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your brother I’d look after you in his stead,’ he told her with a glint in his eyes that looked very unbrotherly indeed.

      ‘Exactly how old do you think I am, sir?’ she asked defensively.

      ‘Hardly out of the schoolroom,’ he replied, with a wolfish smile that gave his words the lie.

      ‘I’m four and twenty and on the shelf. I dare say I could take up residence at Mulberry House without any chaperone but my maid and nobody would raise an eyebrow except you.’

      ‘There you’re very much mistaken, my dear, but if you choose not to be visited or invited out, I dare say you’ll grow used to the life of a recluse,’ he replied ruthlessly, but at least she’d wiped that annoying, indulgent-of-female-folly grin off his face.

      Impatient of the petty rules of society she might be, reclusive she wasn’t, and hated to admit he was right. She could live so, but it’d be a very limited existence and she was too young to embark on a hermit’s career.

      ‘I’m not your dear, Sir Charles, and will thank you to address me in proper form.’

      ‘You have no idea what you are just yet, Miss Courland, and I suggest you take a few weeks to find out before you launch yourself into local society as their most scandalous exhibit,’ he retorted brusquely.

      ‘You could be right, but this subject is becoming tedious, or do you want me to put that admission in writing and have it published?’

      ‘No, I want you to behave yourself,’ he informed her as sternly as if she was fourteen again and he her legal and moral guardian, not the biggest rogue to break a score of susceptible hearts every time he came ashore.

      ‘Really? And I just want you to go away so that I can start my new life,’ she snapped back, smarting at the idea of all those unfortunate, abandoned females and how nearly she’d become one of them.

      ‘Then want must be your master,’ he said laconically and lounged against the intricately carved fireplace, since she’d omitted to invite him to sit.

      She was about to spark back at him, regardless of the fact she must get on with her neighbours in future and he’d be the most important of them, but a rustle of silk petticoats announced a new arrival and stopped her.

      ‘Good morning. I believe you must be Miss Courland?’ a lady very obviously with child greeted her from the open doorway.

      Roxanne sprang to her feet and offered the stranger a seat, trying to feel as overjoyed at so timely an interruption as she ought to be.

      ‘I couldn’t make anyone hear so I’m afraid I invited myself in,’ her visitor told her with an engaging smile.

      Roxanne could see no resemblance whatsoever to Sir Charles Afforde about the lady’s warm golden eyes and heart-shaped face and searched her mind for any possible clues as to her identity. She doubted the lady was related to him and was obviously far too respectable to be a left-handed connection. Not that he’d sink so low as to install his pregnant mistress at the Castle before Roxanne had quit it, she decided with weary resignation.

      ‘Pray forgive me, Miss Courland, I’m Mrs Robert Besford of Westmeade Manor, but please call me Caro. My husband and Sir Charles have been friends since they were unappealing brats in short coats, so I barged in, since I couldn’t wait any longer to make your acquaintance.’

      Roxanne could see no reason why a boyhood friendship between this lady’s husband and Charles Afforde should make her and Mrs Besford friends, too, but found it impossible to snub the vivacious young woman or refuse the warm understanding in Caro’s golden-brown gaze.

      ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Besford,’ she said, holding out her hand in greeting and having it firmly shaken by one that looked too small and slender to contain such strength and resolution.

      ‘Caro,’ her new friend insisted and Roxanne smiled back.

      ‘Then I must be Roxanne, Caro, for I gave up being Rosie when my brother insisted on calling me Rosie-Posie long after I grew up.’

      ‘Gentlemen can be so effortlessly maddening, can’t they?’ Caro replied.

      ‘My apologies, Caro,’ Sir Charles said, looking uncomfortable, ‘I’d no idea you’d arrive so close on my heels. I’ll make sure my groom has seen to your horses, as Miss Courland’s men are busy, if you’ll excuse me?’

      ‘Gladly. Pray go and soothe Rob’s anxiety about me by discussing where you’re going to acquire the bloodstock you intend on breeding,’ Mrs Besford said with an airy wave and, to Roxanne’s surprise, he meekly did as he was bid.

      ‘He thinks he has to humour me,’ Caroline told her with a conspiratorial smile. ‘Especially since he woke my household last night by shouting something incomprehensible at the top of his voice in his sleep. According to my husband, many men have nightmares after taking part in battles or skirmishes, but goodness knows what set Charles off in the midst of the Kent countryside in peacetime. His manservant managed to calm him down without waking him and the rest of us went back to sleep, but Charles is mortified this morning and I’m taking shameless advantage. I’ll soon be kept busy at home with this new baby and my little daughter, so I exploited his guilty conscience when he tried to leave me behind this morning. I think Rob’s still fighting off the vapours after dreading every bump and bend we travelled over on my behalf,’ Caro confided. ‘I dare say he almost wishes himself back at Waterloo, the poor man, but I’m bored with being treated like spun glass and thought you might welcome some support, even if I’m of precious little use.’

      ‘I was beginning to wonder if I’d get out of here without turning into a watering pot, or throwing something fragile and irreplaceable at Sir Charles, so you’re very welcome, I assure you.’

      ‘You seem too strong to give way to your emotions like that, Roxanne, but I know how hard it is to stay serene in such trying circumstances,’ Caro said, and Roxanne saw a fleeting shadow of some remembered sadness cloud her guest’s unusual eyes.

      It was scouted the instant Robert Besford appeared, a worried look on his handsome face. Roxanne thought Caro was blooming, but since he evidently cared a great deal for his wife, Mr Besford’s anxiety was rather touching.

      ‘Good morning,’ he said with a graceful bow, while his startlingly green eyes ran over his wife as if taking an inventory.

      Caro rolled her eyes and tried to look stern, before laughing and shaking her head at him, ‘This is Miss Courland, Rob,’ she admonished.

      ‘I know. We’ve met before, haven’t we, Miss Courland?’ he replied with a rueful smile of apology for his distracted state.

      ‘Good morning, Colonel Besford,’ she replied with a smile, for who could resist the Besfords’ evident delight in each other?

      ‘I’m colonel no longer, not even in my brevet rank as staff officer, now I’ve sold out,’ he told her cheerfully enough.

      ‘Or so he says,’ Caro added darkly and Roxanne laughed at the look the Honourable Robert turned on his wife.

      ‘And no order of mine was ever knowingly obeyed by my wife,’ he told Roxanne ruefully and ducked dextrously as a cushion flew past his left ear and thudded harmlessly against the oak panelling.

      ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Caro said, hand over her mouth and her eyes dancing. ‘It’s become a habit,’ she admitted, and Roxanne decided she’d enjoy local society if it offered such lively company, after all.

      ‘I’ll make sure I take a suit of armour with me to Mulberry House,’ she replied solemnly, and they were all laughing when Charles entered the room.

      He was enchanted by this light-hearted and laughing Roxanne Courland. He’d turned her world upside down and behaved like a bad-tempered bear this morning, so no wonder he’d not seen her so until now, but suddenly he knew she’d break his heart if he let her and felt the breath stall in his chest as he saw her as she ought to be, if

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