They were laughing together when they entered Longfield's Great Hall. As Sara ran up the stairs with a spring in her step, Max turned away and made for the small anteroom that he had arranged to be turned over to Peter Fallon for his own personal use.

Peter looked up at his entrance. "Well," he said, "you're looking relaxed and well."

With arms above his head, Max stretched his cramped muscles and grinned up at the ceiling. "Never felt better, Peter. I think marriage must agree with me. So, has anything interesting happened while we were away?"

"That's it?" Peter sat back in his chair. "That's all you're going to tell me, and now it's back to business?"

Max grinned. "As you said, I'm looking relaxed and well. That ought to tell you everything you're too shy to ask and I'm too chivalrous to tell."

Peter stared, blushed, and after a moment grinned hugely. "I was talking about ... I was thinking of the sights, you know, places of interest. Oh, never mind. The most interesting thing that's happened is that Sir Ivor was here earlier this morning, and he was fit to be tied."

"Ah. He heard about my marriage. I thought I would go over later and break the news to him. Maybe I'll go anyway."

"You won't find him at home. He's under the impression that you've taken your bride to Castle Lyndhurst and he said he would go there and confront you in person. You should have heard his language. You were a disgrace to your name and cla.s.s. You were a viper. You were a liar and a cheat. He would ruin you. He went on and on. I had no idea he had such a temper."

Max let out a sigh. "I suppose I should pity him. William was his only son. And he truly believes that Sara is guilty. At any rate, he won't find anyone at Lyndhurst. My parents are visiting my uncle's family in Derbyshire."

He edged one hip onto the desk and helped himself to the last scone on a blue-edged plate. "What did the others say when Sir Ivor was here?"

"Nothing. No one was here but the servants and myself. The whole family is involved in preparations for tomorrow's fair. And Sir Ivor refused to come into the house. He did all his ranting and raving in the courtyard."

"He recognized you?"

Peter made a small sound of derision. "Hardly. I'm only the hired help, a servant. To people like Sir Ivor, I might as well be invisible. I told him I was your private secretary."

Max bit into the scone and stared into s.p.a.ce.

Peter watched him for a moment, then said, "Your true ident.i.ty is bound to come out sooner or later, and when it does, no one is going to tell us anything. Your wife's family, the servants, the locals-they'll all be mad as fire when they find out you publish the Courier!"

Max wasn't thinking about the Courier, but about Sara. She hadn't wanted a real marriage because of the stigma attached to her name. The thought of meeting his parents had really shaken her. Until the whole business of William Neville was cleared up, she would always be afraid that people would reject her.

He looked at Peter. "All the more reason for us to redouble our efforts and find out what happened to William Neville. Are you any nearer to knowing who left the note on Sara's dressing table?"

"Oh yes, and several interesting things besides."

Max listened intently as Peter went through a complex account of where all the servants were at the critical time. It had something to do with the fires not being lit that night, but what it came down to was that only three people had been in the bedroom wing between the time Sara left her room to go to dinner and when she returned to go to bed. They were the maid, Constance, and Anne.

"Can't you narrow it down?" asked Max.

"I don't think it's the maid. Martha is a little chatterbox. She can't keep secrets. And besides, she has no motive, or none that I've discovered. But Constance ... " Peter smiled complacently, "well, Constance is proving to be quite a surprise."

Max frowned. "In what way?"

"She's having an affair with Drew Primrose, and if what I've learned from backstairs gossip is true, she's had many lovers since her husband died. That's why she's not invited anywhere, not because of your wife, but because the good ladies of Stoneleigh are afraid Constance will try and seduce their husbands."

"Oh, G.o.d!" Max glowered down at Peter's smiling face. "What you don't seem to understand," he said, "is that Constance is now a member of my family and I'm responsible for her."

Peter's smile turned into a huge grin. "And I'm sure it couldn't happen to a nicer fellow, but before you go calling anyone out, just remember, she's the predator. Poor Drew Primrose didn't stand a chance. Everyone knows he's eating out his heart for your Sara. He's human, that's all."

Max's mouth tightened. "Maybe he's sending those notes. Maybe he sent them to bring Sara back into his...o...b..t."

"I don't think-"

"It makes perfect sense to me. Maybe he got Constance to put the note there for him. And that's another thing. Drew Primrose was supposed to be in Bristol on business when William disappeared. I doubt if anyone checked on his alibi. From the very beginning, the magistrates and constables decided that Sara was guilty and they looked no farther. I want you to check out Primrose's alibi."

"Fine," said Peter, sighing.

"What about those notes?" Max asked. "Who was in a position to copy William's handwriting?"

"Just about everybody and his dog. I've narrowed it down to about twenty people. We're not going to get anywhere with that line of questioning."

"It was worth a try. Anything else?"

Peter grinned. "For what it's worth, I'm becoming quite an expert on architecture in West Hampshire."

Max frowned. "Architecture?"

"Isn't that the cover you invented for me? And I tell you, Max, it's fascinating. There was this builder, Congreve, who went around West Hampshire during the Civil War making secret rooms for cavaliers who were on the run from Cromwell's men."

"What has this to do-? Oh, I see. You mean William's body could be hidden anywhere."

"Afraid so."

Max swallowed the last bite of scone. "What," he said carefully, "are the servants saying about Sara?"

"Now, this is surprising." Peter leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. "They don't care whether she's innocent or guilty. They think that sooner or later someone would have done away with William. They despised him. I think they would lie in their teeth to protect Sara. They wouldn't make good witnesses for the prosecution or the defense. They're not impartial and it's obvious."

Max walked to the door. "Remind me," he said, "to increase the servants' wages after this is all over." He turned to look at Peter. "And remind me to give you a substantial bonus. You've done well, Peter."

"A substantial bonus? How much are we talking about?"

"A thousand pounds."

Peter got up. "I'll leave for Bristol first thing tomorrow."

"It's not that urgent. Stay for the fair. I'm entered for the boxing match. That's when I aim to teach Sara's brother his manners."

On thinking it over, Max decided to ride over to Sir Ivor's place just in case the old boy had changed his mind about haring off to Castle Lyndhurst. It was a wasted journey. Sir Ivor, the butler said, was away from home and was not expected back for a few days. Lady Neville was resting and not receiving visitors.

When he got home, he was crossing the hall when he heard voices, raised in anger, coming from the library. One of those voices belonged to Drew Primrose. The other was Sara's, but her voice was less angry, more placating.

He crossed to the library, knocked once on the door and entered. Sara whirled to face him.

"Oh, Max," she said running to meet him, relief making her voice crack, "I wish you would talk some sense into Drew." She linked her arm through Max's and led him into the room. "I suppose I was very bad not consulting him about our marriage contract. But I was living in London at the time, and it seemed so much easier to go to a firm of London attorneys."

Drew Primrose was bristling like a dog about to go on the attack. His eyes were fixed on Max. He spoke through his teeth. "You waited until I was out of the way before you rushed Sara into marriage."

"Why," said Max pleasantly, "should I do that?"

"So that there would be no time to draw up a marriage settlement. So that you could have everything your own way! Isn't that how fortune hunters work?"

Sara gasped. "Drew, you have no right to say that."

Max's first impulse was to plant his fist in the attorney's face. It was his sense of fair play that stopped him. Any attorney worth his salt would have been angry. Sara was a substantial heiress. He, Max Worthe, was unknown. And now, with no contracts signed, he could do whatever he liked with his wife's money. He could even leave her dest.i.tute.

He patted Sara's hand and said mildly, "My attorneys would be very angry with me, too, Sara. If anything happens to me, most of what I own will pa.s.s to you."

No one took him seriously. Drew's lip curled and Sara clicked her tongue. "Will you be serious, Max? We have a marriage contract. I showed it to you. You read it. That it's not signed is only an oversight that we can correct right this minute."

She gestured with one hand, and Max saw that the doc.u.ment that was so important to his wife was lying on a long library table.

Drew Primrose was not placated. "Are you mad, Sara? You can't break up the estate like that. Anne should be provided for, yes, but your father already made provisions for your stepbrothers and stepsister. They are not your blood. They have no claim on the estate."

"Ah, so you've read Sara's marriage contract, have you?" said Max. "Well, at least we agree on something." He looked at Sara. "I don't think settling all that money on your younger siblings is good for them. Let them wait. If we think they deserve it, we'll give it to them, but not until they're older and wiser."

Drew said coldly, "Do you expect me to believe that you'll provide for Sara's family?"

"I don't care what you believe. But you're right about marriage settlements. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll write to my attorneys in London and ask them to come here to discuss terms with you. How does that sound?"

"No," said Sara. "No."

Neither man looked at Sara.

"Why should I believe you?" demanded Drew hotly.

Eyes clashed and held. "Because I'm not giving you a choice."

For a moment or two, there was a silence, broken only by the sound of a dog barking somewhere in the distance. It looked as though Drew Primrose would say more, but his face suddenly flushed, and s.n.a.t.c.hing up his hat, he strode from the room.

"I cannot like that man," said Max, staring at the open door, "not even when he has your best interests at heart."

"Max."

He looked at Sara.

"Are you going to sign the marriage contract or aren't you?"

"We don't have to go into that right now," he said. "Sara, there's no need to look at me like that. Your own attorney doesn't want me to sign. It's not well thought out. Let's leave it for a little while, until my attorneys get here. Let them agree on settlements, then we'll both sign."

Her face was parchment white and her voice trembled. "You knew, you knew why I had to marry. I never made any secret of it. I don't want the kind of marriage settlement lawyers draw up. I want to protect my family. That's all that ever mattered to me. I would never have married you, never, if I thought you wouldn't sign that contract."

A muscle tensed in his cheek. "You're angry and don't know what you're saying."

"Oh, don't I!" she cried pa.s.sionately. "Townsend isn't in your cla.s.s. No wonder you got rid of him." She was trembling with fury and hurt pride. "So what's your price, Max? Just tell me your price and I promise I'll meet it."

His eyes narrowed, their expression so threatening that she flinched when he stepped toward her. But he went by her and went out the open door. She heard him calling for one of the servants and moments later, Max came back into the room accompanied by Peter Fallon and a footman.

"We'll need witnesses," he said without looking at her.

He made her sign first, then he signed and finally the two witnesses. It was over in seconds. No one spoke. Everyone could tell that Max was in the grip of some violent emotion. He left with Peter Fallon, without looking at her or saying another word.

"You can go, Arthur," she told the footman.

Her marriage contract was still on the table, the ink still wet. She sat down and stared at it. She'd got what she wanted, but she was just beginning to realize that the price was far more than she wanted to pay.

*Chapter Twenty-one*

Sat.u.r.day morning dawned with spotty showers, but by the time the advance party arrived on Stoneleigh's common to set up the marquee and booths for the fair, the wind had chased the offending rain clouds away, and everyone agreed it was an ideal day to hold the fair.

This was to be Sara's first public appearance since returning home, and she was torn between a desire to show the world how little she cared for its good opinion and an equally strong desire to lock herself in a cupboard until the fair was over. She got little sympathy from Max. Whatever she wanted to do, he said, was fine by him. Peter Fallon would stay with her if she wanted to remain at Longfield. But he had been roped in to selling tickets at the fortuneteller's tent and he wasn't going to back out now.

He had come to her bed last night and made love to her. Though the rapture was still there, there was something missing. They weren't together. After they'd made love, she'd tried to explain why the marriage contract was so important to her. Max had heard her out in silence, sighed, then turned on his side and gone to sleep. She had fretted half the night away.

If it hadn't been for Anne, she didn't know how she would have got through the last few hours. Anne understood her terrors only too well. She'd found Sara a job that would, for the most part, keep her out of the public eye. They were behind a canvas part.i.tion in the marquee where the ladies of the church were serving teas to a never-ending stream of customers. Their job was to fill the empty plates that came back and send them out again with fresh sandwiches and sliced cake. The only people Sara had to talk to were the ladies who were working with her and those who brought back their plates to be refilled.

At first, they'd worked in silence, but it wasn't a hostile silence. It seemed to Sara as if everyone was afraid they would say the wrong thing. She'd known these ladies before her trial and had liked and respected them. They were the wives of local farmers and business or professional men. She'd visited them in their homes and entertained them at Longfield. But now her tongue seemed to be tied in knots and she couldn't find a thing to say.

It was Anne, painfully shy Anne, who heroically broke the silence time after time, referring to husbands and children and drawing Sara into the conversation, until they were all chattering away as though Sara had never been tried for murder.

She wasn't exactly enjoying herself, but it wasn't as bad as she'd thought it would be, not nearly as bad.

Anne wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. "It must be time for us to have our break," she said.

"Break?" Sara didn't want a break. She wanted to stay right where she was.

She wasn't given a choice. Two other ladies came to relieve them, and Anne was helping her out of her ap.r.o.n before she could think of an excuse to stay behind.

"You can't hide in here for the duration of the fair," Anne said in an undertone. "Constance and Lucy will be out there keeping places for us at their table. It will be all right, you'll see."

It couldn't be worse, Sara told herself, than facing all the curious spectators at her trial. She took a moment to compose herself, then, with a nod to Anne, and lifting her chin, she entered the main marquee.

The noise was deafening. Ladies were scurrying from table to table, whisking away dirty dishes and setting our fresh crockery and cutlery. There was no standing on ceremony here. The only object was to raise money, and mistresses in ap.r.o.ns thought nothing of waiting on their own servants. No one noticed Sara.

They saw Constance and Lucy. Sara would have gone to join them, but Anne put a restraining hand on her arm. "William's mother is with them," she said.

Sara's eyes flew to Constance's table and she saw what she hadn't noticed before. Lady Neville was in an invalid chair and she was gesturing with her hands, smiling first at Constance, then at Lucy.

Anne said, "William's mother has joined the ladies' guild at the church, and though I wouldn't say we are friends, we are on speaking terms. Now that William is gone, I think she regrets having disowned us both."

Sara said nothing, but she hadn't forgotten or forgiven the cruel way the Nevilles had treated her whole family. They were neighbors, but they might as well have lived at opposite ends of England.

Anne flashed Sara a quick look. "Shall we go over? Are you up to meeting her? "