He was on his way back to Penshurst a few minutes later, not sure if anything had been accomplished. Of one thing he felt sure, though- perhaps foolishly. It was not Verney who had caused Emmy's fear.

Someone else had done that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

"Henry?" Barbara Verney stepped out onto the terrace as Ashley rode away from the stables. She looked at her brother with some concern.

"I walked into a tree," he said ruefully, touching his jaw.

"I suppose his fist met the same fate," she said. "What happened? He was so very pleasant with Mama and me, but I could not fail to notice the way the two of you glowered at each other."

"I could cheerfully run him through with my sword," Sir Henry said, "and yet I cannot help feeling pity for him, Barbara. He has come here a year after Alice's death to try to fit the pieces together, to make sense out of them. It was, perhaps, a difficult marriage. One does not know exactly what she told him-what truths she withheld, what lies she might have told. He asked me if I had killed Greg."

"Ah," she said, grimacing.

"I had to choose my words with great care," he said. "I am not at all certain that he understands the central truth."

"Ah," she said again. "Perhaps he merely suspects, Henry. Perhaps he finds it difficult, if not impossible, to ask the question outright.

Perhaps that is why there is a look of tension about him. He must need to know. Perhaps you should have told him."

"How?" he said, blowing out his breath from puffed cheeks. "We cannot even be quite certain ourselves. And 'tis not something you should even know is possible, Barbara. You are a lady."

"And should delicately swoon at far less," she said. "Nonsense. But there is an unaskable question..." She took his arm and walked away from the house with him. "I have never been able to ask you. But I have always wondered. And now the question has been raised in a different form by Lord Ashley. Do you believe shekilled him?" She bit her lip now that the question was asked.

"Egad!" he said. "I have no proof. I am not sure I would want proof.

'Tis unthinkable-though I did accuse her of it in the first flush of shock."

"Or suicide," she said. "Murder was spoken of, though never with Alice as a possible suspect. Suicide was whispered of at first as a possibility, but no one could think of a motive. There was a powerful one, of course."

" 'Tis best not spoken of, Barbara," he said. " 'Tis best forgotten about. They are both dead."

"But poor Lord Ashley is alive and troubled," she said. "Perhaps you should not have chosen your words with such care, Henry. Which ones did you choose more rashly? The ones you spoke just before colliding with a tree?"

Her brother thought for a moment. "I believe I said something about her having felt guilty," he said. "I said that if she was unhappy in India, perhaps 'twas guilt that made her so."

"Ah," his sister said sadly, "then he does suspect, Henry. Poor man."

"We must keep out of it," he advised. " 'Twere well to keep quiet, Barbara. 'Tis none of our concern after all. It never was."

"Except that Gregory was your friend," she said, "and you loved Katherine."

" 'Twere best to leave the past in the past," he said.

She examined his jaw closely. "I wonder if Mama will believe the story about the tree," she said.

"She will when I tell her I was chasing the dogs." he told her.

She laughed.

Emily was relieved to find when she left her room that Anna had not gone riding with Luke and the children. It was unusual for her not to do so. But her reason for staying at home was soon obvious, though she did not state it. She merely said that she wished to walk to the village and wanted Emily to accompany her.

Of course. Ashley had gone out alone, probably on some estate business, and the children had been eager for their usual morning outing with their parents. But Anna had decided-or had been appointed-to stay to watch over Emily. They all knew that something had frightened her yesterday.

Emily was relieved, even though she had never before feared solitude.

And a walk, she thought, would be just the thing. She was tired, and part of her would have liked nothing better than to stay in her room or to find a secluded corner somewhere so that she could relive the events of the night-the repeated and glorious lovemakings interspersed with periods of relaxation and even sleep. Part of her wanted to consider the meaning of what had happened and its implications for the future. She was not sure if last night had changed everything or nothing. But part of her did not want to have to confront the issues-or to be afraid of what, or who. might be lurking behind her. The exercise and air and the company of her sister would help to clear out her head.

But it was not to be as pleasant a morning as she had hoped for. As she and Anna were preparing to leave the house, Major Cunningham came upon them, discovered their purpose and destination, and offered his escort. Anna smiled warmly and agreed. And so when they set out on their walk, the major stepped between them and offered an arm to each.

In addition to everything else, Emily thought, taking his arm though she inwardly cringed, he had seen her and Ashley this morning, and it would have been evident even to an imbecile that they had been returning from a night spent together. Ashley had still been wearing his rather crumpled evening clothes. And his arm had been about her waist. She could feel power in the major's arm and sense it in his military bearing. He frightened her even as he smiled and conversed pleasantly with Anna, even as he turned to her occasionally with some polished gallantry that needed no verbal reply.

Eric Smith was swinging on the gate outside the cottage, apparently a favorite activity with him. He waved and started prattling as soon as they came within earshot. He wanted to know where James and George were. Emily did not see Anna's reply.

"I am going to have a dog," he announced. "Uncle Henry and Aunt Barbara said I might have one of the puppies if Mama and Grandfer would say yes. Uncle Henry took Mama into the garden last night when he brought me home, and when she came back, she said yes."

Uncle Henry and Aunt Barbara must be Sir Henry Verney and his sister, Emily thought, taking the opportunity to disengage her arm from the major's in order to step forward to ruffle Eric's hair and to bend and kiss him on the cheek. They must have come home from London, then. Her stomach fluttered when she remembered what Ashley had said about Sir Henry at Lady Bryant's ball. She hoped the two men would not come face-to-face any time soon.

Katherine Smith had come outside. She smiled fleetingly at Emily, but she was looking very pale and tense. Anna presented Major Cunningham. Mrs. Smith curtsied slightly, but she barely looked at him. She did, however, invite them inside for a cup of tea. Mr.

Binchley met them at the door and ushered them into the sitting room.

The visit was rather longer than it might have been. Soon after Mrs.

Smith had returned from the kitchen with the tea tray, Major Cunningham remarked on the beauty of the garden behind the house, visible through the window, and asked her if she would be so good as to show it to him. She rose silently and led the way without inviting either Anna or Emily to join them.

Anna was telling Mr. Binchley about Bowden Abbey. Emily watched their conversation, though she used Anna's presence as an excuse to allow her attention to wander. She also watched the two in the garden. She hoped Major Cunningham had not taken a fancy to Katherine Smith, that he did not imagine that because she lived here with her father in genteel poverty she was therefore fair game for seduction. The man made her flesh crawl.

"-did not dream you would come here," Katherine Smith was saying. "And to Penshurst instead of here." The sun was on her face, making it very easy, despite the distance, to read her lips.

The major had his back to Emily.

"How can you be his friend?" Mrs. Smith asked. Her face was still pale. Her eyes watched him intently. "Does he know?"

Major Cunningham made a gesture about the garden with one arm.

"They cannot hear," she said. "The window is closed." But she turned her head away and they strolled together about the carefully plotted flower beds.

Emily watched, the sitting room and its occupants forgotten.

Katherine Smith and Major Cunningham knew each other. How peculiar that they had allowed Anna to present them to each other as strangers. And then the major was facing toward the window.

" 'Twere better that you asked no questions," he said. " 'Twere better that you know nothing. They died ace-" He turned his head away.

Accidentally? Who had died accidentally? They moved out of sight and at the same moment Anna got to her feet and was taking her leave of Mr. Binchley. Emily did likewise, and within a very few minutes they were continuing on their way toward the village. Anna had promised Eric, after asking Mrs. Smith's permission, that on their return journey they would call for him and he might come to Penshurst to play with the children.

Emily watched Major Cunningham comment to Anna on the charm of the cottage and the hospitality of its occupants, but she did not try to follow the conversation.

Mrs. Smith had asked him why he had come to Penshurst instead of to the cottage. How can you be his friend? His? Ashley's? Does he know? Know what? And who had died accidentally? Why was it better for Mrs. Smith to know nothing? Major Cunningham had been in India and had become Ashley's friend there. He had been there presumably when Ashley's wife and son died. They had died accidentally. What was it that Ashley might or might not know? That his friend also knew Katherine Smith?

But if they knew each other, why had they been careful not to acknowledge the acquaintance to her and Anna?

Emily's mind puzzled over the questions for the next hour, while they looked around the church and the churchyard, talked with the rector and his wife, who came out to the gate of the rectory to bid them a good morning, and purchased a few items from the village shop.

It was a relief to Emily finally to be on their way back home. When they reached the cottage and Eric came tripping out to meet them, Emily walked with him, holding his hand while he talked without pause, and allowed Major Cunningham to walk on ahead with Anna.

"Thank you." Ashley held out his right hand to Major Cunningham.

"You are a true friend, Rod. I know that a stroll to the village and a call at a neighbor's cottage is not the way you might have expected to spend your first full morning here. But 'tis a relief to me to know that she had the company this morning not only of my sister-in-law, but also of a man well able to defend them both from any danger that might have presented itself."

The major shook his hand, and they both stood looking out of the library window at Emily, who was patiently throwing a ball alternately to George and Eric and watching them catch it perhaps twice out of every ten attempts.

" 'Twas my pleasure," the major said. "I had a lovely lady on each arm. What more could any man ask of life?"

Ashley laughed.

"She means a great deal to you," his friend said quietly.

"Yes." Ashley was picturing her playing thus with her own children.

His. Theirs. It was a thought that warmed him and troubled him.

"You are ready to live again, Ash. I can see it," the major said. "Did you learn any answers from your morning visits? Did you discover what happened yesterday?"

"No," Ashley said. "No to your second question. Yes to the first.

There were some facts I needed to know. Some things from the past.

Some things I needed to know if I am ever to let go of the past and move on into the future. Now I know. But the fact remains, of course, that somehow they were at home when they were not supposed to be there and that I was not there when I should have been. I might have saved them. That poor innocent baby! But I was busy satisfying my lust in the bed of a married woman." He laughed harshly.

"There is always forgiveness," the major said. "Even for the worst offenses, Ash. And there is always redemption. Yours is playing on the grass out there with those two little boys."

Yes, he had come home looking for redemption, Ashley thought.

From Emmy, though he had not known it at the time. But it was too simple an answer. And if he drew redemption from her, what would she gain in return? He had so little to offer beyond material things.

He had nothing else to offer except a wounded soul.

"You need to marry her," his friend said, "and have babies with her.

But not here, Ash. You need to leave here, put behind you everything that would remind you of the late Lady Ashley. It would not be fair to the new Lady Ashley to keep her here."

Ashley drew a deep breath. Perhaps that was part of the problem, he thought. Perhaps he should go. Perhaps there could be happiness for both Emmy and himself if he left here, started somewhere else. And yet... And yet he had the deep inner conviction that this thing could not be run from. And that it should not be run from. What he would be running from was deep inside himself. He must confront it if there was to be a future. If there was to be Emmy.

'"Sell Penshurst to me," Major Cunningham said. "Sell it and go elsewhere and forget it."

Ashley was so deeply immersed in his thoughts that it took a moment for his friend's words to register on his consciousness. He turned his head and looked at him rather blankly.

"What?" he said. "You would buy Penshurst, Rod?"

The major looked rather embarrassed. "I like it," he said. "And I have been giving serious thought to selling out of the army and settling at home. You know I am a gainer. I have amassed a tidy fortune and would as soon buy land with it as lose it all again at the tables. I like Penshurst. And it has occurred to me that I could do myself a favor and do my closest friend a favor at the same time by purchasing it."

Ashley's look was still rather blank. Roderick had come to Penshurst as his guest, and after a day he was offering to buythe place? "But it is not for sale," he said.

The major shrugged. "I am rather impulsive," he admitted. "I ought not to have said anything, Ash. Certainly not yet. But I will not change my mind. I am convinced of that. Think about it. And think about her." He nodded in the direction of the window. "If you change your mind, we will talk business. I will make you a definite offer."

Ashley laughed. "You are doing this purely out of friendship," he said. "How extraordinary you are. Rod. You would regret it within a month-selling your commission, settling on an estate you do not know in a part of the country with which you are unfamiliar. And yet I know you would do it in a moment if I said yes. I value your friendship more highly than to say the word. Penshurst is not for sale."

The major shrugged again. "I am going out riding," he said. "I want to explore this countryside, which is, as you have said, unfamiliar to me. Would you care to join me?"

"If you will forgive me, no," Ashley said. "Luke and Anna have taken the other children out."

"And you would not leave the Lady Emily unguarded." his friend said. He chuckled. " 'Tis commendable in you." He slapped a friendly hand on Ashley's shoulder and made for the door.

"Rod," Ashley said before he reached it. "Thank you."

He wondered how he would have coped with the tragedy and the guilt if Rod had not been there for him in India. He had always been the best of friends. He had seemed to value Ashley's friendship, had sought after it and cultivated it. And it seemed to Ashley now that his friend had always given more than he had received, and that he was continuing to do so. There could be no other explanation than friendship for his extraordinary offer to buy Penshurst.

It was a tempting offer.

He could not accept it, though. Not ever. Somehow, he felt, if salvation was to be had, it was to be had here. He could not explain the feeling to himself. He had not even fully realized he felt this way until Roderick had offered him a way out. But it was so, he was sure.

And so he was even less sure about Emily.

He turned to the window to watch her with the children. But they were coming toward the house, the boys running on ahead, looking flushed and excited. She was smiling. Ah, Emmy, always sweetly serene. Or almost always. What had happened yesterday to take away the serenity? Was it something that might recur? He would have to be very careful to see that she was properly protected for the remainder of her stay at Penshurst-perhaps forever, if she would listen to what he knew he must again say to her.

She was painting. It was not coming easily, but she persevered. It was a different scene from any she had ever tried before. Although she was on the hill and there were numerous trees to paint, she knew she could not paint any of them. Her spirit had always been uplifted by trees, but today the trees were strangely silent. It was the flat farmland below that called to her. But she did not know the message and for a long time her brush did not know how to express it.

But finally she was absorbed. So absorbed that she knew when she finally felt his presence that he had been there for some time. Leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. Far enough away not to intrude upon her privacy or her creative need to keep her work unobserved. He smiled at her when she turned her head to look at him.

She felt desire deep in her womb, though she knew it was not entirely a physical thing. It was love that put the slight unsteadiness in her legs. A love that had now manifested itself in every way. She had decided after leaving the boys in the nursery to play at highwaymen and heroes that she would no longer fight to keep her love suppressed. Not for what remained of her two weeks at least. She would accept this time as a gift. It had been a freeing decision.

"Hello, Emmy," he said. He strolled a little closer. "May I see?" He was signing as well as speaking the words.

"No," she told him aloud, looking briefly at her painting. And then very daringly. "Naht yet."

He grinned at her. "You have been learning words in my absence,"

he said. "And learning them wrongly. O-o-o, not ah. Not."