Catching sight of a group of fallow deer quietly grazing near the folly, she hastily changed the subject. "What beautiful little creatures," she exclaimed, walking slowly toward them for a better look. She expected them to dart away at her approach, but they seemed quite tame, merely moving back a few feet to continue their grazing.

Coming up to her, Jeffrey said, "Would you like to feed them? They're very fond of horse chestnuts." He took a small bag out of the pocket of his greatcoat and handed it to her. She looked down at the bag in her hand and then shifted her gaze rather apprehensively to the deer. "Go ahead," Jeffrey said reassuringly. "I swear they're not the least bit ferocious."

To Charlotte's delight, several of the little creatures came slowly up to her to take the glossy brown seeds from her hand. Living in a town all her life in the midst of a grimy and congested milling district, she'd never had any contact with animals, save for a pet dog or cat. At one point, she glanced up to observe Jeffrey watching her, a smile of appreciative amusement on his lips.

"Did you use to feed the deer when you were a boy, Jeffrey?"

He laughed. "Indeed I did. Watching you brings it all back."

For a fleeting moment, she felt a warm glow suffusing her heart. It was as if there was a sort of communion between them as they shared what was to her a unique experience.

"Here, now, wot's this?" A sturdy man in gaiters and low-crowned hat, with a musket over his shoulder, suddenly appeared from behind a screen of trees.

"Beggin' yer pardon, my lord," said the man in some confusion, touching his cap. "Didn't realize it was you. Them poachers, they've been mighty bad of late."

"That's all right," Jeffrey told the gamekeeper. "I'd rather you were overly vigilant than not." He nodded a dismissal, and the man moved off.

"You can't mean that anyone would want to kill these beautiful little things," said Charlotte indignantly. "They're so tame, it would be like slaughtering a friend."

Jeffrey shrugged. "Poaching game is on the increase. I've been told it's mainly the work of ex-soldiers and sailors dis-

charged after Waterloo and unable to find jobs yet." He glanced at the empty bag in her hand. "I see those greedy creatures have consumed your offering. Shall we continue our drive?"

Outside the park, they drove through a country of low hills, undulating meadows, meandering streams now half frozen over, arid stretches of orderly fields edged by luxuriant hedgerows, which Charlotte thought would be quite lovely in the spring, starred with the white blossoms of the hawthorn.

"All of this land belongs to you?" she asked at one point in awe after they had driven for what seemed like miles.

Jeffrey nodded. "For about as far as you can see. I understand it looked much different years ago, before my father enclosed the estate. When he was young, the members of the hunt could sweep across the commons and the open fields without having to open a gate or jump a hedge."

"Did the enclosure cause a great deal of hardship?"

"Hardship?" Jeffrey looked at her blankly.

"My grandfather lost his farm when the landowner terminated his lease and enclosed the property," Charlotte explained. "Fortunately for him, Grandfer had saved a bit of money from the weaving he'd done in his own home. He opened a small shop in Manchester, and Papa eventually founded a mill with the nest egg he inherited from my grandfather. But most of Grandfer's fellow tenants were left destitute. No land, no cottage, no employment."

Jeffrey shrugged. "I really don't know what happened at the time of enclosure here at Cortona. It was many years before my time. I believe my father was satisfied with the results. He often spoke of higher crop yields and healthier livestock."

Jeffrey sounded almost indifferent, and Charlotte felt rather shocked. She was so accustomed to Phineas' absorbed interest, not only in all aspects of his business and the milling industry in general, but in every detail of his workers' living conditions.

Leaning forward to peer out the window, Jeffrey said, "We're coming into the village. As I was telling you, it's considered very pretty. Most of the cottages are

built of the local stone."

The village of Westbridge was tiny, consisting of a single short street lined with small cottages constructed of mellow, rosy stone. The street was deserted except for a group of children playing at hopscotch, who glanced up curiously at the sound of the carriage wheels and then returned to their play.

"I wonder why the children aren't in school at this time of day," Charlotte observed.

"I'm not sure there is a school in Westbridge," said Jeffrey. "It's one of those things that I - "

Charlotte interrupted him. "You're not sure if there's a school?" she asked indignantly. "But how can that be? This village is on your property. These people are your tenants. You certainly ought to know if the village has a school, and if there isn't one, you ought to provide it! Why, when Papa discovered that the mill children couldn't read and write, he promptly built a school for them and hired a teacher!"

"I have no doubt that your father was a paragon."

Charlotte heard the throb of anger in his voice and looked at the set expression of his mouth and realized she'd allowed her impulsive tongue to run away with her manners. "I'm sorry," she said stiffly. "I had no right to tell you how to manage your affairs."

He quickly recovered his composure. "As I was about to say, I have a great deal to learn about the management of the estate. Until very recently, I never expected to inherit, and since my school days I've spent little time at Cortona. Perhaps you didn't know that I'm the child of my father's second marriage. He was quite elderly when he married my mother, and he already had a son, my brother Robert, twenty years older than myself, who of course was the heir and whom my father groomed to succeed him. There was no need for me to know anything about estate management. In any case, both my father and Robert tended to leave the day-to-day details of running the estate in the hands of our bailiff, Silas Adams. Silas would almost certainly have resented any interest I might have shown, on the grounds, and quite rightly so, that it was none of my affair. I've come to the conclusion that my father proba-

bly allowed Silas too much of a free rein over the years. To this day, months after I succeeded to the estate, Silas is all too inclined to say in answer to any question, "Now, now, my lord, you just leave these matters to me.' "

Jeffrey paused for a moment and then said coolly, "I trust this explains why I seem so ignorant about my own property. You were right, you know. I should know whether the village has a school. I assure you that I intend to look into the matter immediately.".

He didn't sound angry or resentful, even though she'd falsely accused him of being a neglectful landlord. Moreover, it had been an impertinence on her part even to raise the issue. She had no standing in his life. They weren't even officially engaged as yet. He had every right to be angry, but instead he'd retreated behind a mask of impersonal politeness. With a sinking heart, Charlotte thought back to the small beginnings of closeness she'd felt with Jeffrey earlier in their drive. The closeness was gone, and it was her fault.

"Ye should have let me pack yer pattens, ma'am," said Sarah. "Mine, too," added the abigail. "My toes are fair freezing, that they are."

"We'd certainly both be more comfortable if we were wearing pattens," Charlotte replied ruefully, looking down at her feet. There'd been a light dusting of snow during the night, and she could feel the cold dampness through her thin slippers. She hadn't thought to bring her serviceable pattens with her to a fashionable place like Cortona. But then, of course, it hadn't occurred to her that she might feel the need to flee from Jeffrey's house to take a long cold walk with Sarah in the park.

She'd spent most of the evening last night trying to hide her low spirits over the depressing end to her afternoon drive with Jeffrey. He hadn't given any outward sign that he was annoyed with her. In fact, he'd been courteous and attentive, everything a considerate host should be. But she was well aware of the little gulf that had opened up between them after their visit to the village. There hadn't been even a trace of the warmth and companionship she'd felt earlier, during their encounter with

the deer.

Arabella and her brother Thomas hadn't made the evening any easier. They had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of anecdotes about Cicely's beauty and perfections. At one point, Arabella had looked up at Cicely's portrait over the mantel in the drawing room and said anxiously, "Charlotte, it just occurred to me—you're not thinking of taking Cicely's portrait down, are you?" Then she'd looked away in pretty confusion, but to Charlotte, Arabella's spitefulness was perfectly transparent.

And Thomas had chimed in, "By Jove, Charlotte, if you take the portrait down, I know my mother will be happy to have it."

Jeffrey had said curtly, "There's been no talk of removing Cicely's portrait," and quickly changed the subject.

Sarah interrupted Charlotte's musings as they plodded along through the trees of the park. "Do ye have the headache, ma'am? Ye're very quiet this morning."

"No, I'm very well. I just needed some fresh air." Certainly it would be understandable if she had the headache, Charlotte reflected. Thus far, her stay at Cortona had been unsettling. Take, for example, her latest encounter with her future mother-in-law.

As Charlotte was completing her toilet that morning, Lady Sherborne had come to the bedchamber, ostensibly to inquire if her guest had everything she needed. It soon became obvious that the dowager had other concerns on her mind. "My dear Charlotte," she began with a sweet smile, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about something you said last night at dinner. Am I mistaken, or did I hear you say that your mother was a Dunston from northern Lancashire?"

"Why, yes, my mother's name was Mary Dunston."

"Was she related, by any chance, to George Dunston of Highcliffe Hall? A very old family, not titled, of course, but much respected."

"No, there's no connection. Mama's family kept a sweet shop in a little town near Lancaster."

" 'Oh. I'd hoped ... It would have been of so much interest to all our friends . . ." Lady Sherborne's voice trailed off into

disappointment. In a moment, however, she came back to the attack. Glancing at Charlotte's simple black sarcenet gown, she said, "My dear, might I make a suggestion? I appreciate your desire to remain in mourning for your father, but I do think it might be more appropriate if you were to go into colors for the Christmas Eve ball. I'm sure you wish to look your best, in view of the important announcement that's to be made at the ball."

When Charlotte didn't reply immediately, Lady Sherborne said quickly, "Naturally, no one would expect you to wear anything bright or gaudy. One of the quiet shades of second mourning would be the very thing." She looked down complacently at her own dress of light purple silk. "I've taken my own advice, as you've noticed. My dear husband has been gone for only six months, but I know he wouldn't wish me to look like a black scarecrow during the holidays! Now then, I realize there's not enough time to have a new ball gown made for you, even supposing there was a modiste in Banbury who was capable of it. So I'd be very happy if you would wear one of my own dresses. We're much of a size. Only the slightest alteration would be necessary." The dowager paused to look at Charlotte with an expectant smile.

Charlotte felt a sudden sharp stab of resentment. Apparently Lady Sherborne had resigned herself to her son's unfortunate marriage and was now attempting to put the best face on the situation by making sure Charlotte at least looked presentable in front of her friends. That it would never occur to the dowager that she was being condescending was even more hurtful and humiliating than her offer of a ball gown.

Repressing an urge to seize Lady Sherborne by her exquisite neck and strangle her, Charlotte replied, "That's very kind of you. If you really think I could wear your gown, I'd be happy to do so."

But after the gratified dowager left, Charlotte had vented her feelings by picking up a small mirror from the dressing table and throwing it against the wall. Immediately she knelt down to pick up the pieces. There was no need for her outburst to create additional work for the chambermaids. Was she

overreacting? After all, she'd always planned to come out of mourning after her engagement was announced. Papa would have wanted it that way. And agreeing to wear the dowager's gown was a very small concession to make, surely, if it meant an improvement in her relations with Lady Sherborne. But Charlotte hadn't been able to convince herself. Still seething, she'd grabbed her bonnet and pelisse and called for her abi-gail, and had gone for a walk in the park.

"Oh, look, ma'am, there's one of them tiny deer we saw from the carriage the other day."

At the abigail's words, Charlotte looked up to find that she and Sarah were approaching the little domed folly. Several fallow deer were grazing beside it. Charlotte checked her steps at the sound of a shrill scream coming from the direction of a nearby copse of trees. She ran behind the trees, pausing in horror at the sight of a small child collapsed on the ground and writhing in pain. The child, a girl of perhaps ten, clothed inadequately in a cotton dress and a tattered shawl, was shoeless. Apparently she had stepped on a jagged bit of fallen branch that had pierced her bare foot. Beside her on the ground was a leather snare encircling the neck of a dead rabbit,

A man burst through the underbrush, exclaiming, "Caught ye red-handed, by God!" At the sight of Charlotte and her abigail, he stopped in midstride. Charlotte recognized the gamekeeper whom she and Jeffrey had met the day before. He raised a finger to his cap. "Good day, ma'am. If ye'll excuse me, I'll jist attend to this here poacher." He reached down a rough hand to pull the child to her feet. Sobbing with pain and terror, the girl collapsed against him. Blood was streaming from her foot.

"What will happen to her?" Charlotte asked apprehensively.

The man shrugged. "Cain't say, ma'am. A whipping, surely. Mayhap a spell in gaol. She's lucky, she is, that she warn't carrying a gun. That'd mean fourteen years transportation. If she'd shot at me and wounded me, she'd be for the nubbing cheat. Hanged from a gibbet, if I make meself clear," he added

with relish.

"Hanged?" Charlotte repeated in horror. "For catching a rabbit?" She looked again at the weeping, bedraggled child and said firmly, "I can't believe Lord Sherborne would wish to imprison a child for snaring a rabbit. Release her, please. I'll take all responsibility."

"But ma'am, it's my job ter pertect his lordship's property from poachers," began the keeper uneasily, still retaining his grasp on the child. "If n it gets about that I've let some'un off-"

"Your job will be quite safe," Charlotte assured him. "You can go. No, wait. The child's foot is bleeding badly. If you'll carry her to the house, 111 see that the wound is attended to."

The little girl began to struggle. "Please, ma'am, don't make me go ter his lordship's grand house," she sobbed. "There'd be no hiding who I am or what I've done. Everyone'd know I'd been caught poaching."

The girl's terror was quite real and understandable. If Charlotte appeared in the servants' quarters of the house with a wounded child in tow, the news would be all over Cortona in minutes. Although Charlotte was quite certain she could persuade Jeffrey not to prosecute, it might be much better for all concerned if the incident never became public. She said to the gamekeeper, "Go to the stables and tell my coachman to bring the carriage here immediately. I'll take the child to her home. Don't tell the coachman why I want the carriage. In fact, don't speak of this to anyone, including your fellow gamekeepers, do you understand?"

Visibly relieved, the gamekeeper replied, "Yes, ma'am, I understands perfickly. I'll jist be off, then." He lowered the little girl to the ground and walked off through the trees.

Sinking down on her knees beside the child, ignoring the damp cold that penetrated through her clothing, Charlotte said gently, "Let me look at your foot."

Slowly, hesitantly, as if she was still afraid to trust her newly found benefactor, the girl pushed her foot forward. Charlotte examined it carefully. The wound had ceased to bleed profusely, but the sharp stick had pierced completely through the

foot, leaving a deep, jagged wound. Rising, Charlotte glanced around her and then lifted her skirts, quickly unfastening her petticoat and pulling it off. She knelt down again and gently swathed the injured foot in the petticoat. "There, that'll do until we can get you home. Where do you live?"

"In the village, ma'am, right next ter the church."

"And what's your name?"

"Jessie. Jessie Reeves." The child was shivering with cold in her worn shawl, but she seemed somewhat less fearful.

"That's a pretty name. Jessie, why—?" Charlotte broke off. She'd been about to ask why the girl had been setting snares for Jeffrey's rabbits when she must have known the stringent penalties against poaching. It was a stupid question. From the child's extreme thinness of body, her ragged clothes, and her lack of shoes, it was obvious that Jessie had been poaching to provide food for her family.

Charlotte looked up with relief as her carriage rolled to a stop in the driveway. The coachman jumped down from the box and walked toward her, his face deeply puzzled.

"We're taking the little girl to her home in the village," Charlotte told the coachman. "Will you carry her to the carriage, please?" After Jessie was settled on the seat, Charlotte picked up the dead rabbit and deposited it on the floorboards of the carriage. The child's eyes widened.

The carriage passed the church at the end of the village street and halted in front of one of the small stone cottages. Several children watched curiously as the coachman carried Jessie through the garden gate of the cottage. Instructing Sarah to remain in the carriage, Charlotte grasped the snare with the rabbit dangling from it and jumped out to follow the coachman up the path.

The door of the cottage opened before the coachman reached it. A frightened-looking woman appeared in the doorway. She wore a mob cap and a voluminous calico apron, and she was obviously in an advanced stage of pregnancy. She stared in dismay at the bloodstained linen wrapped around Jessie's foot and stammered, "I saw all o' ye coming from the window —what's wrong with my Jessie?"

The child lifted her wan face from the coachman's shoulder. "I've hurt me foot, Mum. This kind lady brought me home. She's visiting at his lordships's house."

Stepping around the coachman, Charlotte said, "Good day, Mrs. Reeves. I'm Charlotte Kinley."

The woman's eyes were fixed on the rabbit hanging from Charlotte's hand. Her face twisted with apprehension.

"Mrs. Reeves, I really think we should get Jessie into the house so we can attend to her wound."

"Oh. Yes. Please ter come in, ma'am." The woman stood aside. The coachman carried Jessie into the cottage and placed her carefully on a wooden chair, one of the few articles of furniture in the painfully neat but scantily furnished room. A little boy of two or three sat on the floor next to a meager fire of twigs and sticks burning on the hearth.

Dismissing the coachman, Charlotte said to Mrs. Reeves, "Please don't worry about Jessie. I'm sure she'll be quite all right once the wound is cleaned, although she'll be uncomfortable when she walks for a few days. Will you be able to manage? You have some clean cloths for bandages?"

"Yes, thank ye." But the woman stood as if rooted to the floor, seemingly unable to take her eyes from the dead rabbit. "Did Jessie-?"

Charlotte nodded. "Yes, she snared the rabbit, Mrs. Reeves, but don't be concerned. I promise you she won't be punished. And as long as the creature is dead, you may as well have the use of it." She hesitated a moment. Then, opening her reticule, she took out a handful of coins. "I'd like you to have these. Perhaps you could buy a treat for the children."

The woman's face crumbled. She groped her way blindly to a chair and sat down, rocking herself back and forth while the tears gushed down her cheeks in a steady stream.

Stricken, Charlotte turned to Jessie. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to offend your mother."

"She's not offended, ma'am," said Jessie, her thin little face glowing beneath the tear stains and the lines of pain. "She's happy, if ye can believe it. Ye have no idea how much that"— she pointed to the coins in Charlotte's hand—"how much that

will mean ter us. Things 'ave been right bad of late."

"I'm glad I could help. Jessie, did your father die recently? Is that why matters have been so difficult for your family?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. Pap ain't dead. Fact is, until last spring, he was working as a laborer on his lordship's home farm, and we was doing very well. But then he got hurt and lost his leg and couldn't work, and since then we've been livin' on the rates, and we jist ain't been able ter manage on eight shillings a week, not in the winter, anyways. Summers we kin grow a few vegetables in the garden, and we don't need no fire then, neither."

Charlotte was so shocked that she couldn't speak for a moment. Then she said incredulously, "Your total income is eight shillings a week? But no family could possibly live on eight shillings a week."

"It's been hard, ma'am, and that's the truth. Pap always says we'd have been better off in the old days, before the Enclosures, y'know. Back then, we could have grazed some chickens or a pig on the commons, and gathered firewood in the waste, too. But o'course, we ain't allowed ter do that now."

After a pause, Jessie added in a small voice, "I know it was wrong ter poach his lordship's rabbits, ma'am, but y'see, we didn't have no food in the house. I couldn't let Billy starve"— she motioned to the silent little boy near the fireplace—"could I? And Mum, ye may 'ave noticed, she's increasing. She needs extra food now."

Charlotte drew a deep breath. She opened her reticule again and drew out several banknotes, which, together with the coins, she pressed into Jessie's hands. "There, that should help for a while. Look, Jessie, I told your mother my name, but I'm not sure she took any notice. Can you remember it? It's Kinley, Charlotte Kinley. Now, if there's any further trouble about that wretched rabbit, or if you should need help of any kind, send me a message at Cortona. Ask for Sarah, my abigail." She patted the little girl's shoulder. "I'll be going now."

"God bless ye, ma'am. I think ye must be an angel in disguise."

Charlotte laughed. "I never yet met an. angel dressed in black. Goodbye, Jessie."

* * *

"My dear Charlotte, you're very quiet. Are you feeling ill?" asked Lady Sherborne in a low voice, under cover of the steady hum of conversation in the drawing room.

Charlotte shook her head. "Pm very well," she murmured. Which was true, as far as it went. There was nothing wrong with her physically, but she was feeling increasingly uncomfortable under the strain of being on display in front of Jeffrey's friends and acquaintances.

Today, as had happened every day since her arrival, the local gentry were calling at Cortona in droves. By now, Charlotte suspected, her coming betrothal was an open secret. Most of these callers were coming to have a closer look at the future Marchioness of Sherborne than they might be likely to obtain amid the large crowd of people at the Christmas Eve ball tomorrow night. Charlotte also suspected that every one of these people today, and every caller of the past few days, had compared her drably dressed self with the ethereal golden-haired beauty in the portrait over the mantelpiece.

She glanced up to see Jeffrey threading his way toward her with a newly arrived visitor in tow.

"Charlotte, I don't believe you've met my old friend, Sir Richard Bainbridge," Jeffrey said, introducing the stout, ruddy-faced gentleman. "Sir Richard is a pillar of the county, one of our justices of the peace."

Sir Richard bowed. "How dVou do, m'dear. From Lancashire, are you? A bit different from Oxfordshire, eh?" He was brisk but cordial, although, unlike the other callers today, he apparently had no interest in Charlotte as the next Lady Sherborne. After his brief greeting, he turned back to Jeffrey. "Been wanting to see you, Sherborne. Just got back from the quarter session. Thought I should tell you that we've had to raise the poor rate." He shook his head. "Hated to do it, I can tell you. It's all because of this increasing unemployment since the end of the war. Can't let these people starve, of course."

"I hope, now that the justices have decided to raise the rates, that they also plan to pay a family of four more than

eight shillings a week/' said Charlotte clearly.

Sir Richard stared down at her. "Pay them more money? Certainly not, my dear. We'd be forced to raise the rates for our landowners even higher."

Charlotte rose slowly to face the baronet. "Sir Richard, do you realize it costs a shilling to buy one loaf of bread?"

Sir Richard's expression grew chilly. "That I do, better than you, Miss Kinley, I'll warrant. Some years back, the Speenhamland magistrates proposed to assist the unemployed out of the rates at an agreed minimum amounting to the price of three gallon loaves a week for each man and one and one-half loaves for a wife and each child. The formula has now spread to every county except Northumberland and has been most successful."

Charlotte had a sudden memory of Jessie Reeves's thin little face, tattered clothing, and bleeding bare foot, and erupted. "Successful for whom? Not the poor, I assure you. A family of four can't keep body and soul together on eight shillings a week. You might as well condemn them to slow starvation. Is this the way a great country like England treats its unfortunates? We ought to be ashamed of ourselves! You justices ought to be more ashamed than the rest of us!"

Her voice had risen, and the other people in the room fell silent, staring at her and Sir Richard. The justice, his eyes bulging from his head, opened and shut his mouth several times, rather like a fish out of water, but no sound emerged.

"Charlotte!" gasped Lady Sherborne.

His face masklike, Jeffrey said in a low voice, "Charlotte, perhaps this isn't the time . . ."

Charlotte looked around her at Jeffrey's guests, seeing the shocked faces, the avidly curious eyes. She pushed past Jeffrey and Sir Richard, and walked swiftly out of the room. In the great marble atrium-hallway, she paused uncertainly, and then, almost without thinking, she headed down the long, glass-enclosed corridor toward the conservatory, where she sank down on a bench beneath some trellised vines. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and placed her hands over her hot face.

Why, why, hadn't she guarded her unruly tongue? Of course something should be done to assist the poor and the unemployed, but Lady Sherborne's drawing room wasn't the place to broach the subject. The dowager's guests would soon be spreading the word that her son's future wife was not only a female of inferior social position, but was also a wild-eyed troublemaker with no manners who had publicly embarrassed a respected magistrate. The dowager would doubtless find it difficult to forgive an affront to a guest. And what would Jeffrey say or do about her outburst?

Charlotte lingered in the conservatory, unwilling to see anyone until she felt calmer. After a quarter of an hour, she heard footsteps in the corridor and rose, anticipating the arrival of one or more of the gardeners. Instead, she caught the sound of a familiar voice and abruptly sat down again behind the concealing screen of vines.

"Jeffrey, you're being ridiculous, and yes, rude, practically running away from your own mother," protested Lady Sherborne as she hurried into the conservatory after her son.

"I don't walk to talk about Charlotte, Mama."

"But that's being even more ridiculous. We must talk. My dear boy, after what happened today, surely you don't intend to go on with this mockery of a marriage to Charlotte? I've tried to hold my tongue about this dreadful mesalliance, but now —! Jeffrey, every feeling must be offended at the thought of that ill-mannered, forward young woman taking the place of our darling Cicely. It's bad enough that Charlotte's a nobody who doesn't know how to dress or act in polite society. Now she's insulted one of our oldest friends—in my own drawing room! Cicely, sweet, gentle, considerate Cicely, must be restless in her grave."

"Cicely is gone, Mama."

"But I know you've never stopped loving her, never stopped thinking about her." The dowager's voice softened. "Arabella is so much like her, it sometimes takes my breath away. Jeffrey, have you ever thought you might marry Bella? She'd be so perfect in every way. Oh, I know you're worried about money, but Bella will have a very respectable portion, you know. And

it isn't as if you'd publicly announced your betrothal to Miss Kinley."

"That's enough, Mama." Jeffrey's tone was distant. "I've told you why I felt it necessary to marry Charlotte. The necessity still exists. Her manners, or lack of them, have nothing to do with the matter."

"But Jeffrey, how can I hold up my head—?"

"Mama, I said that's enough."

"Oh, very well. If you insist on being so stubborn. . . I'll go, then. But please, my dear, think about what I've said."

Instead of leaving with his mother, Jeffrey began slowly sauntering through the greenhouse, his head bent as if in thought, his hands clasped behind his back. Charlotte could just glimpse him through the screen of vines. As he approached her hiding place, she shrank back in a reflex action against the iron bench, causing it to scrape slightly on the stone floor.

"Is someone there?" Jeffrey called.

Charlotte rose and walked out to him, feeling a little like a child who has been hiding under her bed to escape the wrath of her nanny.

Jeffrey wheeled on her, his expression torn between annoyance and dismay. "Charlotte! Did you—?"

"Yes, I heard what Lady Sherborne said," she replied stonily. "I can't say your mother's opinion of me surprises me very much. I heard what you said, too. I apologize for my—how did you put it? — for my lack of manners."

Jeffrey looked harassed. "I didn't mean—Look, Mama was angry, embarrassed. Charlotte, what possessed you to bring up the subject of the Poor Laws with Sir Richard? I've never seen him so distressed. He felt you were personally attacking him."

Charlotte's blood began to boil again. "Distressed? I'm the one who's distressed!" She launched into a description of her encounter with Jessie Reeves, finishing angrily with, "And it makes no difference how little the county chooses to pay Jessie's father. You should have made some provision for the man when he lost a leg in your employ. But no, I'm forgetting. Your

bailiff manages your property, doesn't he? You're too busy to pay attention to details. You may spend some time at Cor-tona, Jeffrey, but you're no better than an absentee landlord!"

With a toss of her head, she stalked past him. He put out his hand to catch her arm as she went by. "Charlotte, is that what you really think of me?"

Panicking at the electric thrill that went through her at his touch, she tried to wrench her arm away. "Oh, God, more talk? Haven't we had enough talk today?"

His lips tightened. With a sudden swift movement, he pulled her against him, grinding his lips against hers in a savage kiss that went on and on until Charlotte felt as if she were sinking into a delirious abyss of delight from which she never wished to return. At last he released her. "Perhaps that's our problem. We talk too much," he said evenly and swung around on his heel to leave her.

As Sarah was leaving the bedchamber the next afternoon with a luncheon tray that her mistress had barely touched, Charlotte was tempted to call the abigail back to say to her, "Bring out the portmanteaux, Sarah, and pack my clothes. We're leaving." But she didn't say the words, and Sarah left the room.

Charlotte walked to the windows overlooking the park. Through the leafless trees she could glimpse the dome of the little classic folly. Her heart contracted as she remembered the handful of magic moments she'd spent there with Jeffrey, feeding the deer. Could it be a mere few days ago that she'd believed there was some small chance she and Jeffrey could become friends, if not lovers?

But that had always been an empty dream, she could see now. Yesterday in the conservatory, while Jeffrey had refused his mother's plea to cry off from his engagement, he hadn't denied his attachment to Cicely's memory, and he certainly hadn't defended Charlotte's conduct toward Sir Richard. No, Jeffrey was closing his eyes to Charlotte's flaws, social unsuit-ability, and lack of appeal to him. He was going through with

his marriage because he was determined to save Cortona from financial ruin. And it was no use thinking about that kiss. It hadn't meant anything, except that Jeffrey had taken out his anger and frustration in a physical way.

Sighing, Charlotte turned away from the window. Her eye fell on the dress hanging from the door of the wardrobe. The gown, which had belonged to Lady Sherborne and had been altered by a seamstress in Banbury, had arrived yesterday. It was made of crepe lisse in a delicate shade of pale violet, trimmed with flounces of lace and knots of satin ribbon in a slightly darker shade. What was more, it was immensely becoming. Charlotte would wear the gown tonight at the Christmas Eve ball, when her engagement was to be announced, unless . . .She clenched her hands tightly together, admitting to herself that she didn't have the courage to cut her losses, to tell Jeffrey flatly that they wouldn't suit, and leave Cortona before the ball. No matter what he felt, or didn't feel, for her, she still wanted him.

A knock sounded at the door. Charlotte hunched her shoulders impatiently. She hadn't gone down to dinner last night, pleading a headache, and she'd had breakfast and lunch in her bedchamber, because she hadn't wanted to see anyone after the embarrassing scene yesterday with Sir Richard in the drawing room. Which was ridiculous, of course. She couldn't remain in her bedchamber like a wounded lioness in her lair. She called, "Come in."

Jeffrey entered the room. "I was sorry to hear you had the headache. Are you feeling better?" His tone was polite and impersonal. He certainly showed no disposition to kiss her! But obviously he'd made up his mind to ignore their quarrel of last night.

"The headache's gone, thank you."

He handed her a worn velvet-covered box. "I thought you might like to wear these tonight. They belonged to my godmother."

Charlotte opened the box, which contained a necklace of amethysts and pearls.

"Mama told me you were going into colors tonight," Jeffrey

continued, glancing at the ball gown hanging on the wardrobe. "I think the amethysts will go well with your dress."

"The necklace complements the gown perfectly. I promise to take very good care of it."

"No, no, the necklace is a gift, not a loan," Jeffrey said quickly. "My godmother wanted my future wife to have it."

"Did you — " Charlotte choked back the words. She'd been about to ask, "Did you also give the necklace to Cicely?" That would not only have given away her feelings for him, it would have marked her as a jealous shrew. "Thank you," she said, ignoring his faintly puzzled expression.

The abigail, Sarah, rushed into the bedchamber. She paused, looking confused, when she saw Jeffrey. "Excuse me, my lord. I didn't know you was here."

"No need to apologize. I was just leaving." Jeffrey turned to Charlotte, bowing. "Until tonight, then."

When the door had closed behind him, Charlotte asked, "What is it, Sarah?"

"Well, ma'am, that little girl, Jessie Reeves, she's here. Says ye told her to ask for me if she wanted to send ye a message. She's in quite a state, she is. Looks worrited to death. Will you see her?"

"Oh, dear, what — ? Yes, of course. Where is she, in the kitchens?"

"No'm." Sarah coughed. "I thought as how ye mightn't like his lordship's servants to know about the child, so I whisked her out of the kitchens and brung her up here by the servants' staircase. I'll jist go fetch her."

Entering the bedchamber behind Sarah, Jessie Reeves seemed to forget her cares for a moment as she gazed in awe around the large, well-appointed room. The child wore the same thin dress and tattered shawl in which Charlotte had first seen her, but there was one change. Jessie was wearing a pair of shoes, purchased, most probably, with some of the coins Charlotte had given Mrs. Reeves. Jessie was also limping badly.

Charlotte exclaimed, "My dear, surely you didn't walk all the way from the village on that injured foot?"

"Not all the way. I sneaked over the estate wall and took a short cut across the park." An expression of desperation settled over the girl's face. "Sorry I am ter bother ye, Miss Kinley, but ye did say that ye'd help us."

"I certainly will if I can. What's the matter? Have the gamekeepers been threatening you?"

"No. No. It's me mum. The baby's coming. I mean, it's trying to come. Mrs. Bass—that's our neighbor in the village, she's helped with many a lying-in—Mrs. Bass says mum's babe is turned the wrong ways, like, and it can't get born by itself. Mrs. Bass says we needs a doctor real bad. And the nearest doctor's in Banbury."

Charlotte responded to the pleading in the child's eyes. "You want me to go to Banbury for the doctor. Of course I will, child. Sarah, order the carriage."

The abigail glanced at Jessie with misgiving. "Begging yer pardon, ma'am, it might be better if ye and Jessie was to go direct to the stables by way o' the servants' staircase."

"Heavens, yes, that would be better," Charlotte exclaimed as she hurriedly put on a pelisse and jammed a bonnet on her head. She had a mental image of Lady Sherborne's face if the dowager were to see her climbing into a carriage with a ragged village child in front of the magnificent entrance of Cortona.

A faint cry sounded from beyond the closed door of the bedchamber. Jessie scrambled to her feet from her huddled position on the floor next to Charlotte's chair and stood staring at the door. The child, unstrung with worry about her mother, had begged Charlotte to remain even after the doctor's arrival, and Charlotte had felt unable to refuse the request. Jessie's father straightened tensely in his chair, disturbing the toddler clinging to his remaining leg. The cry was repeated, stronger this time.

The slow moments ticked by. Finally the doctor appeared in the doorway of the bedchamber, smiling as he pulled down his shirtsleeves. "You have another son, Mr. Reeves. A Christmas baby, no less!"

"My wife?" said the crippled farm laborer.

"Very tired, but I've no doubt she'll be fine."

"Oh, Miss Kinley," Jessie breathed, "Mum's going ter be all right." Her face shining with joy, the child dashed into the bedchamber to be with her mother.

"Actually, ma'am, it's your doing, as much as my medical skill," said the doctor in confidential tones to Charlotte. "If you hadn't fetched me, I doubt very much that either Mrs. Reeves or the child would have survived. It was a very difficult birth. I'm only sorry you had such a long wait for me at my surgery. As I explained to you, I was at a farm some ten miles outside Banbury in attendance on another confinement. I'll confess to you, if I'd been delayed even slightly longer, I don't think I could have come in time to save either Mrs. Reeves or her baby."

Charlotte reached into her reticule. She pressed several bank notes into the doctor's hand. "Let's be thankful you were in time. Thank you for coming, Doctor."

The doctor glanced at the denominations of the notes and beamed. "A pleasure, ma'am."

Charlotte walked over to Jessie's father. "Congratulations, Mr. Reeves. If I can help in any way, please call on me."

"God bless you, ma'am. We'll never forget this."

"That's all right. Goodbye, Mr. Reeves. Say goodbye to Jessie."

Charlotte stepped out of the cottage and paused abruptly as she realized with sudden dismay that night had fallen. She'd lost all track of time since Jessie had come to Cortona to ask for help. It must be very late. It was full dark. Already the guests must be gathering at Cortona for the Christmas celebration that would culminate in the announcement of her betrothal. By the time she reached Cortona and dressed for the ball, it would be half over. The dowager would probably never forgive her. Jeffrey? Perhaps this latest example of Charlotte's social ineptitude would convince him, finally, that she'd never make him a proper wife. Well, she couldn't change anything that had happened, she reflected with a dragging sense of weariness and dejection. Nor would she have wanted to. She'd

helped to save two lives.

She walked slowly out to her waiting carriage, where her coachman was pacing back and forth in the dim light of the side lamps. She noticed that the horses were draped in blankets and hoped that neither the driver nor the team had become too chilled during their long wait.

As she approached, the coachman hurried to open the door of the carriage and let down the steps. At the same time, a curricle and pair rounded a curve into the village street and was reined to an abrupt halt beside the carriage. The driver jumped down, tossing his reins to his diminutive tiger.

"My God, Charlotte, are you all right?"

"Jeffrey!" Charlotte gasped. As he came nearer, she could see he was wearing full evening dress beneath his caped driving coat. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, naturally," he snapped. "When I finished dressing tonight, I came to your bedchamber to escort you downstairs. You weren't there, and your abigail—what's her name? Sarah?—clamped her mouth shut like a damned Sphinx and refused to tell me where you were."

Charlotte repressed a quick grin. Dear Sarah, with her sturdy Lancashire sense of loyalty.

"So then I went to the stables," Jeffrey continued, "where I learned you'd ordered your carriage in midafternoon and had gone off in the company of a tatterdemalion child. You'd been gone for so many hours, the grooms were worried that you'd had an accident. So I ordered my curricle and came out to look for you." He paused, glancing at the Reeves cottage. When he resumed speaking, the anxiety in his voice had changed to anger. "Have you forgotten our engagement ball? Or am I to understand that you prefer to spend your time visiting the villagers?"

Before Charlotte could reply, Jeffrey shot a look at the attentive coachman and another look at his equally attentive tiger, and said curtly, "We can't talk out here. I'll ride back to the house with you. My tiger can drive my curricle."

As the carriage rolled along toward Cortona, Charlotte told Jeffrey about Jessie's frantic request for help and described

the nerve-racking wait in Banbury for the doctor to return to his surgery and the long hours she'd spent at the cottage trying to comfort Jessie during Mrs. Reeves's difficult delivery.

She finished by saying, "I'm sorry if I've embarrassed you, Jeffrey. Truly, I didn't forget the Christmas Eve ball, or not exactly, anyway, but — "

"But you'd do the same thing all over again tomorrow, wouldn't you?"

In the gloom of the carriage, Charlotte stared at him in amazement. She couldn't see his. face clearly, but she could hear the ripple of amusement in his voice.

"You're not angry with me?" she faltered.

"How can I be angry with the kindest, most loving woman I've ever met in my life?" Suddenly Jeffrey slipped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her. His lips fluttering against her mouth, he murmured, "I'm a little jealous, that's all. I want you to love me, too."

Charlotte gasped. Then she blurted, "Oh, Jeffrey, you idiot, I adore you." She locked her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with a passion that left them both breathless. Afterwards, she leaned back against his arm, looking up at him with dazed eyes. "You really mean it, you do love me?"

"From the first moment we met."

"But-why didn't you tell me?"

He bent his head, brushing her lips with his. "Because, my dear pea goose, you were so cold, so collected. You held me off every time I tried to get close to you."

"I didn't want to give myself away. I thought you were only marrying me for my money."

"I forgot all about your money five minutes after I met you." Charlotte turned her face away, and Jeffrey said anxiously, "My darling, what is it?"

"Oh, Jeffrey, you can't possibly love me the way you loved Cicely. She was so beautiful, so —so perfect in every way."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "I've never told this to anyone. Cicely was beautiful and sweet and devoted. But after she died, I admitted to myself what I'd never allowed myself to think while she was alive, that she'd bored

me to tears." Jeffrey's arms tightened around Charlotte. "You'll never bore me, my love. You'll go on, to the end of my life, irritating me and calling me to account and making me realize my responsibilities."

"And loving you."

"That, too. The most important thing of all."

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