"Perhaps." Helpless, Heather glanced at Era.

Em shook her head. She had originally thought Heather too young, too immature, to sense Lucinda's silent woe. Over the last few days, she had realised that Heather both saw and understood, but with the confidence of youth ha~l'imagined matters would work themselves out somehoW.

Now, even Heather's confidence was flagging. She was as concerned as Era, which worried Em all the more.

The door opened; Fergus appeared at Em's side and presented a silver salver.

"The mail, ma'am. And there's a letter just hand- delivered for Mrs Babbacombe. The boy didn't wait for a reply."

Em picked up the white, sealed packet, painfully aware of the sudden tension that had gripped Lucinda.

One glance at the scrawled direction was enough to tell her it wasn't from Harry. Helpless to do otherwise, she handed it over without comment, trying not to watch as, the seal broken, the expectation that had momentarily lit Lucinda's face died.

Lucinda frowned as she read the short missive, then, grimacing, laid it aside. She looked down at her toast, now stone-cold. With a tiny sigh, she reached for the teapot.

Em was beyond social niceties.

"Well?" Lucinda glanced at her, then shrugged.

"It's an invitation to some houseparty in the country." "Whose?"

Lucinda frowned.

"I can't immediately recall the lady." She sipped her tea, glancing down at the note.

"Lady Place."

"Martindale?" Em started to frown, then her face cleared.

"Oh--that'll be Marguerite. She's Elmira, Lady Asterley's daughter. She must be helping out. But that's wonderful!"

Em turned to Lucinda.

"Just the thing! Some fresh air and genteel fun is precisely what you need.

Elmira is one of my oldest friends although we haven't met in ages. She'll be getting on, now. When's this party to be?"

Lucinda hesitated, then grimaced.

"It starts later today--but the invitation's just for me."

Em blinked.

"Just for...?" Then she blinked again, her face clearing.

"Ah--I see!"

Lucinda looked up.

"What is it?"

Em straightened.

"Just remembered. Harry's a close friend of Elmira's son--Alfred, Lord Asterley. Been thick as thieves since they were at Eton together." She watched as Lucinda reached again for the note.

"Oh?"

"Indeed." Em's eyes glazed as she considered the possiblities.

"Always hand-in-glove in mischief. Got sent down together any number of times." For a moment, she remained sunk in thought, then flicked a glance at Lucinda, busy scrutinising the invitation.

"You know," Em said, sitting back in her chair, 'it's probably not surprising that the invitation's just for you. I can see how it would have been--Elmira had a last-minute cancellation and asked Alfred if he could suggest someone suitable to fill the gap. " Em hesitated, then added,

"And Alfred and Harry are very close."

The more Em thought of it, the more convinced she was that Harry was behind the unexpected invitation. It would be just like him to manoeuvre to get Lucinda into the country, free of mentors, admirers and step-daughters, so he could make amends for his behaviour away from all interested eyes. Very Harry indeed.

Em snorted.

The atmosphere around the breakfast table had altered dramatically.

Instead of resignation bordering on the morose, speculation now tinged the air. Varying degrees of calculation and decision were reflected in the ladies' expressions.

Pushing her plate aside, Heather put their thoughts into words.

"You have to go."

"Absolutely," Em agreed.

"Heather and I are more than capable of entertaining each other for a few days."

Lucinda, reanimated but still frowning, looked up from the invitation.

"You're sure it's acceptable for me to go alone?"

"To Asterley Place] Of course!" Em dismissed the point with a wave.

"It's not as if you were a young girl making her come-out. And you'll find plenty there you've already met, I don't doubt. Very fashionable, Elmira's parties."

"Do go." Heather leaned over the table.

"I'd love to hear all about it. Maybe We'll all be invited next time."

Lucinda glanced at Heather's eager young face. Her hesitation was pure prevarication; if there was any possibility Harry had organised the invitation then she had no choice but to go.

She straightened and drew in a breath--a surge of revivifying hope came with it.

"Very well. If you're sure you can manage without me?"