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      He wisely took the precaution of taking a further fortifying mouthful from the contents of his glass before asking, ‘Are we referring to Beth, now, or Lady Henrietta?’

      ‘Why, Bethany, of course!’ his sister exclaimed, clearly amazed at having been asked the question in the first place. ‘I never quite understood why she went to live with her mother’s relative in Plymouth. Surely Lady Henrietta Barfield was her favourite aunt?’

      ‘That I couldn’t say with any conviction,’ Philip responded. ‘After her mother’s demise, she certainly spent time with her father’s sister. And it’s also true to say that Lady Hetta, taking an active role in Beth’s upbringing, was a more frequent visitor to the Grange than any other relation. But you must remember that Colonel Ashworth was summoned urgently to London in the spring of ’08, and soon afterwards set sail with Wellesley for the Peninsula. Poor Beth was hardly granted much time in which to consider where she wished to reside. And who knows, maybe she felt that Lady Henrietta had interfered in her life quite enough. Or maybe she just didn’t wish to be an extra burden on the Barfield family at a time when they were fully occupied with matters relating to Eugenie’s future.’

      At mention of his deceased fiancée, Lady Chalford shot her brother an anxious glance from beneath her lashes. It was rare, indeed, for him ever to allude to that period in his life, let alone his engagement to Lord Barfield’s beloved eldest daughter. During the past years, whenever the topic had been raised within her hearing, he had never been slow to change the subject.

      Notwithstanding, this knowledge did not deter her from saying, ‘But that is precisely what I find so puzzling. She and Eugenie were so close—more like sisters than cousins, I seem to recall someone remarking once. One would have quite naturally supposed that Beth would have wanted to be with the Barfields at a time of such celebration.’

      All at once it seemed as if her brother’s face had been cast into shadow, his lids lowering like shutters, concealing any emotion mirrored in his eyes.

      ‘As I said before, Constance, I’m sure Beth had her reasons for choosing to live with her late mother’s aunt. You may be lucky enough to satisfy your curiosity if she has, indeed, returned,’ her brother replied, with the all-too-familiar hint of finality in his tone that revealed clearly enough that he considered the topic at an end.

      When residing at the Court Sir Philip generally kept country hours, and the following morning proved no exception. As his sister preferred to break her fast in her bedchamber, he enjoyed the leisure of a solitary breakfast, before setting off on horseback for the prearranged meeting with his steward.

      It was a common sight to see the master of Staveley Court out and about at an early hour, astride one of his prime horses. From a very young age he had betrayed a keen interest in husbandry, and, since coming into the title, some seven years previously, his love of the land had not diminished in the least.

      He concerned himself with every aspect of the day-to-day running of the estate, and the welfare of his tenants, who farmed his many acres of West Country land. His steward knew well enough that he could consult with his master on any problem, no matter how trivial, and made a practice of doing so quite frequently. All the same, as their meeting the day before had been fairly lengthy and involved, their business that morning was soon concluded, leaving Sir Philip with ample time to do as he wished before he need return to the Court for luncheon.

      Finding himself close to the eastern boundary of the deer-park jogged his memory. Consequently, he turned his fine gelding in the direction of the gatehouse to discover one of his oldest employees busily working in a small vegetable patch.

      ‘Morning to ’ee, sir. Be ’ee wanting me to give the lads a ’and wi’ the logging again this autumn?’

      ‘Only if you feel up to it, Dodd,’ Philip answered, thereby betraying the affection in which he held this particularly loyal estate worker. ‘The reason I’m here is to ask you about a certain post-chaise-and-four I spied crossing the park late yesterday afternoon. The occupant made no attempt to come up to the house. Was it from this gate entry was gained?’

      ‘God bless you, sir, ’twere indeed! And ’twere none other than Miss Bethany ’erself come ’ome after all these years, would you believe!’ The old man removed his hat to run a hand over his balding pate. ‘What a sight for sore eyes she be, too, sir. Didn’t suppose you’d mind ’er taking liberties, not Miss Bethany,’ he added, casting a questioning glance up at the tall figure on horseback.

      The assurance was not long in coming. ‘Of course I don’t object. But remain vigilant, Dodd. Miss Ashworth is by no means the only one to have returned from across the Channel in recent times,’ he said, recalling his sister’s fears. Which were not without foundation, as it happened. ‘There’s much unrest about the county at present, many who harbour bitter feelings now the war with France is at an end, and they have come home to find no work.’

      Sir Philip took a moment or two to appreciate the picturesque landscape, where no firearm had been discharged in anger, as far as he was aware, since the Civil War, when his ancestors had stood firm against the Roundheads for several days before finally being defeated. Then his mind returned to more recent events, and the arrival home of someone he’d known almost since the day of her birth.

      All at once he was consumed with curiosity, a rare experience for him these days. ‘What is she like, Dodd… Miss Ashworth? As you had no trouble recognising her, I can only assume she hasn’t changed much.’

      ‘Changed some, sir. But not so much that I didn’t know ’er after a second glance. I mind she’s a deal leaner than of yore. Not much flesh on the bone from what I could see. But the smile ain’t changed, sir. I’d know that smile of Miss Beth’s anywhere. Light up the dullest day, so ’twould!’

      ‘Yes, yes, you’re right,’ Philip acknowledged, his mind’s eye conjuring up images from the past. Memories, almost forgotten in recent years, came flooding back of a girl dressed in breeches, galloping, astride her horse, across the estate at his side. She had been more boy than girl in those years before Lady Henrietta Barfield had taken a very necessary hand in her niece’s upbringing. The transformation from sad romp had eventually been achieved. He seemed to remember that before she had left the Grange she bore all the trappings of a young lady; suddenly recalled, too, that he had not altogether approved of the changes that had taken place in her. But that was then, he reminded himself. What was she like now? Might she be a wife and mother?

      For some reason that escaped him completely, he found the thought faintly disturbing, and consulted once again with his gatekeeper. ‘Was she travelling alone, Dodd, or with a protector?’

      The old man shook his head. ‘That I couldn’t say for sure, sir. Being a mite on the short side, as yer might say, I can’t see into carriages none too well. But, I mind there were someone else in there with ’er, lurking in the shadows.’

      Quickly taking his leave, Philip headed back towards the Court. He was halfway along the sweep of the drive when a second surge of curiosity, not untouched by tangled threads of lingering disquiet at the thought of Beth being married, gripped him, and he turned his mount, and headed across the park in a westerly direction.

      Nestling just beyond the boundary wall in a picturesque, shallow valley was the thriving community where a good many of his estate workers resided. Neat rows of lime-washed cottages lined the main village street, and led up to the tiny church, where the Staveley family had for generations always worshipped. Beyond the church, several much larger brick dwellings had been erected during the latter half of the previous century. The Grange, the grandest of the newer buildings, was set in a large garden and was shielded from the road by a substantial yew hedge.

      It had been a number of years since Sir Philip had had reason to visit the house. He could see at a glance, as he turned his fine bay hack into the driveway, that the property was showing signs of neglect. The garden, although far from overgrown, was nowhere near as neatly contained as he remembered, and the house, too, clearly demanded attention in several areas.

      After securely tethering his mount to the

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