the words died on her lips.

“Annabelle!” he said in surprise, adding more formally, “That is, Miss Langley.”

“Daniel!” she said.

And indeed it was he, as handsome as ever, with his dark hair arranged à la Brutus, his brown eyes, his aquiline nose and his full mouth. His figure was hardened by exercise and his height topped her by six inches: no mean feat, as she herself was five feet eight inches tall.

Memories came rushing back: a house party the previous summer, where she had danced with him, finding him the most amusing partner she had ever had.

She remembered her delight when she had found herself alone with him in a rowing boat the following day, and how they had both laughed when a frog leaped into the boat.

And she remembered the way in which he had taught her to drive, taking her out in the country lanes, where he had shown her how to control his horses and how to guide his carriage. When he had put his arms around her in order to show her how to hold the reins, she had started to tingle. It had been the most delicious sensation, and she had turned her face up to his in surprise and delight. He had seized the moment and kissed her, and it had been quite magical.

Then other, less welcome memories returned: that he had been called away by the death of his brother and that, once the mourning period was over, he had not sought her out as she had expected him to do.

She had been forced to realize that, whilst she had been falling in love with him, he had been indulging in nothing more than a mild flirtation.

And now here he was again, standing before her.

“What a surprise. I did not expect to meet you here,” he said.

“Nor I you. I am just passing through. But I must not disturb you …” she said, feeling suddenly awkward.

“Not at all, it is I who should vacate the parlour and leave it to you.”

“There really is no need …” she said.

There was a silence, and then they both laughed.

“We are talking to each other like strangers!” he said. “There is no need for either of us to retreat. We can be comfortable here together, can we not? But you are wet,” he said. “Will you not sit by the fire?”

She took the seat he held out for her gladly, for her damp clothes were starting to make her feel cold, then he sat down opposite her.

“You are just passing through, you say?”

“Yes. We are on our way to stay with friends.”

“We?”

“My niece and I. She is upstairs at the moment, changing her dress. We were caught unawares by the rain, and as we were travelling in my curricle we were soon drenched.”

“Ah, yes, your curricle. I am glad you have continued with your driving, and put your inheritance to such good use. I should have congratulated you on your good fortune, but I have not spoken to you since the lucky day.”

“Thank you. It was totally unexpected. Great-aunt Matilda had always declared her intention of leaving everything to my brother, but when he married he displeased her and she changed her will and left everything to me. It was no loss to Alistair, as he already had a fortune, and it was a great piece of good luck for me. Although if I had not inherited it,” she added ruefully, “I would not have bought such a dashing carriage, and I would probably have been travelling in a sedate coach and be perfectly dry now!”

He laughed. “You cut quite a figure.”

She looked at him enquiringly.

“I saw you once, in town. You handled your cattle very well,” he said admiringly.

She warmed at his praise. “I was taught by an expert,” she replied.

“Those were good days,” he said. “And what does your niece think of her dashing aunt?”

“She likes me well enough at the moment, for I have promised to teach her to drive.”

“Indeed? You must think a great deal of her then.”

“I do. I like her very much. She is a good girl, for all her headstrong ways, and she will make a fine woman when she is fully grown. But that is not why I made her the offer.”

“No?”

“No. You see, it was the only way I could take her thoughts from an unsuitable attachment.”

“Ah. That would never do. Attachments must be suitable, must they not?”

There was something in the way he said it that made her feel it was more than a general comment.

Daniel came from an old and well-respected family, whilst her family engaged in trade.

So that is why he found it so easy to forget me, she thought.

She felt downcast, but her pride came to her aid and she said, lightly, “Of course.” Then, changing the painful subject, she said, “I was sorry to hear about your brother’s death. He was too young to die.”

“He was.”

The subject had been badly chosen and the atmosphere became sombre. They fell silent until they were interrupted by the landlord.

On seeing them together, he apologised profusely for having recommended the parlour to Annabelle when his wife, unbeknownst to him, had recommended it to the gentleman. He gratefully accepted their assurance that they were already acquainted, and that they did not object to sharing.

He asked them if they would be dining.

“Yes, indeed. Both my niece and I would like a hot meal,” said Annabelle.

“The ordinary is very good, but maybe you would like something else?” the innkeeper asked.

“What is the ordinary?” asked Annabelle.

“Steak pie with minted peas and tender potatoes, followed by plum tart and cream,” said the landlord.

“That sounds very good. I’m sure my niece will like it, too,” said Annabelle.

“Three ordinaries, then, landlord, if you please,” said Daniel.

The atmosphere had warmed again and despite herself Annabelle was looking forward to further conversation with Daniel. But no sooner had the landlord left the room than Caroline entered it. She was dressed in a startling gown of green silk, which was suitable for a woman twice her age

“Goodness!” said Annabelle, gazing at the vision which was Caroline, and thinking that her niece looked as though she had raided the dressing-up box and put on one of her mama’s old gowns. She did not say so, however, but gravely introduced her, saying, “May I present my niece?”

“Charmed,” said Daniel, rising and bowing.

Caroline glowed, and dropped a small curtsey.

“Caroline, this is Lord Arundel,” said Annabelle. “We are old … acquaintances.”

“Really, Aunt Annabelle, you never told me you knew such fascinating people,” said Caroline.

Annabelle turned her laugh into a cough, for Caroline’s attempt at coquetry had all the sophistication of a newborn colt’s attempts to walk. However, she thought that Caroline could do worse than to try her newly discovered feminine charms on Daniel, for he was a gentleman and she would come to no harm with him.

Caroline was invited to sit by the fire.

“Thank you,” she said charmingly to Daniel, with a dimple.

She swept her gown beneath her, producing a wonderful rustling noise, but unfortunately she spoiled the effect by knocking over a stool in the process. However, Daniel picked it up without comment and Caroline seated herself by the fire. Then she began to fascinate him with her conversation.

“Tell me, Lord Arundel, have you ever met Lord Byron?” she asked.

“I have not had that honour,” he said.

“They say he is a terrible man, and yet I cannot believe it. If he were truly so terrible he would not have chosen to write a poem about an innocent little child.”

“Ah. You are talking of his renowned work Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage?” he asked.

“I am,” she said graciously.

Daniel’s eyes twinkled, but he kindly refrained from saying that Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage was definitely not about an innocent little child. He managed to retain a straight face, whilst Annabelle sighed in silent exasperation at her niece’s ignorance.

Caroline was saved from further blunders by the arrival of dinner.

The food was good and the hot meal was welcome. Whilst they ate the plum tart, Annabelle could not help thinking of the previous summer, of eating plums on a picnic and afterwards going to a ball and dancing with Daniel, of being in his arms …

And then she was forced to pay attention, for they were talking of the London galleries, and her opinion was being sought. The conversation moved on to the theatres, until at last Annabelle said, “I believe we must retire.”

Caroline had by this time talked herself to a standstill. She took a warm leave of Daniel before leaving the room, so that Annabelle and Daniel were alone for a minute.

“Miss Langley,” he said, bowing over her hand.

He held it a fraction too long, and there was something tender in his touch, or so it seemed to Annabelle. But then she warned herself against making the mistake she had made a year ago and bid him goodnight.

“It was good to see you again,” he said, as reluctantly he dropped her hand.

“And you.” She smiled and walked out of the room.

“What a delightful gentleman,” said Caroline, as they went upstairs.

“Yes, indeed,” said Annabelle.

And she could not help thinking that, in all her life, she had never met one more delightful.

Annabelle gave a sigh of relief as the landlord’s wife drew back the curtains the following morning, for the sun shone out of a clear blue sky.

She washed and dressed before Caroline was awake, glad of the landlord’s wife’s assistance, and then she helped Caroline to dress.

“What a coincidence, meeting Lord Arundel,” said Caroline, as they went down to the parlour for breakfast. “I wonder if we will see him again this morning?”

Annabelle privately wondered the same thing, and although she would not have asked about him, she was not sorry that Caroline did so.

“The gentleman?” enquired the landlord. “Left early this morning, he did, just after dawn. Said he had urgent business to attend to.”

“A pity. He was a most amusing companion,” said Caroline with dignity.

Oh, yes, he was, thought Annabelle with a pang. The most amusing companion she had ever met with.

“What will you ladies have for breakfast?” asked the landlord.

“Chocolate, I think, and hot rolls,” said Annabelle, rousing herself.

Caroline agreed, and they ate a hearty meal before setting out once more to Whitegates Manor.

Annabelle allowed Caroline to take the reins for a short while before reclaiming them, and was pleased to see that her niece showed promise. She told her so, and Caroline wriggled with happiness.

The rains of the previous day had taken their toll and in places the road was so deep in puddles that it was almost like a ford, so that the going was slow. They stopped for lunch at a tavern and did not reach Whitegates Manor until four o’clock in the afternoon.

They turned off the road and rattled through an impressive pair of gates. The manor itself was an imposing residence. Large windows flanked the front door in perfect symmetry, gleaming in the summer sun. Gravel walkways surrounded it and meandered invitingly through formal gardens and over immaculate lawns.

The curricle swept around the turning circle and rattled to a halt. A couple of grooms ran forwards as Annabelle and Caroline descended, looking about them with interest.

“There you are at last! Wondered what had happened to you!” said Lord Carlton as he came down the impressive stone steps to greet them.

Lord Carlton was a jovial man of some fifty years of age. He was running to fat, but by virtue of a good tailor he managed to disguise it. His coat, a well-fitting garment of black, was complemented by cream breeches and buckskin boots. His linen was simple, and consisted of a starched shirt and a simply tied cravat.

Annabelle took his hands. “We are glad to be here.”

“Storm held you up?”

“Yes, alas, it did. We had to spend the night in an inn. I hope you were not anxious on our account?”

“Guessed what had happened. Couldn’t drive in that rain!” said Lord Carlton. “Wretched weather. But that’s England for you! Come in, come in.” He led them up the stone steps and into the house.

The hall was light and spacious. A staircase swept upwards from the far end, drawing the eye towards a magnificent chandelier that sparkled above them.

Having glanced around her, Annabelle began to unfasten the strings of her bonnet. At that moment Lady Carlton came into the hall.

“Annabelle! My dear! And Caroline!” she said, coming forwards and kissing them both on the cheek. “I have only just been informed of your arrival.”

They embarked on the customary exchanges, with Lord Carlton enquiring after the horses, and Lady Carlton anxious to know that the sheets in the inn had been aired. Then Lady Carlton took Annabelle and Caroline by the arm and said, “Come, let me show you to your rooms.”

Leaving her husband to see to the other guests, Lady Carlton led them up the imposing staircase, chattering all the time. She was a small, birdlike woman, quick and light in her movements, and was some ten years younger than her lord.

They reached Caroline’s room first. Annabelle and Lady Carlton left her to the ministrations of her maid, who had travelled previously by coach, as had Annabelle’s maid, because the curricle would not hold so many.

“This is your room. I hope you will like it,” said Lady Carlton, as she led Annabelle into a beautiful bedroom.

Large windows gave into the gardens. A four-poster bed was set against the left-hand wall, whilst opposite it was an Adam fireplace.

“It is beautiful, Laura,” said Annabelle.

As Annabelle removed her bonnet and stripped off her gloves, Laura moved around the room with her quick, light movements, now smoothing the red damask counterpane, now adjusting a pair of Sèvres vases that stood on the mantelpiece, one on either side of an ormolu clock.

“It is such a pleasure having you here,” said Laura, at last turning to face Annabelle. “When your dear mama passed away I promised I would do all I could for you, and …”

She stopped, disconcerted, as Annabelle began to laugh.

“Oh, dear,” said Annabelle, trying to bring her features back under control. “I should not be laughing. It is so wonderfully kind of you. But I do hope you are not going to introduce me to a string of eligible young men?”

Laura looked momentarily put out. But then she replied, with a twinkle in her eye, “Not a string of them, no. And not all of them young, either. Some of them are quite old! But you mustn’t blame me for trying. Seeing you married was the greatest wish of your mother’s heart. She was so happy in marriage herself, you see.”

Annabelle sighed. “That is the problem. Mama married for love, and I can do no less.”

“Which is why I have invited some perfectly saintly men for the summer,” said Laura. “Men you are sure to fall in love with.”

“I will have a difficult time if I am sure to fall in love with all of them! Although, perhaps I will leave one for Caroline.”

“Ah, yes, Caroline. Hetty wrote to me. Is it serious, this fixation with the gardener, or just an infatuation?”

“An infatuation, of course, but I pray you will not tell her so. If you do, it will only take her longer to see it for herself.”

“I will not breathe a word of it. I will only mention it if she mentions it first, and then I promise to treat it seriously. I remember my own youth. For me, it was a dancing master. He had the most wonderful calves! My sisters and I could not take our eyes from them! But I must not keep you talking. I had better leave you to change.” She gave Annabelle an affectionate kiss and left the room.

Annabelle looked around her, taking in her new surroundings in more detail. The room was lovely, with its light furniture and pale cream walls, and the view out of the window was inviting. She might like to take a walk in the grounds before dinner, she thought. After spending most of the day in the carriage some exercise would do her good.

The door opened, and Sally, her maid, entered the room.

“They said as how you’d arrived. Worried sick I’ve been, thinking you must have taken a tumble,” said Sally.

“Well, here I am, in one piece, having suffered nothing worse than a wetting,” said Annabelle. She sat down at the dressing table. “I think I will take a turn around the gardens when you have finished with my hair.”

“And changed your frock. What did you do, sleep in it?”

“Almost. I had to sleep in my chemise.”

Sally threw up her hands in despair. “Why you can’t get yourself a nice steady coach with a nice steady coachman I don’t know. You can afford it.”

“But I like my curricle.”

“Break your neck in it, you will, one of these days,” grumbled Sally, as she helped Annabelle out of her creased muslin and into a jonquil sarcenet.

“There, that looks better,” said Sally.

“Thank you, Sally.”

Slipping into her pelisse and tying her poke bonnet on top of her fair curls, Annabelle picked up her gloves and proceeded to make her way downstairs. She found a side door and decided to stroll through the gardens. The roses were just beginning to come into bloom. A few unfurled flowers dotted the banks of bushes, and buds were swelling on the stems. She breathed in, but it was too early in the year to catch their perfume.

She heard a crunching sound and looked up, prepared to greet her fellow guest with a cheery, “Good afternoon,” but was rendered speechless when she saw Daniel walking towards her.

“Daniel!” she said in astonishment. “I thought you had some business to attend to.”

“And I thought you were seeing friends!” he said, equally taken aback.

“So I am. The Carltons are my friends.”

“So you are staying here?” he asked, a smile breaking out over his face.

“Yes. And you?”

“Yes. My business is with Lord Carlton. I am staying here, too.”

She smiled warmly, feeling ridiculously pleased.

“May I accompany you?” he asked.

“Yes, I would like that.”

He offered her his arm and she took it.

“Will you be staying at Whitegates long?” he asked as they strolled along the gravel path together.

“For a month, certainly,” said Annabelle. “Lady Carlton is an old friend of my mother’s, and has kindly invited me to stay for as long as I choose. And you?”

“Until my business is done.”

“Have you known Lord and Lady Carlton long?”

“Lord Carlton I’ve known for many years. He and I are joint guardians of my nephew. That is why I am here, to talk over our joint responsibilities and to think about the boy’s future. Lady Carlton I know less well.”

“I am glad to find you here. I know very few of the other guests, and it is always nice to see a familiar face,” she explained hastily.

“Ah.”

They had by this time almost reached the end of the formal gardens and, as they rounded a corner, they saw a family coming towards them. The mother, a buxom matron, was clad in a voluminous cape, and was puffing along beside her three, very pretty, daughters.

“Ah! Lord Arundel! There you are!”

“Mrs Maltravers.”

“We were just looking for you, were we not, my dears?” she asked her daughters.

The three girls giggled in unison.

Daniel replied politely enough, giving them a slight bow and then making the necessary introductions.

Faith, Hope and Charity, Annabelle repeated to herself with amusement as he named them. Somehow the giggling girls did not suit their idealistic names, but they seemed good-humoured enough, and she thought they would provide Caroline with some companionship of her own age.

“Now you promised to show us the water garden,” said Mrs Maltravers girlishly, tapping Daniel with her fan. “And we are not about to let you disappoint us, are we, girls?”

A chorus of giggles followed her sally.

But Daniel said, “Unfortunately, I must ask you to wait a little longer. I am just escorting Miss Langley back to the house.”

“Oh, pray don’t worry about me,” said Annabelle, feeling the danger of being too much with Daniel. “I can manage quite well from here.”

Mrs Maltravers beamed at her. “Well, now, if that isn’t handsome. But won’t you come with us, Miss Langley?”

“Thank you, no. I must see if my maid has finished unpacking my things.”

“Quite, quite,” said Mrs Maltravers, not displeased to be able to secure such an eligible gentleman for the sole entertainment of her three unmarried daughters. “Well, then, let us go,” she said, beaming up at Daniel.

The last thing Annabelle heard as she strolled back across the lawn to the house was the high-pitched giggling of Faith, Hope and Charity as they jostled each other to claim his arms.

She returned to her room, where she found that Sally had indeed finished unpacking her things. A glance at the clock showed that she had an hour before dinner, so she luxuriated in a scented bath before choosing which dress to wear. As she looked at each one in turn she thought how lucky she was to have inherited her fortune, for before it she had had to dress in far less fashionable style. The gown she chose was of the latest design with a stand-up ruff at the back of the neck, a lace-trimmed bodice and six inches of embroidery around the hem.

“I see you’ve chosen your best frock. I knew you’d want to make an impression,” said Sally.

“On Lord and Lady Carlton?”

“No, miss. On the gentleman you were walking with.”

“I don’t suppose it will do any good to pretend not to know what you’re talking about?” asked Annabelle.

“No, miss, none at all. A very fine gentleman he looked. In fact, he looked a good deal like Lord Arundel to me.”

“You know very well that he was Lord Arundel.”

“Well?”

“Well?”

“Sweet on him, you were, not long since.”

She sighed, for she could keep nothing from Sally. “Perhaps I was, but unfortunately, he was not sweet on me.”

“He gave a good impression of it,” remarked Sally.

“It was a flirtation and nothing more, at least on his part. He saw me as someone to pass the time with.”

“Then more fool him,” said Sally. “All men are fools.”

“Then it is a good thing we neither of us wish to marry, for neither of us would want to live with a fool.”

Sally grunted in reply, and proceeded to help Annabelle to dress. Chemise and drawers went on first, followed by a pair of clocked stockings and light stays. Then the evening dress, with its high waist and long flowing skirt.

Annabelle adjusted the scoop neckline and straightened the lace that adorned the bodice, then slipped her feet into dainty satin slippers. She seated herself in front of the mirror so that Sally could dress her hair. She arranged it in a fashionable chignon and then teased out delicate ringlets around her face, before adding the feathered headdress.

“There,” said Sally with obvious pride. “It’s done.”

Annabelle stood up. Sally fastened a string of pearls round her neck and then Annabelle pulled on her long white evening gloves and went to collect Caroline. Caroline, she was pleased to see, was in a demure white muslin, with satin slippers and a simple string of pearls. No doubt she had wanted to wear something more dashing, but had been dissuaded by her maid.

The two of them went downstairs, to find that the drawing room was already full of people.

“Have you met Mrs Maltravers and her three daughters?” Annabelle asked Caroline.

“Unfortunately, yes. I have never met three sillier girls,” said Caroline.

However, she went over to join them and they were soon laughing together.

Laura wandered over to Annabelle, saying, “It is good to see the young people having fun. And now there is someone I would like you to meet: Lord Fossington.”

Annabelle sighed.

“Now, Annabelle, you have not even met him yet. He might be everything you ever dreamed of.”

“You are right, of course, dear Laura. Pray introduce me.”

Laura led her across the room and made the introduction.

Lord Fossington was a tall man of military bearing, handsome in a rugged way, with a scar across one cheek.

“Miss Langley,” he said. “I was hoping to have an opportunity to speak to you. I believe you know Mrs Granville, my aunt?”

They talked of their shared acquaintances, and of his time in the army, where he had served faithfully for many years.

“How do you like being at home again? Is it very dull after being in the army?” asked Annabelle.

“On the contrary. I have had enough of war. I like being in the country. The quiet suits my nerves,” he said, as he led her in to dinner. “But perhaps it sounds boring to you?”

“I must confess I like the bustle of London. But in the summer, there is nothing I like better than the country.”

They took their places and to her secret delight Annabelle found herself sitting opposite Daniel. He looked up as she took her place and there was unmistakable admiration in his eyes.

As the soup was brought in, she saw him open his mouth to speak to her but Mrs Maltravers, seated to her right, began to talk about the latest scandal. Mrs Maltravers denounced Princess Caroline, the Regent’s wife, as a national disgrace. “Running round Europe like a lightskirt. Setting up home in Spain—”

Italy, thought Annabelle, not realizing she had mouthed it until she caught sight of Daniel’s amused expression, and the two of them shared a secret smile. They continued to glance at each other and smile throughout dinner, though Annabelle did her best to keep her eyes away from him. She could feel all too clearly the attraction she had felt the year before, so that she was relieved when it was time for the ladies to withdraw.

“We must have an outing tomorrow,” said Mrs Maltravers, as the ladies settled themselves in the drawing room.

“Oh, yes, Mama. A picnic!” exclaimed Hope.

“May we, Lady Carlton?” asked Faith.

“Oh, please say we may,” entreated Charity.

“I see no reason why not,” said Laura. “As long as the weather holds.”

“It is sure to,” said Caroline, caught up in the idea.

“And what do you think?” murmured a deep voice in Annabelle’s ear.

She turned to see Daniel, who had just entered the room with the other gentlemen.

“I think it will probably rain!” she said mischievously.

“So you are not in favour of a picnic?”

“On the contrary, I am looking forward to it,” she said, “rain or shine!”

“You have a rare gift for enjoying life,” he replied with a smile.

“I shall go on horseback,” declared Faith.

“And so will I,” declared Hope.

“Nonsense,” said Mrs Maltravers firmly. “You will travel in the carriage with me. The gentlemen will not run away, my dears, and once we are at Primrose Hill you may flirt with them to your hearts’ content.” She beamed at the assembled gentlemen, and then, hiding behind her fan, she whispered to Annabelle, “Never fear, my dear. You may be a bit long in the tooth, but there are plenty of gentlemen for us all.”

“Perhaps you would prefer to ride?” Daniel asked Annabelle, then added, with a humorous glint in his eye, “That is, if your rheumatism permits?’

Annabelle’s eyes danced. “Do you know? I think I might.”

At last the party began to break up and Annabelle and Caroline retired for the night.

“Are you sure you will be able to manage tomorrow?” asked Caroline solicitously.

“My dear girl, Lord Arundel was teasing. I am not in my dotage.”

“Of course not, dear aunt,” said Caroline kindly. “You are only just middle-aged.”

“Ah, well, it is better than being elderly!” said Annabelle. “Thank you for that, at least!”

“Not at all,” said Caroline, taking her arm fondly. “You will not be elderly for another three years, for no one is ever old until they are thirty, you know.”

“In that case, I am glad I have three years of youth left to me,” said Annabelle, as she said goodnight to her niece.

“A good attitude,” said Caroline. “You must make the most of the next few years, and not squander them. They will go all too quickly, you know.”

“You are right. The ride tomorrow will give me something to remember when I am sitting alone by the fire with a blanket over my knees!”

Caroline gave her an affectionate hug and they parted on the landing.

As Annabelle walked back to her room she told herself that she must not read too much into Daniel’s attention, but she could not quell a rising tide of pleasure at the thought of the outing to come.

The party assembled early the following morning, meeting in front of the house, where they mounted their horses or climbed into carriages, ready for the journey. The day was fine, but not too hot: ideal outing weather.

As Annabelle set off, Daniel fell in next to her, riding an impressive black stallion. His animal was spirited, but he controlled it with ease, and they set out at a good pace.

“Have you visited Primrose Hill before?” asked Annabelle.

“No. As I believe I told you yesterday, this is my first visit to Whitegates.”

“And I should, of course, remember everything you say!” Annabelle teased him.

“That is not a very flattering remark,” he replied with perfect good humour.

“Ah! I did not know you required flattery. If that is the case, then nothing is easier. Allow me to tell you, Lord Arundel, how well you ride!”

He laughed. “I will return the compliment, and say that you have a good seat and light hands.”

“Please do. If flattery is to be the order of the day, I demand my full measure!”

And before she knew it, they were bantering again, as they always had done in the past, and she thought to herself, I must be careful for I am in danger of falling in love with him all over again.

The landscape was all that Annabelle had hoped it would be. Although it was not the time of year for the primroses that gave the hill its name, the area was picturesque, with a wooded area giving way to a grassy slope, and the views were magnificent. The countryside rolled away into the distance, disturbed only by dry stone walls and the silvery snake of a river, and was overtopped with a blue sky.

“Does it match your expectations?” asked Daniel. He leaned on his pommel and surveyed the area, as the carriages rolled to a halt a little way ahead of them.

“Indeed it does; in fact it surpasses them. It is a long time since I have seen anywhere quite so pretty.”

He dismounted in one easy movement and then held out his arms to her.

She was about to refuse his help when she saw that the grooms were busy and, without a mounting block, she knew she would need his assistance. As she slid from her horse she felt a tingling sensation as his hands closed around her waist, and then it was gone as her feet touched the ground and his hands relinquished their hold on her. She felt the loss of it, and to cover her emotion she looked around for her niece. She saw that Caroline was fascinating a young man nearby.

Daniel, seeing where her gaze tended, offered her his arm. “If you are thinking of playing chaperone, it will be less noticeable with two,” he said invitingly.

She laughed. “My niece is rather headstrong, and I would rather she did not know I am keeping watch over her. She is likely to resent it,” she admitted, taking his arm. “She believes herself to be in love with a young man at home, but she is volatile, so that she could easily end up compromising some other poor young man if she takes a sudden fancy to him! I wonder whom she is with now? Do you know him?”

At that moment the young man turned round and Daniel gave an exclamation of surprise. “Why, it’s my nephew, James! I wonder what he is doing here?” He added with a sigh, “He is in some scrape, no doubt, and wants me to get him out of it.”

James, hearing his name, looked towards them and coloured.

“Will you excuse me?” said Daniel.

Annabelle watched him go with regret, but she was reminded that every cloud has a silver lining when she was joined by Caroline who, having lost her companion, sought out her aunt.

“You seem happy,” said Annabelle.

“I am. I was just talking to James—”

“James?” asked Annabelle. “Isn’t it a little early to be calling him James? You have only just met him.”

Caroline gave a despairing sigh, as if to say, Aunt Annabelle, you are so behind the times.

“He happened to be in the neighbourhood,” Caroline went on. “Hearing that his uncle was staying close by, he came to pay his respects. Ah! They have finished talking. I must not monopolize you, Aunt Annabelle. I am sure there are some old people here you would like to talk to.” And so saying, she returned to her new swain.

Annabelle watched her go.

To her dismay, she saw that Daniel, having spoken to his nephew, seemed to be about to leave. He was walking towards the horses with a resolute air. Annabelle experienced the same sinking feeling she had felt the last time he had left a house party at which she had been present. But this time she quickly rallied, for she had been half expecting it ever since she arrived.

And then suddenly he stopped. He hesitated, as if he were wrestling with himself, then he turned and walked towards her with a serious look on his face.

“Annabelle,” he said, taking her hands. “My fool of a nephew has managed to entangle himself with an opera dancer who is threatening all kinds of things if he doesn’t marry her. He has not the age or experience to deal with her and I have, so I am on my way to London at once. I have no right to speak to you, but today’s leave-taking has reminded me of another one, a year ago, when I would have asked you to marry me, had not my brother’s sudden death called me away from you.

“I thought it was only a temporary separation, since I intended to seek you out and propose to you once I was free to think of myself again. But circumstances changed so radically that I could not, in all honour, speak. You see, I had to settle my brother’s many debts and so I was a great deal poorer than when we had first met, whilst you had inherited a fortune and so you were a great deal richer.

“I set out to mend my fortunes, so that I would be able to offer you my hand honourably. But when I met you by chance in the inn, fate stepped in. I have no right to ask you to wait for me, but I cannot let my chance slip away again. You see, I love you, Annabelle. I have loved you for a very long time. So I ask you, though I have no right to do so, will you wait for me?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

His face fell.

“It might take years for you to restore your fortune,” she said, smiling, “by which time I will be in my dotage, if my niece is to be believed. So I rather think we should seize our youth whilst we can and marry without delay!”

He laughed and squeezed her hands. “Your niece is a very wise girl,” he said. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “I have been wanting to do that again for a very long time,” he said.

“And I have been wanting you to,” she replied.

In answer, he kissed her again.

They would have continued thus for the rest of the afternoon had they not been interrupted by a startled cry and then a gasp of horror.

Annabelle, surfacing from Daniel’s embrace, saw Caroline standing there.

“Aunt! I wondered where you were! I wanted to tell you it was time to go, but I see now that I have arrived not a moment too soon to rescue you from this … this seducer!” She grabbed Annabelle’s wrist and pulled her away from Daniel, glaring at him all the while.

“My dear girl …” began Annabelle.

“I assure you, my intentions are honourable!” said Daniel to Caroline. “Your aunt has very kindly consented to become my wife.”

Caroline let out a cry of horror. “No! Aunt Annabelle! Say it is not true!”

“I am afraid it is,” said Annabelle.

“But at your age! You will be a laughing stock!” said Caroline in horror. Then her face fell and she added tragically, “But of course, now that you have been compromised, you can do nothing else. And perhaps it is a good thing after all. You will be thirty soon and will need a companion for your twilight years.” She smiled bravely. “I am very happy for you, after all.”

“That is very generous of you,” said Annabelle with a twinkle in her eye. “To make you feel better, I hope you will consent to be my bridesmaid.”

“Oh, yes!” said Caroline, brightening at once. “I will need a new dress, new shoes …”

“Yes, you will need all those things, and have them, too. And then, perhaps, you will invite me to be the matron of honour at your own wedding to Able, which must surely soon follow mine.”

Caroline looked at her in astonishment. “My dear Aunt, what can you be talking about? I am not going to marry Able. Whatever gave you such an idea?”

“I rather thought you were in love with him.”

“How absurd! Of course not. A slight infatuation, perhaps, contracted when I was only sixteen. But I am older and a great deal wiser now. I am going to marry James!”