Hope followed the sombre party in despair. It was because of her George hadn't been with his mother when she collapsed. Sadness touched Hope's heart. From the beginning, she had brought nothing but trouble on the Huntley's.

Doctor Joseph arrived, with the wide-eyed look of a man unexpectedly roused from sleep. He was shown straight up to Her Ladyship's chamber. Hope sat outside in the dressing room with Captain Huntley, waiting. Both too shocked to speak, all they could do was stare at the bedchamber door and pray.

Twenty minutes later Doctor Joseph emerged, rubbing his head.

"The swiftness of her illness...and the severity." He looked troubled. "Most unusual."

Captain Huntley stood. "Do you know what's wrong with her, doctor?"

Joseph pulled a face, and Hope noticed how he avoided Huntley's eye. "Hard to say."

"But you have your suspicions?"

Joseph fidgeted, pursing his lips and looking increasingly ill at ease. "Captain Huntley...George...are you aware of anyone who would wish your mother harm?"

Huntley stared. "No, of course not. What a strange thing to say." He turned to Hope, as if seeking confirmation.

A cold trickle of fear ran down her spine. Hope went to Huntley and squeezed his arm.

"Doctor, why do you ask that?"

"Because," he looked greatly troubled. "Because her symptoms could...and I only say could...be consistent with poisoning."

"Nonsense. Don't be ridiculous." Huntley guffawed.

"That's why I'm hesitant." Joseph straightened. "I suppose from the acuteness of the onset is not incompatible with food poisoning." His face grew a little brighter. "Perhaps that's it, food poisoning."

Hope watched the doctor closely, and wondered if only she saw the doubt in his eye.

"Will she recover?" Huntley asked.

"That, I'm afraid, is in G.o.d's hands. But with time, and a good nurse...we can but pray so."

Hope took it upon herself to nurse Lady Ryevale. That night she sat in vigil by Her Ladyship's side, sponging her brow and touching a damp flannel to her parched lips. When Lady Ryevale was racked by tremors, Hope was there to comfort her; as she moaned and writhed with stomach cramps, Hope held her hand and prayed. The hours ticked by, marked by Her Ladyship's labored breathing and the chimes of the hall clock. That night seemed the longest of Hope's life and to her immense relief, as shards of dawn broke across the darkness, Her Ladyship still clung to life.

Morning came and Lady Ryevale opened her eyes, and as weak as a kitten, her hand squeezed Hope's. She awoke with a powerful thirst, a thirst with Doctor Joseph insisted was not a.s.suaged, for fear of vomiting, and so with dutiful patience, Hope sponged Her Ladyship's lips. But her patient grew neither better nor worse, shivering and weak.

That day, the following night, and the next day, Hope refused to leave her charge's side. Shadowy figures came and went. Captain Huntley came often to sit by the bedside and urged Hope to rest, but each time she refused.

On the third night, weary to her very bones, she had a cot put at the end of the bed. But sleep evaded Hope. She lay awake, alert to Her Ladyship's slightest movement, in case she needed attention.

As Her Ladyship's illness entered its third day, Hope was so tired, when she blinked, her eyelids scratched across her corneas like sandpaper. Bleary-eyed, Hope looked up as a figure entered the room.

"Hallo."

Her vision swam as she made out George Huntley-despite her fatigue his presence still made her heart leap. His expression sombre, he leant heavily on a walking cane and made his way to the bedside.

"How is she?"

"The same."

"You should rest."

Hope shook her head. "I can't, not until I know she's alright."

"This isn't your fault." He said softly.

"If I hadn't danced with Oswald then I might have been there when she first felt ill." If anyone understood, Huntley would.

"You don't know that-and besides, it was me who took you away, it's just as much my fault as yours."

They stared at each other, comforted by the companionship of guilt.

"Dare we hope the worst is past?"

"Let us hope so."

Huntley moved to his mother's side and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Lady Ryevale smiled softly in her sleep.

It was such a small sign, but after all the days of worry, tears welled in Hope's eyes.

"Here." George pushed a handkerchief into her hand. Hope blew her nose, hiding in the voluminous folds, for she no longer had the strength to deny her feelings for Captain Huntley.

"You look exhausted."

"Thank you, that makes me feel so much better."

"I meant no insult-you always look beautiful." He bit his lip. "But you are tired, take a break, I shall sit with Mother."

"No, if it's all the same to you I'd rather stay."

Huntley regarded her archly. "Mother will be fine. Go, get some rest."

"I promised to stay, even while she slept."

"I can do that just as well."

"But..."

"Unless I am so irresistible you are cannot tear yourself away."

Hope stared at him in horror. Were her feelings for him so obvious?

"Your face is a picture." He joked. "I was teasing. Go. Thanks to you, she's going to be alright."

That morning was a turning point, and over the following days Lady Ryevale's health started to improve. The wracking pain ceased and although weak, she could sit up and asked for broth. It was only then Hope allowed herself to give way to exhaustion and slept for a whole day. Even so, she insisted on staying within earshot in case Her Ladyship called out and rarely went further than the next room. And so it was, that one afternoon Hope sat in the adjoining dressing room, staring out at the dismal weather. She sank into a welcoming armchair, and through the blur of fatigue, could think no further than a nice cup of tea.

Hope fingered the bone china cup as it burnt her fingers. The tea too hot to drink, she replaced the cup in the saucer and rested her head back against the wing-back chair. With her eyelids so heavy and limbs like lead, there seemed no harm in resting her eyes while the tea cooled.

She had no idea how long she had been asleep. She woke with a start, disorientated by the long shadows. She reached for her tea, to find it disappointingly cold. Something had woken her, some sound. Hope listened. Lady Ryevale still slept, her soft snores drifting from the adjoining room. Then she heard voices in the corridor, growing more distinct as they drew closer. Male voices. In an instant she recognised George, his deep tone struck a chord in her belly-and the other; a melodius baritone she recognised as Mr. Oswald.

As the footsteps paused outside the dressing room, Hope barely had time to straighten her hair as the door opened. Two men entered but all she saw was George's piercing blue eyes focused on her. She ignored the fluttering in her chest and made to stand. George smiled softly, an intimate smile which made her light-headed.

"Miss Tyler, pray do not rise. We have no wish to disturb you."

"Please, come in." Hope squeaked, for George had that effect on her.

"Mr. Oswald came to inquire after Mother." George turned to Oswald. "Miss Tyler has been devoted to Her Ladyship, and quite possibly saved her life."

Hope stared at the floor.

"In fact, the happy outcome would have been very different without her dedicated nursing."

Hope fingered the teacup, unsettled by Oswald's intense way of staring.

"Miss Tyler, a pleasure to meet again." Oswald held out his hand. "How is Lady Ryevale today?"

Self-consciously, Hope shook hands.

"It is kind of you to call. Lady Ryevale is much improved, although fearsomely bored, being confined to bed."

"Mother would far rather be doing the tending than be ministered to and so makes a restless patient."

Hope glanced up in surprise at George's insightfulness, not at all the gruff military man he pretended to be.

"That is most heartening news." Oswald smiled, but there it was again, that glint of coldness in his eyes. It reminded Hope of someone, and she couldn't escape the notion she knew him of old.

"Have we met before?" She blurted out.

"Before the Wainwright's? I doubt it."

"Yes." Like a dog defending territory, Hope stood her ground.

Oswald looked perplexed and a little annoyed. "From time to time, business took me to the Isle of Wight. Perchance it was there?"

"Perhaps." She stared harder, becoming more convinced by the minute.

"You'll stay for tea?" Huntley interjected.

"Thank you, but no time I'm afraid. I must be on my way. Brought this small gift for Her Ladyship. Peppermint creams. Good for settling the digestion."

"Very thoughtful. And do call again. You are most welcome, any time." Huntley beamed and patted Oswald's shoulder in companionable fashion. "Let me escort you downstairs."

After their departure, Hope stood without moving, unable to escape the conviction that somehow, somewhere she had met Oswald before- but how and where? Like soap in the bath, the harder she tried to grasp the idea, the more the memory slipped out of reach-and it troubled her. A great irritation rose within her; on one hand Oswald had been a discrete gentleman, on the other....was it a cooincidence he alone had been with Her Ladyship when she collapsed? Shaking her head on a ludicrous idea, Hope chastised her imagination...even so, when her eye fell on the box of peppermint creams, without a second thought she scooped up the box and tossed it into the fire.

Chapter Fourteen.

George caught himself visiting his mother in the expectation of meeting Hope. Her devotion to his mother was admirable, but in his more truthful moments, he missed Hope's company. In fact, with Hope spending all her time with Lady Ryevale, he felt a little neglected. He missed her conversation, her spirit and optimism. Wherever he looked, he was reminded of Hope; looking out to sea, he remembered how her green eyes changed color depending on her mood, and a dark and stormy night brought back memories of their first meeting. Somehow, she had become an addiction.

With every pa.s.sing day, Huntley looked forward to Hope being less tied to Lady Ryevale. But each new day, even with his mother out of danger, Hope refused to leave her side. Huntley began to notice signs of strain, how as Her Ladyship grew stronger, Hope declined. Her fresh, outdoors complexion grew pallid, and dark circles ringed her eyes. On impulse, he suggested Hope take the air and accompany him on a carriage ride, but she shook her head and declined to leave the house. It seemed while ever Lady Ryevale was bedbound, Hope was determined to stay by her side. Slowly it dawned on Huntley what his mother needed was a distraction, something to make her less dependent on Hope.

It was a pa.s.sing comment in one of Jack's letters, that eventually offered a solution. His brother's words set in motion an idea which culminated with George hobbling towards his mother's bedchamber with a puppy clamped under one arm. Using his cane to rap on the door, he pictured Hope on the other side, with those tilted feline eyes and high cheekbones. The puppy felt him tremble and tried to wriggle free. As the door opened, George boosted the pup higher on his hip and a.s.sumed an expression of cool indifference.

Hope's face was a picture of surprise, her pink lips parted slightly and her brow arched.

"What is that?" Hope stared at the bundle of fur now slipping backwards out of his grasp. Huntley frowned, finding it increasingly difficult to be dignified while carrying the unruly creature.

"I would have thought it was perfectly obvious. 'Tis a puppy."

"What have you there, George?" In a white linen nightgown, a lace cap on her greying hair, his mother called from the bed.

"A puppy."

The thing was, the pup had wriggled so far backward, he had the wretched thing in a headlock. The puppy squealed and both women gasped, as if they'd lost their wits. Huntley was beginning to doubt the wisdom of his plan as he limped across the room and with a twisting turn, deposited his furry burden on the bedcovers. The back of his shirt felt damp against his skin and he half-suspected the creature had urinated on him. Distracted , he rubbed his shirt and sniffed his fingers just as a chorus of excited squeals broke over his head.

The puppy, released from the headlock, shook his floppy ears and, mountaineering over the counterpane on stumpy legs, made straight for Lady Ryevale.

"How utterly adorable!" Lady Constance clapped her hands. George regarded his mother with surprise, for her countenance entirely transformed with a soft gooey expression on her features, as she waggled her fingers to beckon the puppy closer.

The puppy was white with tan patches, his fur long, his tail fringed with a silky twist, and at that moment beating a steady rhythm on the blankets.

"I'm told he is a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel."

The pup completed his sojourn across the covers and flopped beside his new mistress, staring up at her with soulful brown eyes. He squirmed his head along the blankets and rolled over to expose a rounded belly. Tentatively, Her Ladyship's fingertips brushed against the exposed pink underbelly, which served to make his tail wag harder.

The effect this small dog had on two otherwise rational women, bewildered Huntley. With a chorus of ooohs and aaaahs, their entire attention was focused on the wriggling ma.s.s of fur. All semblance of intelligent, rational people dissolved as they cooed over the pup. Huntley didn't know whether to be pleased or bemused.

Equally enraptured, the pup had snuggled against Her Ladyship, and as a pink tongue licked at her arm, she giggled.

"George, he is adorable, but I don't understand. Who does he belong to?"

"Oh, didn't I say? He's for you. A present."

The two women stared at him.

"I didn't know you had it in you George, but what a wonderful idea. I love him. Thank you.'

"I'm so glad you approve." From the corner of his eye he saw Hope staring at him with new appreciation. Huntley bristled, for it wouldn't do for them to think he was going soft. "Strictly speaking, this isn't all my idea."