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to decide what was different about him this evening. He seemed far more relaxed, she realised, which was strange considering he had proposed and been turned down and had ended up in the lake.

      ‘What did Charles say about happiness?’ she asked.

      ‘That for him it is being in a position where he feels he can do well and advance, he is making his old mum proud of him and he has a young woman he hopes to marry. It made me think and it seems to me that is not a bad definition—be doing something we enjoy to the best of our ability, make those whose opinion we value proud of us and have the prospect of a happy marriage before us.’

      ‘I think that is truly inspiring, Lord Cannock,’ Miss Eversleigh, the most sensible of the young ladies, said. ‘I shall write that in my commonplace book so I do not forget it.’

      ‘Sounds a bit serious to me.’ Johnny, her brother, pulled a face. ‘What about fun, I’d like to know?’

      ‘Nothing wrong with adding champagne, race horses, a good hand of cards and a dance with a pretty girl to the recipe,’ Lucian said and the other men laughed.

      ‘Are you looking for that special young lady yourself, Lord Cannock?’ Miss Hopely, definitely not one of the more sensible girls, enquired with a flutter of long lashes.

      ‘What single gentleman with any sense is not, Miss Hopely?’ Lucian countered.

      ‘And what young lady is not looking for a handsome gentleman with some sense?’ Marguerite came up and perched on the arm of Lucian’s chair. ‘It works both ways, brother dear. And I am come to scold you for overworking poor Mr Farnsworth. You must remember he has only one eye now. I have been helping him sort those dreadfully dull estate papers you have heaped on him.’

      ‘That is very thoughtful of you,’ Lucian said absently. Sara thought she caught just the flicker of an eyelid in her direction. ‘But there is a great deal I need him to do.’

      Marguerite pouted in a most convincing manner and Sara got up and went to find Porrett, the butler. ‘Can you place Mr Farnsworth next to Lady Marguerite tonight please, Porrett?’

      ‘That is just as her ladyship made out the seating plan, Lady Sara. It did not appear to accord with precedence, but her ladyship said that she would like to create an informal atmosphere.’

      ‘Excellent.’ The plan was working out perfectly. By the end of the week Gregory and Marguerite would appear inseparable, Lucian, in this strangely mellow new mood, would bow to the force of young love and all would be well.

      But what on earth was the matter with him? First he proposed to her, out of the blue, now he was talking about happiness and marriage in a way far removed from the starchy man she had first met. Very strange. This Lucian she could almost...

      Mata was already working her way around the drawing room, chatting to the guests and pairing people up for dinner. ‘Lord Cannock, will you take Sara in, please?’ she said. ‘Mr Eversleigh, Miss Hopely. Lord Brendon? Now, where has he got to...?’

      Gradually everyone sorted themselves out and began the walk to the dining room. ‘It is going well with Marguerite and Gregory, I think,’ Sara murmured as she laid her white-gloved hand on his sleeve. ‘We must draw him out a little, make sure the more influential ladies have an opportunity to discover what a nice young man he is.’

      ‘Yes.’ Lucian sounded vague, although Sara had the distinct impression that he was anything but, this evening. ‘I would like to talk to you later.’

      ‘That might be as well,’ she agreed, evenly. ‘We need to clear the air, I think. I promise not to get you soaking wet this time.’

      ‘You think I had a brainstorm this afternoon, don’t you?’ He held her chair and then pushed it in as she sat and began to remove her gloves.

      ‘Didn’t you?’ She did wish he would stop alluding to that proposal. Even thinking about it made her feel confused and flustered and she hated feeling like that—had not felt that way for an age, not since Michael had kissed her in the bookshop and she’d realised—

      ‘Oh, no. No.’

      ‘I am sorry, my lady. Would you prefer the white wine?’ The footman at her elbow was looking at her in a way that made her realise she had spoken aloud.

      ‘Oh, Thomas, I’m sorry. The champagne will be perfect, thank you.’

      No, I am not falling in love with Lucian Avery. I refuse to. I... He... We...

      ‘The library, do you think?’ Lucian suggested. ‘It always seems deserted in the evenings.’

      ‘Yes, yes of course.’ I must stop gibbering, I sound a complete ninny. ‘Papa is threatening to put together a cricket match later this week. Will you play?’

      ‘I would enjoy that,’ Lucian said politely. ‘But are there enough men to make up two teams?’

      ‘He has an Eldonstone Eleven already made up of staff and tenants and they play regularly with other village and estate teams all through the summer. With him and Ashe, and if all the male guests play, then we will have two teams.’

      * * *

      The meal passed in a blur. On one level Sara made unexceptionable conversation first to Lucian on one side, then to the vicar who had been invited for the evening, on the other. Both men were interested in cricket, so it was easy to engage harmlessly with that. On the other level she was wrestling with her feelings for the man sitting so near that she could feel his familiar heat all down her right side.

      All she could think about as dinner wended its way through what seemed like interminable courses was that she must sit down with Lucian, quietly, calmly—without touching—and ask him why he had proposed marriage. He had said he would propose again when they were both dry and this time she hoped that he would explain just why he thought it even likely, let alone a good idea.

      He watches you, Marguerite had said. And you watch him.

      Finally, her mother stood up and led the ladies out to the drawing room where the doors were open to the terrace and the warm evening air. The men joined them after half an hour and people began to stroll outside or break up into small conversational groups around the drawing room.

      Sara joined Lucian as he stood looking at a picture in one corner. ‘I think we can safely escape now.’

      They did so by the simple expedient of going out on to the terrace, then ducking into the dining room and out again into the deserted hall. ‘I like your parents’ approach to a house party,’ Lucian said as they walked slowly along to the far door that led into the library. ‘Very relaxed.’

      ‘I would have thought you would disapprove and expect something more...starched-up.’

      ‘I do not know where you get the impression that I am starched-up,’ Lucian remarked. He turned to face her and bent to snatch a kiss. ‘I would not have thought my behaviour merited that epitaph.’ When she did not answer immediately he asked, ‘Do you think me a hypocrite? I was very strict with Marguerite because she is young and not out. And I strongly disapprove of adultery and of seducing single girls.’

      ‘I am glad to hear it. No, I do not think you a hypocrite and it was unfair to say that about being starched-up. I suppose it is your attitude to duelling. I live in dread of finding that you have called Ashe out over that punch when we arrived.’

      ‘He was within his rights to resent me and to want to protect you.’ Lucian shrugged. ‘I may well return the favour should we find ourselves in the stable yard with no ladies around, but that is different.’

      ‘Yes, I suppose it is. You would thump each other black and blue and emerge firm friends, I suppose. The masculine mind never ceases to amaze me.’ She was still shaking her head and laughing as Lucian opened the door into the study for her to step inside.

      The room was unlit, except for the two lamps left burning on the side tables, but the curtains were still drawn open and there was

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