All the furniture she saw was old but lovingly polished, warm oak, most of it.

"There's only the decorating left to do," Harry informed her as he led her down a short corridor running beside the large room he had described as his study-cure-library. There, the bookshelves had been emptied and polished to within an inch of their lives; piles of tomes stood ready to be returned to their places once the decorating as done.

"But the firm I've hired won't be in for a few weeks yet--time enough to make the necessary decisions."

Lucinda eyed him narrowly--but before she could think of any probing comment, she was distracted by what lay beyond the door at the end of the corridor.

An elegantly proportioned room, it overlooked the side garden; roses nodded at the wide windows, framing green vistas.

Harry glanced about.

"I haven't yet decided what this room Should be used for."

Looking around, Lucinda found no pile of shrouded furniture. Instead, her gaze was drawn to new shelves, lining one wall. They were wide and open, just right for stacking ledgers. She glanced about; the windows let in good light, an essential for doing accounts and dealing with correspondence.

Her heart beating in a very odd cadence, Lucinda turned to look at Harry.

"Indeed?"

"Hmm." His expression considering, he gestured to the door.

"Come--I'll introduce you to the Simpkins."

Suppressing a snort of pure impatience, Lucinda allowed him to steer her back down the corridor and through the baize-covered door. Here she came upon the first evidence of established life. The kitchens were scrupulously clean, the pots gleaming on their hooks on the wall, a modern range residing in the centre of the wide fireplace.

A middle-aged couple were seated at the deal table; they quickly got to their feet, consternation in their faces as they gazed at Lucinda.

"Simpkins here acts as general factotum--keeping an eye on the place generally. His uncle is butler at the Hall. Mrs Bubbacombe, Simpkins."

"Ma'am." Simpkins bowed low.

"And this is Mrs Simpkins, cook and housekeeper-- without whom the furniture would never. have survived."

Mrs Simpkins, a buxom, rosy-cheeked matron of imposing girth, bobbed a curtsy to Lucinda but fixed Harry with a baleful eye.

"Aye--and if you had only thought to warn me, Master Harry, I would have had tea and scones ready and waiting."

"As you might guess," Harry put in smoothly,

"Mrs Simpkins was once an under nurse at the Hall."

"Aye--and I can remember you in short coats quite clearly, young master."

Mrs Simpkins frowned at him.

"Now you just take the lady for a stroll and I'll pop a pot on. By the 6me you come back I'll have your tea laid ready in the garden."

"I wouldn't want to put you to--' Harry's pained sigh cut across Lucinda's disclaimer.

"I hesitate to break it to you, my dear, but Martha Simpkins is a tyrant.

It's best to just yield gracefully." So saying, he took her hand and led her towards the door.

"I'll just show Mrs Babbacombe the upstairs rooms, Martha."

Lucinda turned her head to throw a smile back at Mrs Simpkins, who beamed delightedly in reply.

The stairs led to a short gallery.

"No family portraits, I'm afraid," Harry said.

"Those are all at the Hall."

"Is there one of you?" Lucinda looked up at him. "Yes--but it's hardly a good likeness. It was done when I was eighteen."

Lucinda raised her brows but, recalling Lady Coleby's words, made no comment.

"This is the master suite." Harry threw open a pair of panelled doors at the end of the gallery. The room beyond was large, half-panelled, the warm patina of wood extending to the surrounds of the bow window and its seat. A carved mantel framed the fireplace, unusually large; a very large structure stood in the centre of the floor, screened by the inevitable dust- covers.

Lucinda glanced at it curiously, but obediently turned as Harry, a~ hand at her back, conducted her through the adjoiningd~essing-rooms.

"I'm afraid," he said, as they returned to the main chamber, 'that Lestershall doesn't run to separate bedrooms for husband and wife. " Lucinda glanced up at him.

"Not, of course,"

he continued imperturbably, 'that that should concern you. "

Lucinda watched as he leaned a shoulder against the window frame.

When he merely returned her expectant look with one of the blandest innocence, she humphed and turned her attention to the large, shrouded mound.

"It's a four-poster," she decided. She crossed to lift a corner of the dust cover and peer under. A dark cave lay before her. With thick, barley-sugar posts, the bed was fully canopied and draped with matching brocades.

"It's enormous."

"Indeed? Harry watched her absorption.

"And has quite a history, too, if the tales one hears are true."

Lucinda looked up from her study.

"What tales?"

"Rumour has it the bed dates from Elizabethan times, as does the house.

Apparently, all the brides brought back to the house have used it."

Lucinda wrinkled her nose.

"That's hardly surprising." She dropped the covers and dusted her hands.

Harry's lips slowly curved.