"Hmph." Matilda tramped away.

"It's time we stopped, too," said Miles. "You'll be devilish ... dashed stiff tomorrow."

Nerissa bent a laughing frown upon him. "Pray mind your tongue, sir! Please, can I not ride just a little way across the paddock? With you leading Vinnie? Very slowly?"

"If you wish." He smiled up at her.

Sir Barnabas turned his head to make sure Matilda was well on her way. She disappeared through the arch into the stables. When he looked back, Vinnie was ambling away across the paddock, Miles at her head, Nerissa erect on her back.

Reaching the hedge, they turned and ambled back. Nerissa showed no signs of being about to part company with the saddle. As her mount's late master knew very well, the mare was of far too placid a disposition to shy unexpectedly. It was up to him to ensure that Nerissa once again fell into Miles's arms. He drifted across the grass and materialized right in front of Vinnie's nose.

With a neigh of terror, her eyes rolling, Vinnie reared. Nerissa slid down over her rump, landed flat on her back, and lay still.

Dismayed, Sir Barnabas dodged the descending hooves. He did not mean the chit any serious harm. He had expected the docile old mare to sidestep, dislodging her novice rider painlessly.

Miles was horrified. Abandoning Vinnie, he rushed to Nerissa and knelt beside her, regardless of the effect of muddy grass on his new riding breeches. He leaned over her, gently taking her hand. "Don't try to move."

She gasped for breath.

Just winded, Sir Barnabas decided. Thank heaven she had fallen in the paddock, not the stableyard.

Vinnie turned and went to investigate. She lowered her head to nuzzle Nerissa's shoulder, looking as penitent as a horse can look. Nerissa struggled to sit up.

Miles helped her, and kept his arm around her shoulders. "I cannot imagine what got into her. Roe, the head groom, assured me she's the most tranquil beast in nature."

"Something frightened her, the poor dear." Nerissa stroked Vinnie's nose. "See how sorry she is? Miles, help me up. I'm sure I heard somewhere that if one falls from a horse one should remount at once."

"In one of your plays, no doubt," he said with a wry smile, pulling her to her feet.

"No doubt." Stretching experimentally, she winced. "Is it good advice?"

"To prevent a loss of nerve, certainly." He picked up her hat and set it on her head. "But you must be bruised even if you haven't broken anything. You'd better go straight in, to a hot bath."

"No, I'll ride, just as far as the gate. Help me to mount."

Whatever the hussy's morals, Sir Barnabas thought with grudging pride, she had bottom, his granddaughter. And, to judge by Miles's approving face as he threw her up, he recognized it.

When they reached the gate, Nerissa was glad to slide wearily down into Miles's clasp, though Matilda had taught her to dismount without aid. She ached all over. Leaning heavily on his arm, she hobbled to the stableyard. How fortunate that he was just a friend, not a beau, for she must have looked an utter widgeon sprawling on the ground, and nothing could be less graceful than her present gait. She was sure she had mud in her hair, too, as well as all over her habit.

Before handing Vinnie over to a groom, Miles gave Nerissa an apple and showed her how to feed it to the mare on the flat of her palm. Vinnie whiffled softly, all contretemps forgotten.

"I wonder what frightened her," Nerissa said as they continued into the house. "Not something that

occurs often, I trust!"

"It must have been something out of the ordinary, though I saw nothing, or she would have a reputation as skittish." He paused outside Mrs Hibbert's room. "I'll tell Hibby to have gallons and gallons of hot water sent up to your chamber."

"A hot bath sounds like heaven. I shall go on up."

On her way to the stairs, she found three of her relatives in the front hall. Lady Philpott stared at her in horror.

"What have you been doing, Nerissa?"

"Learning to ride," she said with what nonchalance she could muster.

"How enterprising," said Raymond Reece. "But I regret to say that you have just missed our visitors.

What a pity you did not come in a few minutes sooner."

"A great shame," Mrs Chidwell agreed.

"Visitors?"

"Admiral and Mrs Pettigrew and their two daughters, our nearest neighbours, from Kingstonriddle,"

Raymond explained. "They called hoping to make your acquaintance."

"I am sorry I did not meet them," said Nerissa, disappointed.

"So am I," her cousin Euphemia said with unexpected fervour.

Nerissa excused herself and started up the stairs, very conscious of their eyes on her besmirched back.

With an effort she held herself straight, hoping the mud did not show too badly against the brown cloth. On the landing she turned and started up the second flight. A wave of fatigue hit her and she stopped to gather her strength to complete the ascent.

From below came Great-Aunt Jane's complaining voice. "How can you say, Effie, that you are sorry she did not meet the Pettigrews? We do not want her to become acquainted with the neighbours, and besides, I vow I should have died of shame to present such a hoydenish creature as Neville's niece."

"Exactly," said Raymond. "She..."

"You are a ninnyhammer, Jane," Euphemia interrupted. "What could suit our purpose better than having the Pettigrews meet her when she is in such a disgraceful state?"

"Exactly," said Raymond, annoyed, "as I was about to observe."

"I'm sure you need not worry," Jane said crossly. "Sooner or later the common creature is bound to

commit some dreadful, ill-bred gaucherie that will put us all to shame."

So much for professed friendship. Even Mattie had only helped Nerissa for the horse's sake. Though she had mistrusted their overtures, she was disheartened.

And Aunt Jane was all too probably right. Her confidence had grown as she learned to deal with the

household, but in that process there had been room for mistakes. In meeting strangers one faux pas could ruin her chance of acceptance, and the etiquette of morning calls was not something Mama had ever felt it necessary to teach her.

"And remember, dear," said Miss Sophie, "though in Town you will offer refreshments only to particular friends, in the country visitors have come several miles to see you. It is only polite to offer tea to the ladies and a glass of wine to the gentlemen."

"That will be easy to remember." Nerissa sighed. "As for all the rest, I can only hope I shall not forget when the moment comes."

"As to that, dear Miles and I decided you ought to have a little practice as well as instruction." She bounced up in a shower of hairpins and pattered over to the door. "He is waiting in the breakfast-room next door, with Ben, who will play butler. I shall fetch them."

While she waited, Nerissa picked up hair-pins and glanced around the morning room to see that all was neat. To receive guests in an untidy apartment, according to Miss Sophie, showed a shocking lack of respect.

The morning room was one of Nerissa's favourite rooms. Though not at its best on a dull afternoon it was therefore little frequented, which was why they had chosen it for her lesson. Still, the poppy and cornflower chintz was cheerful, and the vase of pearly-white honesty seedcases looked very well against the peach-coloured wall.

Depositing the hairpins in a small Chinese porcelain bowl on the mantelpiece, she sat down and smoothed her apple-green skirts. She was ready for her callers.

The door opened and Ben stepped in. The young footman appeared about to burst with suppressed mirth. Playing Snodgrass's part amused him, Nerissa supposed.

"Miss Datchett to see you, miss," he announced with a snigger and moved aside.

Miss Sophie bustled in. She had put on a hat-crookedly-and gloves. Her eyes twinkled with merriment. As Nerissa rose and advanced to meet her, the correct words of welcome on her lips, a second visitor swept into the room.

The intruder, in a huge, old-fashioned, all-concealing Oldenburg bonnet and a voluminous purple pelisse, struck Nerissa with consternation. She was not ready for a real caller, especially a lady of such imposing presence.

Ben opened his mouth to announce the stranger. All that came out was a cackle and he turned away, clapping his hand to his mouth.

A pair of bright blue eyes peered at Nerissa from the depths of the bonnet. She looked down and saw that the pelisse ended a foot above the floor. Below the hem protruded a pair of ankles clad in buff morning trousers.

"Miles!" She giggled. "Oh, Miles, you nearly gave me a spasm, you wretch. Do be yourself, pray, for I shall have to entertain gentlemen as well as ladies."

"Believe me, I cannot wait to get rid of this torturous contrivance." He undid the bonnet's ribbons, wrenched it from his head, and presented it to Ben. "Here, take the dratted thing away. How you ladies can bear to wear such monsters is beyond me."

"Fashion," said Miss Sophie profoundly. "Be careful as you take off the pelisse, Miles. Effie will truly have a spasm if you damage it. Or if she finds out you borrowed it, come to that."

"No one else's would go around me. You won't peach on me, will you, Miss Sophie?"

"What do you take me for, you naughty boy? Now go back to the door and come in again, so Nerissa can show what she has learned."

Trained to the theatre, and with no audience but Miss Sophie and Miles, Nerissa had no great difficulty playing the part of hostess. She found being a guest still easier, when they reversed the roles and Miss Sophie was hostess. Her tutors pronounced her fit to meet the world.

"I'm sure it is Jane's duty to introduce you to the neighbours," said Miss Sophie apprehensively, "but since she has made no effort to do so, I shall take you on a round of calls. You, too, Miles, for Neville will not help you, I fear, nor Aubrey nor Raymond. Effie will be angry, I daresay, but I do not care for that. I only hope people will recall who I am."

Nerissa hugged her. "Dear Cousin Sophie, how could anyone possibly forget you? I had far rather make my bows under your auspices than Aunt Jane's."

Privately she was less positive. In company, Miss Sophie must always have been overshadowed by her sister. Great-Aunt Jane, though not much more assertive, was now the wife of a baronet and thus a person of some consequence among the local gentry.

When Miss Sophie went off to sneak Effie's pelisse back into her clothes-press, Nerissa voiced her doubts to Miles.

"You and I are also of some consequence," he reminded her. "We are heirs to Addlescombe. I'm sure everyone is agog to meet us."

"Then why have only the Pettigrews called?"

"Hibby told me Sir Barnabas discouraged casual callers once he gave up hope of disposing of his niece and nephews in marriage. He was not the most sociable of men. People lost the habit of dropping in, particularly as Addlescombe is somewhat out of the way. No doubt they are waiting to see whether we are more sociable than your grandfather."

"I wish I had been in when the Pettigrews came."

"Ah, but according to Hibby the Pettigrews are more interested in meeting me than you." Miles smiled sardonically. "It seems there are two daughters of marriageable age, and I am now a highly eligible landowner."

Unaccountably cast down, Nerissa summoned up an answering smile. "If they think so, it seems to indicate that Aunt Jane has thus far succeeded in stopping the others spreading word of the conditions in Sir Barnabas's Will."

"And his condemnations of the two of us. We shall be welcomed everywhere, so don't fret, my dear girl. I'll go and make sure we have the use of the landau tomorrow."

However, another storm blew in overnight and the morning dawned with rain pelting down as if it would never stop. On the second day, the groom who rode to Riddlebourne for the post reported that the lanes were a quagmire. On the third day he could not get through-the Riddle was in flood. Nerissa began to think Fate was against her meeting the terms of her grandfather's Will.

She said as much to Miles, to Sir Barnabas's delight. It was time he intervened again. If the wench was giving up hope of winning, she'd be the readier to abandon the fight against her baser urges. All he had to do was entice her into Miles's arms at a suitable time and place.

The best time and place were obvious. Even his half-witted relatives had worked out that a watch kept upon their chambers at night was more likely to be productive than any amount of following them about the countryside. At the end of the short side-passage where the two chambers lay was a window in an alcove. The curtain drew across the alcove rather than the window and behind it was a large early-Jacobean chest with a carved lid. Here they took it in turns to keep a vigil, well provided with cushions to protect against the ridges and bosses of the carving.

Sir Barnabas had spent many a long night hovering nearby, waiting to catch Nerissa sneaking into Miles's room, or vice versa. He didn't care which.

So far he and his fellow-watchers had waited in vain. Now he decided to take an active part.

He'd wait until midnight, when the rest of the household was settled and Miles and Nerissa would believe themselves safe from observation. They'd both be in night attire, with a choice of warm beds awaiting them. What could be more natural than that, lured out into the chilly passage, they should both repair to the same bed?

The first night after he devised his scheme, the watcher was Euphemia. He had no intention of letting Effie claim the credit for catching Miles and Nerissa in flagrante. The second night Sophie was on duty, and he didn't want to frighten her. The third night was Raymond's; the possibility of the parson attempting an exorcism made Sir Barnabas shudder.

The fourth night was Aubrey's turn. Sir Barnabas watched him settle himself in the alcove, clad in a flamboyant dressing-gown of scarlet Chinese brocade over his Cumberland corset. Drawing the heavy green velvet curtain across in front of him, he sighed deeply and the creak of his corset came to his contemptuous uncle's ears.

The last of the household had retired to bed half an hour since. Wafting down the main passage, Sir Barnabas saw the strips of light beneath the chamber doors go out one by one. He was fairly sure he'd be able to direct his disturbance so that none of them woke.

Only the dim illumination of the night-lamp on the hall table at the junction of the passages remained. He returned to the side-passage. Miles's light was out but Nerissa's still shone. No doubt she was avidly perusing the sensuous fantasies of the Arabian Nights. So much the better!

At last she blew out her candle. A few minutes later came the faint, distant chime of the clock in the front hall. Midnight.

Sir Barnabas almost wished he had chains to clank. Failing that, he reached into the inmost recesses of his tenuous being and produced a series of eery moans, bloodcurdling groans, and banshee shrieks.

Undignified but effective, he thought as Miles's and Nerissa's doors swung open.