Daphne paused, turned around, and stared at her. "But-"

"No buts, my lady. We can't have one of the maids finding them, now, can we?"

Daphne simply nodded, realizing Mrs. Alice was right.

Alice said, "I shall go up to the sewing room and satisfy the curiosity of DeLacy and Cecily, put their busy little minds at rest. By the way, where did you fall, Lady Daphne? In the woods?"

"Yes," Daphne replied, swallowing hard.

"I shall lock the door behind me, m'lady. You don't need anyone walking in on you unexpectedly. I'll only be a few minutes."

"Is Daphne all right?" DeLacy asked as soon as Alice walked into the sewing room.

"Oh yes, she's perfectly fine," Alice answered, smiling. She added, "You look lovely in that rose-colored chiffon, Lady DeLacy. I think this one will work beautifully for you, for the spring supper dance later this month. Don't you agree, Cecily?"

"I do, Mother, it is a wonderful color for DeLacy, and a change from blue." Cecily began to laugh. "Everyone in this family wants to wear blue." She glanced at DeLacy, and said, "I'm sorry, Lacy, but it is the truth."

"Oh, I know. Great-Aunt Gwendolyn says we're all stick-in-the-muds, and unimaginative. She thinks we should all wear purple ... the royal color. She even wonders aloud why we want clothes to match our eyes."

Alice also had to laugh. "She's been saying that for as long as I can remember."

DeLacy swirled, the chiffon evening dress flaring out around her legs. She said, as she turned again, "I suppose Daphne must have fallen in the woods. I know she was going to see Julian at Havers Lodge ... to tell him he could invite his fiancee to the big ball. She must have been hurrying back because of the thunderclouds, and then tripped."

"That's exactly what happened," Alice murmured, her mind instantly focused on the Torbetts. She knew the earl and the countess had never been too happy about Lady Daphne's friendship with Julian, when they were younger. They were afraid the two of them might become too attached to each other. Fortunately, that hadn't happened, because of Julian's intentions to have a military career, and Daphne's lack of interest in him romantically.

They had only ever been platonic friends. This was also because Daphne's head was filled with dreams of a duke's son and a brilliant marriage, planted there at a very young age by her father, the earl.

To Alice's way of thinking, there was something odd about the Torbett family. They tended to put on airs and graces, and they weren't as wealthy as they liked the world to believe. Hanson had always told Walter that they were pretentious, jumped-up nothings.

On the other hand, Hanson was a bit of a sn.o.b and tended to dismiss anybody without a t.i.tle. However, his d.a.m.ning statements seemed to stick, remained in the head.

Going over to the rack of dresses, Alice looked at all of them with her beady eye; they were perfect for DeLacy, she decided. She took a honey-colored taffeta ball gown over to DeLacy. "I think this would be lovely-"

There was a knock on the door, and when Alice called, "Come in," it was Walter who poked his head into the room. "Sorry to disturb you, ladies, but his lordship would like DeLacy to go down for afternoon tea. Lady Gwendolyn has just walked over, and they are waiting in the drawing room."

Alice nodded, and exclaimed, "Tea, of course! You'd better hurry along, DeLacy." And I'd better go and look in on Daphne, Alice thought, as she gave the honey-colored gown to Cecily, then hurried out to join her husband.

In the corridor, Alice took hold of Walter's arm. "Has the countess returned from Harrogate yet?"

"No, she won't be back for another hour or so."

"I'll see you at home tonight," Alice murmured, and went down the stairs to the main bedroom floor. Walter followed her, and squeezed her arm affectionately, before they went in different directions. DeLacy was already halfway down the main staircase, on her way to tea.

Alice unlocked the door to Daphne's bedroom, went inside, and quickly locked it behind her. Daphne was nowhere in sight. Alice noticed the small pile of clothes folded up on a chair. She went to examine them. The blouse was badly ripped; Alice thought she could mend it. As for the jacket, the back was smeared with green streaks from the gra.s.s, and splotches of mud. The skirt was in the worst condition, with dirty patches, and stains from gra.s.s and blood. She could clean them successfully. She had good products and special methods.

Carefully, Alice folded them up again, and finally picked up the underskirt. There was blood on it, and some other damp patches. Alice bent her head and sniffed, and then turned away, grimacing. Her worst fears had been confirmed. A man had attacked Lady Daphne out in the woods, no two ways about it. That male smell clung to the underskirt. Carefully, she folded it and put it under the pile, shaking her head.

Alice sat down heavily in the chair. She felt as if a lump of lead was lodged in her chest. Her mind floundered for a moment, and her heart went out to Daphne, so sweet, so lovely. Whoever had done such a thing to a seventeen-year-old innocent girl should be horsewhipped. She wondered then if any of the woodsmen or gardeners had seen anything; several Swanns worked on the outside at Cavendon. Walter would have to ask them if they noticed anything untoward this afternoon.

A moment later the bathroom door opened and Lady Daphne came out in her robe. She smiled at Alice, but then the smile instantly faltered. "I hoped I hadn't bruised my face, but there's a mark, here, on the cheekbone," Daphne murmured, touching her face. "How will I explain it to Mama and Papa, Mrs. Alice?"

Alice hurried across the room, peered at her face. "It's not so bad, Lady Daphne. I think it can be covered up with a few touches of powder and rouge. And you fell, remember, and if you fell forward then you would easily hit your face on a rock, a tree trunk, or roots. You'll explain it that way. What about the rest of you, m'lady?"

"Just bruises, nothing broken. Did you see DeLacy and Cecily?"

"Yes, they were in the sewing room. I told them you'd tripped and fallen. DeLacy a.s.sumed it was in the woods, because she said you'd gone to Havers Lodge to see Julian Torbett this afternoon."

"That's true. I went to tell him his fiancee could come to the big ball. Obviously DeLacy heard me telling Father after lunch that I was going there."

"By the way, DeLacy has gone down to tea to join your great-aunt and your father. Walter brought a message from his lordship. What about you? Do you want to join them, m'lady?"

Daphne shook her head. "I think I should rest. I'm hoping I'll be able to go down for dinner later, but for now..." Her voice trailed off.

Alice nodded. "Yes, stay and have a rest. I'd get into bed if I were you, m'lady. If it's all right with you, I will tell Walter to inform your father that you're resting after trying on dresses most of the day. I'll say you're a bit tired."

Daphne inclined her head. "Thank you, Mrs. Alice. I'd appreciate that. And thank you ... for everything."

Eleven.

Lady Gwendolyn Ingham Baildon stood in the center of the great entrance foyer at Cavendon Hall, glancing around, a beatific smile on her face. She had been in London for the past week, and this was her first visit since her return to Yorkshire two days ago.

To her, Cavendon was the most sublime place. There was nowhere else like it, and only here did she experience a feeling of euphoria ... a sense of genuine happiness and contentment. So many memories, so many emotions were wrapped up in this house ... her entire life had been spent here.

The smile lingered as her eyes rested on the oil paintings of her ancestors which lined the wall above the grand curving staircase. Looking down at her were her parents. Her beautiful mother, Florence, wife of Marmaduke, the fourth earl, her father. Next to her father was a striking portrait of her brother, David, the handsomest of men. He had been the fifth earl, and next to him was a lovely oil painting of his wife, Constance, who had died far too young. She sighed to herself. Her husband, Paul Baildon, had died young; she had been a widow for a very long time.

Turning away, Lady Gwendolyn walked across the hall in the direction of the small yellow sitting room, where afternoon tea had been served for years.

Gwendolyn had been born in this house seventy-two years ago, and brought up here with David and their sister Evelyne. She knew every nook, cranny, corner, and secret hiding place. In fact, there wasn't much she didn't know about Cavendon and the Ingham family. Well, that was not exactly true. She was ignorant about any number of things, as was her nephew Charles.

A small, amused smile struck her face fleetingly. Only the Swanns knew everything, and what they knew had been pa.s.sed down from one generation to the next. There were notebooks filled with endless records, so she had been told once, and this information had come from the best source-a Swann, no less.

Ah well, Gwendolyn mused, what would we have done without the Swanns? And they're on our side, thank G.o.d, stand sentinel beside us. She would trust a Swann with her life if she had to.

Her nephew was the only occupant of the yellow sitting room, and he jumped up, came toward her once he saw her appear in the doorway.

After kissing her cheek, he said, "It's lovely to see you back at Cavendon, Aunt Gwendolyn."

"Thank you, Charles, I feel the same." She glanced around. "Am I the first?"

"Yes, actually, you are. I'm afraid our ranks are a bit diminished today. Felicity is still in Harrogate, visiting Anne, and Diedre accompanied her. But DeLacy will be joining us."

At this moment Hanson glided into the room, and after greeting Lady Gwendolyn, he addressed the earl. "Do you wish tea to be served immediately, m'lord?"

"Yes, Hanson, thank you. But perhaps you could send a message to Lady DeLacy to come down."

"I took the liberty of doing that a short while ago, my lord."

Charles nodded. "Thank you, Hanson. Very astute of you. I'm afraid punctuality is not her strong suit."

As Hanson left the room, Gwendolyn said, "Isn't Daphne joining us as well, Charles?"

"I don't think so. Apparently she has been busy with dress fittings for most of the day, and feels tired. She has asked to be excused."

"Sorry I'm late, Papa!" DeLacy cried as she came racing into the room, a bright smile on her face. She ran over to her great-aunt, kissed her on the cheek, and then went to kiss her father.

"You are coming to the supper dances and the big ball, aren't you, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn?" DeLacy asked a moment later, sitting down next to her. "It's never the same when you're not present."

"How nice of you to say so, Lacy, and of course I plan to come, my dear. I've always thought the entertaining we do at Cavendon at that time of year, in the summer months, was the best, the most fun." Leaning slightly closer, she said in a low voice, "Please do try to avoid sky blue this season, darling. The obvious is rather boring, you know?"

DeLacy stared at her, saw the amus.e.m.e.nt flickering in the deep-blue eyes, and began to giggle. "I will certainly do that," she answered, still laughing, and then glanced at the door as the two footmen came in, both pushing laden tea trolleys, followed closely by Hanson, as always present to make sure nothing was amiss or went wrong.

As they went through the ritual of afternoon tea, Charles silently debated whether or not to tell his aunt that Hugo was about to make a visit. In the end, he decided he must do so. He preferred not to spring it on her at the last minute. But he would certainly avoid mentioning anything about property and Little Skell Manor.

After DeLacy insisted he try a piece of the Swiss roll, Charles tasted it, and then put it down. Looking across at his aunt, he said, "I had a letter from Switzerland today. And you'll never guess who it was from."

Lady Gwendolyn threw him a puzzled look. "No, I'm afraid I won't ... I don't know anyone who lives in Switzerland."

A smile touched his mouth, and was gone. "It was from Hugo Stanton," he said in a level voice, wondering how she would react to this news.

"Goodness gracious me!" Lady Gwendolyn exclaimed. "Hugo Stanton, of all people, and after these many years of silence." She frowned, and peered at Charles. "I thought he was sent to live in America?" A brow lifted.

"He was-"

"Quite the wrong move in my considered opinion," Lady Gwendolyn cut in. "Very rash."

"He was rather successful there, apparently, according to his letter, Aunt. He did well in business, and married well. However, sadly, his wife died last year. From what I gather, they had been living in Zurich for several years."

"I see," Lady Gwendolyn murmured noncommittally, and took a sip of her tea.

Charles continued, "In any event, Hugo wrote to tell me he has to come to London on business, and he asked me if he could come here for a visit. I suppose he was wondering if he would be made to feel welcome."

There was a short silence, then Lady Gwendolyn said, "Of course he would be welcome, as far as I'm concerned. I always liked Hugo, and I never believed for one moment that he had anything to do with his brother's death. Stuff and nonsense that was."

"I couldn't agree more."

"When is he coming?" she asked.

"Oh, in the summer. I thought perhaps June or July. I'll suggest that when I reply."

"And I shall look forward to seeing him again," Lady Gwendolyn announced with a warm smile.

Charles nodded, and decided to say nothing further. Why bring up Little Skell Manor or property, and who owned what, at this stage? "And so shall I," Charles agreed amiably, and took a bite of Swiss roll. "He will always be welcome at Cavendon."

A few minutes later, DeLacy cried, "Mama! Diedre! You're back early, and just in time for tea."

The earl glanced at the door, appearing to be as startled as DeLacy had sounded. He immediately rose, and walked across the floor to greet his wife and eldest daughter.

As he escorted them into the room, he asked Felicity, "I hope you had a lovely visit with Anne, my dear."

"Yes, we did," Felicity answered softly, endeavoring to keep her voice steady, her expression neutral, not wishing to display any of her flaring emotions.

Diedre said, "h.e.l.lo, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn," and went to kiss her.

Felicity followed suit, and touched DeLacy lightly on her shoulder as she pa.s.sed her. Then she took a seat in a chair opposite them.

Hanson, as usual ever on the ready, appeared with a footman in tow, who proceeded to pour tea for the countess and Diedre. And the ritual of afternoon tea began all over again.

Moving slightly on the sofa, Lady Gwendolyn focused on her niece-in-law, thinking that she once again looked slightly on edge. Felicity's face was taut, and Gwendolyn was instantly aware of the sorrowful look in her light green eyes. Something's wrong, Gwendolyn thought. Terribly wrong. I'm looking at a troubled woman beleaguered by worries. What's going on with her? She appears to be strung out, more nervous than ever.

Twelve.

Diedre Ingham, the eldest daughter of the earl, had a great affinity for Lady Gwendolyn, and they had always been good friends since she was a little girl. They were cut from the same cloth, had similar characteristics, both being practical, down-to-earth, and well organized. They also had a look of each other, and were of similar build.

Although Diedre did not have the alluring beauty of Daphne, nor the shining prettiness of DeLacy, she still was a good-looking young woman, with even features and those lovely blue eyes that were the Ingham trademark.

Tall like her great-aunt, she had inherited Lady Gwendolyn's elegance and style, had her taste for strictly tailored clothes and understated jewelry, costly but not flashy or vulgar.

It was their down-to-earth natures that had bound them together over the years. They saw eye to eye on most things, and whenever Diedre had a problem, or a decision to make, it was to Lady Gwendolyn that she went.

At this moment, Diedre wished she could talk to her great-aunt, but that was not possible. She could hardly interrupt afternoon tea and lead her away to a quiet corner.

Perhaps later she could walk back with her to Little Skell Manor, and talk to her then. Earlier today a great difficulty had arisen unexpectedly. Their aunt, Anne Sedgewick, was dying; Diedre needed someone to confide in, and to ask for advice. Intelligent, and blessed with common sense, she was, nonetheless, only twenty, and sometimes wisdom from the older woman helped her to see things more clearly.

Suddenly, Diedre sat up straighter in the chair, and paid attention. Her father was speaking about something important, from the sound of his voice; she pulled herself out of her reverie to listen to him.

"And so, Felicity, my dear, I can't tell you how surprised I was to receive this letter from Hugo, after his silence all these years. The crux of it is this. He will be visiting London shortly, and he asked if he could come to Cavendon to see us."

Diedre, observing her mother, saw how her face instantly brightened, and there was a sudden flash of pleasure in her eyes. "How wonderful that you've heard from him at last, Charles," Felicity said, her voice warm. "I've spent quite a few years worrying about little Hugo, on and off, and wondering how he had fared, hoping he was all right. Such a tragedy ... being sent away."

"Wasn't it in disgrace?" Diedre ventured, looking at her father.

Before he could answer, Lady Gwendolyn said in a stern voice, "He was not at fault in any way, and my sister was wrong in her ridiculous att.i.tude. And I told her so, and in no uncertain terms. It made no difference, but I've always regretted not being more forceful with her, or more persuasive."

"It wouldn't have made any difference," Felicity remarked. "Aunt Evelyne had made up her mind that he had not helped his brother, and there was no changing her opinion. She was an extraordinarily stubborn woman, and needed a scapegoat, by the way."