Peggy had grown more and more enamored of Gordon Lane over the last few weeks. He was tall, strongly built, and a handsome young man, but what appealed to her also was his kindness. He had been on her side ever since she'd started at Cavendon Hall, always ready to defend her when necessary.

Malcolm Smith, the head footman, was also nice-looking, but not as nice a person as Gordon. And she'd seen him flirting with both the other maids, Mary Ince and Elsie Roland. Gordon had told her that Malcolm was a skirt chaser, and it was true.

Even though he knew she and Gordon were becoming close, he'd tried to feel her breast in the pantry, and she'd slapped his face hard. He hadn't come near her again.

Peggy knew she was infatuated with Gordon, and that he was with her. However, there was a problem. He wanted her to go all the way, and she wanted this too. But because of her last bad experience she was afraid, had vowed to herself that she would not get herself into trouble a second time.

And so she was on her guard tonight as they walked toward the woods. She must not let her desire for him get the better of her. She must be chaste, but without hurting his feelings.

For his part, Gordon was completely involved with Peggy Swift. He had fallen hard for her almost the moment she had started working at Cavendon. She was a good-looking woman, with expressive eyes, lovely curves, and an extremely nice nature. She was also intelligent, and clever, in many different ways.

He wanted to seduce her, yet he had also begun to realize she was a woman he would be happy to marry. He would have to curb his raging emotions, his l.u.s.t for her; otherwise things could go horribly wrong.

Although she didn't know it, he was well aware she had a child. There was always gossip downstairs. He also knew the man had left her in the lurch, and run off to America. b.a.s.t.a.r.d, he cursed under his breath, came to a stop, and got out his cigarettes.

Once he lit the cigarette, the two of them ambled on. "I'll be a good boy," he suddenly announced. "I won't hurt you in any way, or get you into trouble. Just a few kisses though, eh? You don't mind that, do you?"

"No," she said. "I'd like that, too. Nothing else though."

By the time they came to the bluebell woods, Gordon had finished his cigarette. He stubbed it out on a log, and led her toward the edge of the woods, where the gra.s.sy glade was located. They sat down on the gra.s.s and Gordon put his arm around her, began to kiss her neck, and then unexpectedly he pushed her down, bent over her, and kissed her pa.s.sionately. He let his tongue linger against hers, and then brought his hand to her dress, opened the top b.u.t.tons, feeling for her breast.

Peggy struggled. "No, Gordon, don't. Please don't. You'll get me far too agitated."

He paid no attention to her words.

Bending his head, he sucked on her nipple, and at the same time he pulled her closer, crushing himself against her body.

He was hard against her thigh, obviously highly charged, and she was melting inside as he sucked on her breast. Then a red flag went up in her head, and she knew she must keep a grip on herself.

"Let's stop," she whispered. And he did at once, knowing he had no choice. He did not want to scare her away.

Gordon brought his mouth to hers, and devoured it. At the same time, he lifted her skirt with one hand, and was working his fingers inside her knickers until he found the core of her womanhood.

Pushing himself up on one elbow, Gordon looked down into her face, murmured lovingly, "You look so beautiful in the moonlight, Peggy. I want to touch you. I want you, but I won't force you ... just say I can touch you ... here, like this." He stroked her, his fingers lingering inside her.

Her mouth was dry and she could only nod. He kissed her face and then slowly continued to stroke her until she was moaning.

Against her face, he whispered, "Let go, relax, come on, let me give you pleasure. I just want to please you, Peg." She did as he asked and within seconds she was stiffening, and then she began to spasm, calling his name.

Gordon clutched her to him with both his arms, holding her tightly as if never to let her go. "Did I please you? I did, I know that, because I saw your face. I saw how much you enjoyed my loving touches."

"Yes," she whispered, sounding suddenly shy. "You did please me, but that wasn't really fair to you. And I-" Peggy did not finish her sentence. She broke off, and stiffened in his arms, alert all of a sudden.

"What's wrong?" he asked, frowning, knowing something unusual had suddenly caught her attention.

"Shhhhh," she said softly. "There's someone else here in the woods, Gordon."

They both sat up, listening attentively. They heard twigs snapping again. There was someone coming through the trees, heading in their direction, and hurrying faster.

Gordon jumped up, pulled Peggy to her feet, and together they fled out of the woods and rushed up the hill to Cavendon. They ran all the way there, and were out of breath when they reached the backyard.

The two of them stood panting near the stone wall, staring at each other. After a moment, Peggy said, "It was a man, that I'm sure of, Gordon. His step was heavy; that's why we heard the twigs snapping. Knowing someone was there, maybe watching us, frightened me. Do you think it was a Peeping Tom?"

"Who'd be out there at this hour?" Gordon wondered aloud.

"Well, we were," Peggy replied, and smiled at him, her love shining on her face. "Thank you for being ... respectful, Gordon."

Bending closer to her, he took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly on the lips. Then he finally made an important decision, and said, "Will you marry me, Peggy Swift? Will you be mine forever? Will you be my wife?"

She was so taken by surprise, so startled by his proposal, she couldn't speak for a moment. Finally she said, "I will, Gordon Lane. I will! I will! I will!" She flung her arms around him, hugged him. And they kissed, then drew apart.

Peggy stood looking up at him, fully understanding that she loved this man with all her heart, and she knew she had to tell him the truth about herself. It would be deceitful not to explain about Kevin.

She said quietly, "There's something I must tell you, Gordon. I have-"

He cut her off when he said, "A child. Yes, I know that. And it doesn't change my feelings. I love you, Peggy, and when we can do it, he'll come and live with us. I'll be his father as well as your husband."

Peggy drew close to him again, tears filling her eyes. She blinked them away. "Thank you for saying that, Gordon. And I promise I'll be the best wife."

At this moment the back door opened, and Cook stood in the corridor of bright light shining out from inside the kitchen. She beckoned to them urgently.

Holding hands, they ran toward her. She ushered them into the kitchen, and said, "Hanson's on the prowl. Light a cigarette, Gordon, real quick, me lad. Now listen ... yer've been outside in the yard for a few minutes, for a smoke. I just called yer to come in. Which I did, didn't I?"

Gordon nodded, quickly lit up.

Hanson appeared in the kitchen several seconds later, and nodded when he saw them. After going over to the back door and locking it, he turned and went toward the corridor. "Good night. Good night to you all," he called, and headed off.

"Good night, Mr. Hanson," Gordon and Peggy said in unison with Cook.

Much later that night, as she lay in her bed in the maids' quarters, thinking of Gordon and about marrying him, Peggy was filled with growing happiness. She knew they would be good together, and that they'd make a good team. After a while, her thoughts went back to the bluebell woods. She was certain someone had been there, hidden in amongst the trees, and so was Gordon. She couldn't help wondering if he'd seen Gordon fondling her.

A Peeping Tom? But who? Surely not one of their woodsmen? Or a villager? She wondered if she should tell Cook or Mrs. Thwaites? Perhaps even Mr. Hanson? Then Peggy decided against this, instantly changed her mind. That would be revealing too much about where she had been with Gordon. Besides, what good would it do? She must warn Gordon tomorrow morning, tell him not to mention the man in the woods. No one must know they had been down there when they were not supposed to go out of the house at night. The rules were strict at Cavendon. And Hanson made sure they were kept.

Peggy was the first maid in the kitchen the following morning. She was so happy she felt like singing. But she couldn't do that. She had a smile firmly in place as she said good morning to Cook.

"Yer looking bright and cheerful, la.s.s," Nell Jackson said, returning her smile. "He's a nice lad, that there Gordon Lane. Sincere, for one thing, and kindhearted. Which is more than I can say about Malcolm Smith. He fancies himself, that one does. Vain as a peac.o.c.k."

"That's true, Cook," Peggy agreed. Walking over to join her near the stove, she whispered, "It's a secret, but we're serious about each other."

"That's nice for yer, Peggy. Couldn't wish for a finer young man for yer, la.s.s." Still smiling, the cook turned back to her stove and picked up a wooden spoon.

A moment later, Mrs. Thwaites appeared. "Good morning, Cook, morning, Swift. Since you're down first today, I think you had better pop upstairs and light the fire in the library for the earl. As soon as Ince arrives I'll send her up to help you set the breakfast table. Come on, la.s.s, hurry yourself along. We don't have all the day."

Peggy did as she was told, and seconds later she was kneeling in front of the fireplace in the library, sweeping up yesterday's ashes into a dustpan.

After laying the grate with kindling, extra chips of wood, and the round newspaper circles made by the footmen, she struck a match and brought it to the paper. She soon had a roaring fire in the grate, and added several small logs, then stood up.

Peggy realized that her hands were dirty, and she ran downstairs to wash them.

Mary Ince and Elsie Roland, the two other maids, were standing near the china cupboard in the corridor, whispering together. They stopped speaking abruptly when they saw her.

"Good morning," Peggy said, smiling at them.

They mumbled good morning in return, but both looked sullen, even unfriendly. Peggy couldn't help thinking they'd been talking about her and Gordon. They often made funny remarks these days.

There was a rush of footsteps, and Malcolm Smith came flying down the stairs, exclaiming, "Mr. Hanson wants another silver chafing dish. Hurry up, one of you, find one. Quick."

Peggy was close to the small silver cupboard, and she opened the door, reached inside. Suddenly she felt Malcolm standing right behind her, breathing down her neck. "Got you in the family way yet? I bet he has, you little trollop." Before she could respond he squeezed her bottom, and stepped away from her quickly, as the back door opened and Gordon walked in.

In a flash, Peggy turned around and said in an icy tone, "Don't ever do that to me again, Malcolm Smith. If you do, I'll report you to Mr. Hanson for being overly familiar."

Malcolm burst out laughing. "Every man around here's familiar with you, Peggy Swift, to open her legs."

There was a gasp, a sudden disturbance, a rush of air as Gordon flung himself across the kitchen and into the corridor in a giant leap. He fell on Malcolm and began to pummel him on the chest.

The head footman fought Gordon as best he could, but he was not as strong as his junior. When he threw a punch at Gordon, he missed, then slipped and fell down on his back, his arms flailing. Gordon was about to jump on him, when Peggy grabbed one arm and Cook the other. Together they pulled Gordon away from the fray.

A moment later, an irate Hanson was standing staring at them. "What's all this about? Fighting like common street lads! And you both footmen in the employment of one of the premier earls of England. The Earl of Mowbray would be appalled. This is the most reprehensible behavior I've ever seen. You should know better. Aren't you ashamed of yourselves?" He looked down at Malcolm, and added in a scathing tone, "Get up at once! And straighten your livery, Smith. As for you, Lane, explain yourself."

Before Gordon could respond, Cook interrupted in a strong, determined voice, "I was witness to this scene, Mr. Hanson, and it was Malcolm's fault. He provoked Gordon no end. Take my word for it."

"How?" Hanson demanded coldly, eyeing Cook. "I need more details."

"He insulted Peggy, who will one day be Gordon's wife. And Gordon was defending her good name."

Hanson frowned and glanced across at Gordon. "What did he say that created this ghastly uproar? Come along, speak up, Lane. Let's have it."

Gordon remained silent, still angry with the other footman, and now growing nervous under Hanson's stern scrutiny. He shook his head. "I'd rather not repeat it, Mr. Hanson."

"Please take my word for it," Nell Jackson interjected. "I heard every word. Oh my goodness!" She began to smile at a small, neatly dressed woman with bright red hair under a green hat, who had just entered the kitchen from outside, and was carrying a suitcase.

Nell rushed over to her, exclaiming, "Miss Wilson! What a lovely surprise. Welcome back. Aren't yer a sight for sore eyes. I thought yer wasn't coming back to us 'til next week."

"I managed to get everything straightened out sooner than I expected," Olive Wilson responded. Smiling warmly, she took hold of Cook's outstretched hand and shook it, then squeezed it affectionately. They were old friends, good friends; both had worked at Cavendon for years.

With a glare at the two footmen, Hanson went over to greet Olive Wilson himself. She was lady's maid to the countess, and he was well aware how much she had been missed. "Welcome back. I trust all is well, Miss Wilson?" the butler said, shaking her hand.

"It was, Mr. Hanson, until I walked into Bedlam here."

Hanson grimaced. "Bedlam indeed ... or any other madhouse. Excuse me for a moment." He swung around, looked at the footmen. "I'll deal with the two of you later," he announced. "Now get a move on, both of you." He stared at the kitchen clock. "Get upstairs at once, and set the table for breakfast, prepare the sideboard. Ince, Roland, you'd better go with them and help to get the dining room up to snuff."

The two footmen and the maids rushed out, and Hanson looked across at Peggy and said, "You'd better stay down here. I think that's more appropriate today. You can help Polly-" He looked around for the girl, saw her cowering in a corner, and went on, "You and she can get the food into the chafing dishes as soon as it's ready, help Cook in general."

"Yes, Mr. Hanson. And thank you very much, sir."

He nodded. "Stay out of Smith's way."

"I will, sir. It was his fault, you know."

Hanson sighed heavily. "Speak to you later, Miss Wilson." He walked out of the kitchen; he was angry and humiliated that the countess's personal maid had seen this ridiculous display.

Olive Wilson came into the middle of the kitchen and looked at Peggy. She smiled. "Were they fighting over you?" she asked. There was a hint of laughter in her voice, and her green eyes were full of merriment.

"No. Gordon's my boyfriend, you see, and Malcolm made a nasty crack. Gordon took offense. So did I, to be honest."

"Typical. He's a lout and a bottom-pincher, that one. Watch out for him. I'm Lady Mowbray's lady's maid, by the way."

"I realize that. I've heard a lot about you."

"Only nice things, I hope?"

"That's right, they only said nice things, sang your praises."

Nell Jackson, always a bit nosy, said, "So yer got it all sorted, and here yer are." Suddenly puzzled, she remarked, "It's very early. How did yer get here from the railway station in Harrogate?"

Olive Wilson began to laugh, explained, "I arrived from London last night, and her ladyship had arranged ahead of time for Mrs. Sedgewick's chauffeur to meet me at Harrogate station. He drove me over here, and I spent the night at Miss Charlotte's. We knew it would be after ten when I got to the hall, and that was prearranged too. I didn't want to disturb the whole household."

"Well, I'm glad yer back, Miss Wilson. It's seemed much longer than two months, though. More like two years."

"I know what you mean, Mrs. Jackson. I've missed all of you, too."

Twenty-three.

He had been sixteen when he left, a slightly callow Eton schoolboy preparing to go to Oxford, and looking forward to it. He had returned to Yorkshire for the first time in sixteen years, a man in his prime at the age of thirty-two. Hugo Ingham Stanton was good-looking, ambitious, highly motivated in whatever he did, and extremely successful.

He was a real estate tyc.o.o.n of no small measure, a go-getter, a dealmaker, and a supremely talented businessman. Fast moving and decisive, he was blessed with a charming manner as well. People easily fell under his spell, men as well as women, and children were instantly captivated by his marvelous ability to treat them as equals.

Now as the Rolls-Royce moved smoothly along through the center of Harrogate, Hugo sat looking out of the window. He couldn't help noticing that the town had changed. He was seeing new buildings and far more hotels. Harrogate had been a spa town for centuries, after the discovery in 1571 of underground wells filled with healing water. And apparently it was currently booming. From what he had read in The Times the other day, the first week of July had been spectacular with concerts, events, all kinds of other entertainments, and a flock of royal guests visiting to sample the water and take the baths. It seemed that Harrogate was at its best this summer, and very social.

It pleased Hugo that Charles had sent his Rolls-Royce and the chauffeur, Gregg, to pick him up at the railway station. The gesture was an indication that a warm welcome awaited him, although he had never really doubted that.

Charles Ingham had always been a first-cla.s.s guy. Hugo smiled to himself, wondering if the family would find him too Americanized. He didn't believe he was, but others might think so.

He settled back against the leather seat, at ease with himself, and looking forward to visiting Charles, Felicity, and the rest of the family.

Hugo had no qualms about returning to Cavendon, where he had grown up. He had not done anything wrong when he was abruptly sent away by his mother because she needed someone to blame for the loss of her favorite son. She hadn't been able to accept that his sibling was his own worst enemy, a daredevil, and spoilt.

Lady Evelyne Ingham Stanton, sister of the fifth earl, and his mother, had behaved unfairly and irrationally. Everyone thought that. His father had backed him up, and together they had decided it would be better for Hugo if he went to New York, to work with his father's good friend Benjamin Silver. "If you stay, she'll only punish you in some way or other, and pick on you constantly," his father had said. Hugo had agreed, and plans were made for his trip to New York City.