With Nerissa's grey eyes regarding him with mixed command and appeal, Miles could not have objected had he wanted to. "Lord, no. Have the thatcher in as soon as possible, while this fine weather holds."

"I shall go and speak to Mr Bragg at once," said the lawyer, and trotted off.

"So you ventured to the village," Miles said. "All went well in spite of the neglected damage?"

"Yes, almost everyone seemed pleased to see me, especially those who knew Mama. And do you know, Miles, everything Cousin Raymond told me was true. He appears to be genuinely concerned for his flock. I suspected he might have misled me and I was so afraid of doing everything wrong."

"You should have asked me to go with you." Yet in fact he was pleased that she had not. The morning's expedition had done wonders for her self-confidence.

"I looked for you, but you had already gone out with Mr Bragg, to inspect your flocks. I was quite astonished. Has he taught you to tell the sheep from the cows?"

"My dear girl, I have known a sheep from a cow since I was in leading strings. I was not bred up to live by the turn of a card. I expected to inherit the family estate and I made sure I learned how to manage it."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Nerissa exclaimed, at once abashed, commiserating, and curious. "I thought you a thoroughgoing Town beau. What happened?"

"My father had not my interest in the land. He preferred the thrill of venturing all on the turn of a card. When he died, the place had to be sold to pay his debts." Miles made no attempt to hide his bitterness, though always before he had tried to conceal it, even from Gerald Thorpe. "Despite my juvenile efforts, the estate was so run down by then that it brought in very little."

"And you were left to live by your wits?"

Her evident sympathy soothed him, enough to allow him to essay an ironic grin. "Fortunately I inherited more skill and luck with the cards than my father ever had. I cannot say I don't enjoy the excitement of gambling, but I had rather by far expend my efforts on the humdrum tasks of agriculture. I must inherit Addlescombe!"

"You will want to live here? Oh dear! I supposed we should sell it at the end of six months."

"Never! Don't fret, Nerissa, we shall contrive. You shall have the money and I the land, or I shall pay you rent for your share of the estate. Harwood will work out some equitable division."

"Yes, of course."

"It's dashed lucky you don't want to live here, too. That would make matters difficult!" His words did not noticeably cheer her, so he went on, "In the meantime, enjoy Addlescombe while you can. You have a riding habit now. When shall I give you your first lesson?"

Nerissa nearly succeeded in persuading herself she didn't care a bit if Miles was glad she didn't expect to live at the manor with him. He was quite right, it was out of the question, unrelated as they were, especially since Mama and Papa showed no desire to give up acting.

It wasn't exactly that she didn't want to live at Addlescombe. As time passed she took pleasure in running the household, helping the tenants, even in planning a flower garden though she might never see it bloom.

She decided to take his advice and enjoy Addlescombe while she could.

Her first riding lesson had to be postponed, however. Miles had forgotten that she needed a side-saddle. He ordered one from the saddler in Riddlebourne, but by the time it was delivered the weather had broken. A week of wind and icy rain kept even Matilda indoors.

With everyone confined to the house, tempers frayed. To escape, Nerissa started to explore the shelves in the library. Simply handling the soft, calfskin bindings was a pleasure.

She came across a history of Britain, and was fascinated by the differences between its version and Shakespeare's of the life and death of kings. It was heavy reading, though, so she sought out lighter works when she wanted to retire early to bed with a book.

To her disappointment, if not surprise, Sir Barnabas's library was devoid of novels. She found a shelf of travellers' tales, several of which proved amusing. It was among these that she discovered a set of volumes entitled The Arabian Nights Entertainments: Excerpts Translated from the Arabic. At least, she did not so much discover it as have one of the volumes thrust into her hand.

The effort exhausted Sir Barnabas. First he had to merge with the wall behind the bookcase, which required dematerializing still further from his already tenuous state. Then he had to wait, in extreme discomfort, until Nerissa was in the right position. And then he had to give substance to one hand and provide it with sufficient energy to shove the book off the shelf.

Drained, he fell forward, passing right through his granddaughter in the most painful manner. She shuddered as if taken with a sudden ague, but she caught the book.

Pulling her shawl closer about her, she read the title as Sir Barnabas flopped flimsily to the carpet. He had just enough strength left to pull his feet out of her way; they had suffered enough without being trampled on. Aarghh, he was dying-or would have been if he were not already dead.

"Arabian Nights," Nerissa murmured to herself. "That sounds interesting." And she went off carrying it.

Sir Barnabas's eyes would have gleamed had they been visible. Those salacious stories of Oriental beauties and their lovers were bound to inflame the jade's passions, hitherto successfully held in check. His opinion of her would be proved right long before she reached the last volume.

Chapter 10.

In her new nightgown of fine lawn, trimmed with real lace, Nerissa was soon tucked up cosily in her bed, warmed for her by Maud with a long-handled warming-pan. Reaching for her book, she sniffed experimentally. No sign of the cold she thought she might be catching when that horrid chill overcame her in the library. It must have been an errant draught blowing down the chimney.

Outside the rain beat on the windowpanes; inside was an island of comfort. She opened the book and began to read.

The first part disappointed her. She skimmed over the accounts of the unfaithful queens and their dreadful ends at the hands of their husbands. Shocking, to be sure, but she had been brought up on the works of the Bard, not to mention the bawdy comedies of the Restoration and the grim vengeances of eighteenth-century tragedy. Though herself unacquainted with the sweets of illicit passion, she had long been inured to tales of lust and licentiousness and violence.

Between dire deeds were enough fascinating descriptions of palaces and treasures, of curious customs and magics, to keep her reading until the vizier's gallant daughter entered the story. Sir Barnabas would have been disappointed to know that she fell asleep more concerned over Scheherazade's loss of her head than of her maidenhead.

The following night Nerissa went to bed directly after dinner. She could not wait to find out what happened next.

During the night the rain stopped. By morning the clouds were thinning and by midday a watery sun shone."Perfect for a riding lesson," said Miles after luncheon. "The ground will be nice and soft to land on after all that rain."

"You mean you expect me to fall off?" Nerissa asked indignantly.

"It's more or less inevitable. Are you going to cry off?"

"Certainly not. I shall go and change into my habit at once."

She hurried upstairs and rang for her abigail. At first she had felt awkward about calling on the girl, but Maud soon made it plain that she felt slighted when her mistress managed without her. She was eager to learn. Already she worked wonders with Nerissa's hair, taught by Lady Philpott's abigail, who had little chance to practise her art on her ladyship.

Maud helped Nerissa take off her morning dress and put on the riding habit. Gold-frogged a la militaire, it was a rich brown colour that made her hair seem almost fair, Nerissa thought, regarding herself in the looking-glass. She was glad to see that the small, round hat made of cork left all her side-curls visible.

"Fine as fi'pence," said Maud with satisfaction.

"I hate to think I shall get it muddy," Nerissa said regretfully. As she turned away from the mirror, the long train dragged on the floor. "Oh, but how shall I walk all the way to the stables?" she exclaimed in dismay.

"Jus' drape it over your arm, miss, like so," Maud advised. "'Member how your ma holds hers in the pitcher? There now, if you doesn't look more like to Miss Anthea than ever."

Buoyed by the thought that she was following in Mama's footsteps, she sped down to the stables.

Miles was already there, walking a dapple-grey mare around the yard, her hooves clopping on the paving stones. He led her towards Nerissa, who took a step backwards.

"It's very large."

"Not really. She was your grandfather's, and he was quite a small man. She's elderly, too, sedate and on the sluggish side. You're not afraid, are you?"

"N-no. Matilda rides, and Mama used to, so why should not I?"

"No reason at all. Here, rub her nose, like this. Her name is Vinnie, from some fancied resemblance to Dorset Blue Vinnie cheese, I gather."

"What an insult, the poor creature." Nerissa ventured to stroke her long nose with a hand gloved in fine

Limerick leather. Vinnie nodded her head, her ears pricked forward, her lustrous brown eyes inspecting Nerissa with calm interest.

"Come, we'll go to the paddock."

"For a softer landing," said Nerissa with a wry grimace. She walked beside him, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder once or twice at the following horse. Whatever he said, Vinnie was big.

The paddock was a half-acre meadow with a three-rail fence around three sides, hedged on the fourth.

The tussocky grass certainly looked more accommodating than the flagged stableyard, but if Vinnie was so placid perhaps she wouldn't fall after all, Nerissa thought hopefully. When Miles stopped and dropped the reins, the mare stood obligingly still.

Before Nerissa had time for second thoughts, Miles turned to her. "I'll link my hands, you put your foot in them, and I'll throw you up."

"Which foot?"

He reflected. "It must be the left one. Yes, the left. Ready?"

He stooped with cupped hands. Nerissa put her left foot in them and he thrust her upwards. For a horrid moment she was afraid she was going to fly right over the other side.

The reality was far less dramatic. She landed in the saddle, and promptly slid down again.

Miles steadied her as her boots met the soggy ground with a squelching thump. Beneath the curling brim of his glossy new beaver, his blue eyes laughed at her though he managed to keep a straight face.

"How am I supposed to stay up there?" Nerissa demanded crossly.

"You hook an unmentionable part of your anatomy..."

"Don't be a nodcock, Miles! Which part?"

"Your knee." He grinned openly. "Sorry, I didn't think to explain. You hook your right knee around the

horn, see, here, at the front of the saddle, and put your other foot in the stirrup. I'll guide it in for you.

Let's try again. Balance yourself with a hand on my shoulder. That's it."

This time, as a still more unmentionable part of her anatomy hit the saddle again, Nerissa jerked her right knee up and forward. Impeded by her skirts, far from hooking around the horn it cracked painfully against the protrusion. From the waist down, she was immovably swaddled. Falling forward, she

grabbed Vinnie's mane in both hands. The saddle-horn jabbed her in the ribs.

Miles fumbled at her left leg. "I c-can't find your f-foot," he stuttered. "You're all tangled up in your t-train." Helpless with laughter he staggered backwards.

"Miles!" she wailed. The ground, glimpsed past Vinnie's dappled neck, looked alarmingly far below. Patient Vinnie moved not a muscle.

"Cowhanded clunch!" boomed Matilda's voice somewhere nearby as Miles caught his breath and came to the rescue.

"Let go and slide down, as you did before. I'll catch you, I promise."

Cautiously she transferred one hand to the horn, clung with the other to the saddle-bow, then decided to trust him and let go. As she slithered down, Miles caught her to his chest and held her while Matilda, arriving just in time, unwrapped the train from her legs.

For a few seconds his eyes were close to hers, his mouth inches from her own, his heart beating against her breast. Breathless-with annoyance, naturally-she snapped, "Put me down!"

He obeyed, setting her gently on her feet and at once removing his hands from her waist. "I'm sorry." His voice still quivered with amusement. "I didn't realize a side-saddle makes for such complications."

"Clunch," Matilda repeated, her weatherbeaten face severe. "You cannot simply throw a novice up and expect her to fall neatly into place. Come over to the fence, cousin. I'll mount from that, showing you how to arrange yourself, and then you can try it at your leisure."

"Thank you, Cousin Matilda," said Nerissa meekly.

"It's just for the sake of your unfortunate mount," said her cousin, her tone gruff, as she took Vinnie's reins. "But you had better call me Mattie."

Sir Barnabas snarled. Well might Miles look sheepish, trailing the women and the mare to the fence! He'd had the perfect opportunity to kiss the wench, and he'd made a mull of it.

Not that it was entirely his fault. The baronet turned his fury on his niece. What did the creature mean by interfering? For the horse's sake-pah! Call her Mattie-tchah! She had no business toadying to Nerissa just because she couldn't bear to see a bad rider.

Sulking, he watched his granddaughter master the art of mounting, first from the fence and then from Miles's clasped hands. The long-suffering mare stood stock still or moved equably where she was bid. As Nerissa gained confidence, she sat up straight, a graceful figure in the saddle. Matilda and Miles between them taught her how to hold the reins.

"I'm off," Matilda said at last. "Hippolyta hasn't had her exercise today. Remember, Nerissa, don't go hauling on the reins and hurting Vinnie's mouth."

"I shan't," Nerissa promised, flashing her dazzling smile. "Thank you, Mattie."