At the Digbys, Nerissa was singled out by the younger son, Mr Clive. Though not much older than herself, he had the red nose of a confirmed toper, and he wore an ancient shooting coat with sagging pockets and curious tufts of feathers stuck in the lapels. Putting her new-found wisdom into practice, she soon discovered that he was a passionate angler. The wire and feather devices were fishing flies and the hue of his nose, she guessed, was due to sitting out in the damp in all weathers. Before they parted she knew more about the pursuit of perch, roach, tench, chub, gudgeon, and the wily pike than she could possibly have imagined there was to know.

As he handed her into the carriage, he begged permission to call on her at Addlescombe. She graciously consented, though she suspected that after a few more half hours with him she would never be able to eat fish again.

She noticed that Miles looked sour. No pretty girls for him to flirt with at the Digbys', she thought.

The lack was doubly remedied at the Firstons', where they were invited to take a nuncheon. The young squire's two sisters gaily plied Miles with delicacies and he blatantly revelled in their attentions. Their widowed mother, dressed in slate-grey satin overelaborately trimmed with lace and jet, discussed the finer points of fashion with Aubrey. Nerissa was entertained by the younger Mrs Firston, a friendly young matron who was more than willing to discourse endlessly on the cleverness of her two small children.

Now and then Mrs Firston broke off to say anxiously, "I do hope Peter will come home in time to make your acquaintance, Miss Wingate."

Mr Firston was riding about his estate with his brother, John, who was a doctor with a practice based in Porchester. "You will like John," Mrs Firston assured Nerissa. "The children are very fond of their uncle, and he of them." She could give no higher praise.

Nerissa had just promised to visit the nursery after luncheon when the two young men came in. John Firston, a tall, blond, handsome gentleman, was urged by his sister-in-law and his mother to take the place beside Nerissa, which he did without visible reluctance.

While he ate, he satisfied Nerissa's genuine curiosity about the life of a country doctor. She found him charming and was sorry when, after the meal, he apologized for having to rush off to see his patients.

"I must dash up to the nursery before I go," he said with a smile. "Paul and Bella would never forgive me if I failed to visit them."

"Do take Miss Wingate with you," Mrs Firston urged. "I must have a word with Peter before I go up."

On the stairs, Dr Firston turned to Nerissa, his face tinged with pink, and said hesitantly, "If you have no objection, Miss Wingate, I should like to bring a young lady to call on you at Addlescombe. She is Miss Herriott, daughter of the vicar of Penfold."

"I shall be pleased to make Miss Herriott's acquaintance," Nerissa told him, glad that despite his relatives ' matchmaking he appeared not to be on the catch for a supposedly wealthy wife. At present she felt far more in need of female friends than of admirers.

When they left the Firstons, Miss Sophie was wilting after the agitation and exertions of the day. Miles curtly ordered the coachman to turn the horses' heads for home. He rode ahead, and when the landau reached the manor he was waiting to hand the old lady down and give her his arm into the house.

"I'd like a word with you in the library, Nerissa," he said with a foreboding look, "if you can spare me a moment."

"As soon as I have taken off my hat and seen Miss Sophie laid down comfortably on her bed. Now don't argue, pray, Cousin Sophie. You will feel much better for a little rest, and Miles can wait."

Despite her resolute response, Nerissa worried as she helped Miss Sophie take off her her bonnet and pelisse and doffed her own. Had she done something dreadfully wrong which everyone but Miles had been too polite to mention? She had never seen him so stern.

She tidied her hair, wishing it were as fair as Miss Anna Pettigrew's, took up a shawl and went down to the library.

As she entered, Miles stopped pacing and turned towards her. "I just want to warn you," he said stiffly, "or rather to remind you, that your suitors will have to be told about Sir Barnabas's Will."

"Suitors!"

"Clive Digby and the doctor fellow. They are courting you believing you a wealthy heiress. You cannot marry without explaining that your inheritance is conditional, and I cannot suppose you wish to reveal the conditions."

"For heavens sake, Miles, I'm not about to marry anyone!" Nerissa was exasperated, and hurt by the implication that her supposed wealth was the only reason for anyone to want to marry her. She was not about to tell him John Firston already had a sweetheart-and she wouldn't have Clive Digby if he was filleted and dished up with lobster sauce, garnished with lemon and parsley. "Besides, the same goes for you," she snapped.

"For me?"

"Anna Pettigrew and both Miss Firstons! How do you propose to reveal the mythical nature of your fortune to their guardians?"

He flushed and retorted angrily, "I can wait to propose until the myth becomes reality. You cannot choose the moment when you receive an offer."

"True, but nor can I stop them courting me."

"You can discourage them."

"I don't know how. As you must be well aware," she continued, her lip curling in scorn, "the only way to deter the sort of men who pursue actresses is frankness of a kind which would be certain to give offence to honourable gentlemen. And you cannot teach me, since I am sure you have never been the recipient of polite discouragement. Your success-with actresses-is notorious, is it not?"

"'A hit! A hit! A palpable hit!'" Miles muttered as she swept from the room.

* * * * Effie's voice reverberated through the small back parlour. "Aubrey and Sophie took Courtenay and the girl to call on our neighbours."

Her denunciation brought a shocked silence.

Anticipating an enjoyable time, Sir Barnabas settled himself on a china cabinet. He would not for the world have missed this meeting of his abominable relatives.

Jane Philpott stared at her son in horror. "Aubrey, how could you! To lend that creature your countenance when I have specifically refused to take her about! You will ruin us."

"She is a credit to the family," said Aubrey sulkily, with a contemptuous glance around the drabs and dowdies crowded around him in the small back parlour. "Nothing tawdry, complete to a shade. And her behaviour was perfectly decorous, too," he added as an afterthought.

"This is your fault, Jane," Effie accused. "If you had only agreed to let me tell everyone she is an actress, no one would have received her. I shall have to disclose it now."

"No-oo!" Jane bleated. "Think of the disgrace if people knew my son had introduced an actress into their homes!"

"You will keep a still tongue, Euphemia," said Sir Neville, for once supporting his wife, "if you want to live at the manor when I come into my rightful inheritance. No one must find out we have an actress in the family."

"That being so," Raymond put in, "if she never meets anyone, how can she be discredited?"

"You cannot persuade me Aubrey thought of that." Effie's furious face was an excellent match for her purple gown. "Let alone Sophie. She is a snake in the grass, whom I have nurtured in my bosom all these years."

Sir Barnabas sniggered. The bosom in question was large enough to provide every comfort, but Sophie had never rested easy there. He was glad she was not there to be tongue-lashed, and glad she had stolen a march on her sister even if she had thereby outflanked him, too.

So Nerissa had won her spurs, the clever chit. Still, the battle was yet to come and Raymond was right, unless she met the enemy she could not be defeated. Sooner or later without fail she'd show her true colours.

He was irritated when Effie agreed with him. "No matter," she said, calming down, "Nerissa was bound to meet people in the end and with her upbringing she will soon come to grief without our intervention. Let us concentrate on Miles Courtenay for the moment."

"I don't see what we can do about Courtenay," Neville grumbled. "You can't force a man to seduce a wench."

"We could invite an opera dancer to seduce him," Effie suggested outrageously, "since Nerissa is playing the prude."

"Do you know any?" Raymond asked with an interest most unbecoming to his cloth.

"No doubt such creatures can be bought. Oh, stop wringing your hands, Jane. I know you will not allow it, though I am certain it would work. He has been celibate for nearly two months now." Matilda came in just then, in a muddy riding habit as usual. "Nerissa's in high dudgeon with Miles," she announced.

"How do you know?"

"I asked where he was just now when I met her in the hall, and she stuck her nose in the air and said she

neither knew nor cared."

Neville gloomed. "No hope of her succumbing to Courtenay's charms, then."

"Don't be a lobcock, Neville," said Effie, "it won't last long. And you are forgetting the other condition in

Barnabas's ridiculous Will. Miles has also been deprived of the excitement of gambling for two months. If he sees us wagering real money on a game of cards, instead of playing for fish as we usually do, he will be unable to resist joining in."

Matilda shrugged. "I shan't play. I don't know the first thing about cards and I'm going up early anyway.

There's a meet tomorrow."

"As a man of the church, I cannot condone gambling," Raymond said sanctimoniously.

"Fustian! If you prefer, you may be the one to fetch Harwood once Miles is on the hook, but we shall not place real wagers. We shall agree to return all stakes after we have lured him into placing his."

"Suppose we lose to him?" Aubrey protested. "He will never agree to return his winnings."

"Wantwit," Effie snapped, "what does losing a few shillings matter when you stand to win Addlescombe and a fortune?"

About time they recollected the gambling clause, Sir Barnabas thought. Effie's notion made sense, though,

blast the woman. After a few weeks deprivation Miles must be all the more likely to succumb.

Under normal circumstances, Sir Barnabas wouldn't put it past his granddaughter to warn Miles away from the cards even though she stood to gain all he would lose. However, since she was miffed at him, he'd have nothing to distract him from the fatal fascination of the game.

Chapter 12.

Miles was surprised at how bereft he felt. The peagoose was still in a pet with him, and all over a few words of friendly advice. Seated at the other end of the dinner table, she studiously avoided his eye-and glowered if she chanced to catch it.

Toying with food which had lost its savour, he signalled to Snodgrass to refill his wine glass. The ruby claret was the same colour as her gown, and how well it suited her!

Maybe he had phrased his advice badly, leading her to believe he thought Digby's and Firston's only interest in her was her money. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was a deuced pretty girl- though not to his taste, he hastily reminded himself-and her artless manner of looking up at a man was enough to win any heart.

If only the rest of her devilish family would go away, he'd sort things out with her in no time. Instead, she rose and led the ladies out, leaving him with her grandfather's excellent port and no congenial company in which to enjoy it, since Harwood was abed with a cold.

How was he to explain to her that he had only been flirting harmlessly with Miss Anna and the Firston girls, without implying she had a right to an explanation?

Three glasses of port, on top of the wine and very little to eat, made everything seem easy. All he had to do was reassure her that she had charms enough to make her fortune irrelevant. Then they could spend a comfortable evening together, discussing plays, or the estate, or, like Miranda and Ferdinand, playing chess, the one game not associated with gambling.

Somewhat surprised to discover that Sir Neville, Aubrey, and Raymond had departed unnoticed while he brooded over his glass, Miles made his way through to the drawing room. Nerissa was not there.

At the near end of the room a card table had been set up for the usual game of quadrille or cassino, played for ivory fish. Miles had never been able to summon up any enthusiasm for either game, nor for the winning of worthless counters from inexpert players.

By the farther fireplace, Lady Philpott was occupied with her endless embroidery. Opposite her, Miss Sophie wielded a netting shuttle, her plump little hands remarkably nimble and dextrous. She smiled at Miles. If Mrs Chidwell had read her a scold on account of their outing, she did not seem to have taken it to heart.

Beside her sat Reece, reading aloud in a monotone from what sounded alarmingly like a collection of sermons. Miles glanced back at the card table, where the parson was generally to be found of an evening, with Sir Neville, Aubrey, and Mrs Chidwell. The other three were there, an empty chair in Reece's place. Mrs Chidwell was dealing for vingt-un, her hands as nimble and dextrous with the cards as her sister's with the netting shuttle.

Miles felt a stir of interest. He had always been lucky at vingt-un. Perhaps, since Nerissa had deserted him, he should try his skill against Mrs Chidwell, though a deft dealer was not necessarily a proficient player.

As he moved towards the table, Sir Neville and Aubrey each placed their bets, and the stakes were not fish but shillings. A faint thrill raced through Miles's veins.

He reached for the back of the empty chair.

"Miles?" Nerissa's soft, hesitant voice came from behind him.

The spell broke. That innocuous game meant not the possible loss of a few shillings but the certain loss of Addlescombe.

Wild with relief, he swung round and sped to meet her, both hands held out. As she clasped one, her other holding a book, he blurted out, "I'm not going to marry Anna Pettigrew, nor either of the Firston girls. I'm not going to marry anyone, or not for years and years, at least."

She smiled. "And I'm not going to marry Dr Firston, who gave me a very strong hint that he is already promised elsewhere, nor Clive Digby."

"You don't care for Digby? Don't worry, I'll find you others more to your liking."

Nerissa did not appear to find his offer inspiriting. She ignored it in favour of answering his question. "Mr Digby has absolutely nothing on his mind but dace and bream, and I do not care to be wooed with fish."

"Fish!" The word struck Miles as exquisitely funny. "There's no harm in fish. It's shillings are the danger."

"So you were about to play. I feared it."

He drew her to a confidante midway between the two groups. "I was tempted, I confess." His head was clearing. At the card-table, he saw, the three players were muttering together, their expressions disgruntled. "Do you know, I suspect they made a deliberate attempt to entice me. Not that they invited me to join them or even looked at me, or I might have guessed. But I have never seen them play for money before, and since neither you nor Harwood was here to restrain me..."

"I went to fetch my book." She held it up, and he read the title: The Arabian Nights' Entertainments. "I fell asleep in the middle of a story last night. Miles, do you want to play cards with me? I don't know many games, but I am quite good at picquet."

"Picquet! That's a gamester's game if any is. Look, having failed to hook me, they are pocketing their shillings and bringing out the fish."

She glanced round. "Oh dear, it does seem they were trying to trick you into gambling. How underhanded!"

"Did you play picquet for money?"

"No, only for fun because it was a revolving game, backstage. Whoever was offstage for long enough would play for a while and then give up his hand to the next. I used to play in between helping people change costumes and mending rents."

Miles laughed. "A test of concentration indeed. But I wouldn't dream of playing for money with you, even if there was no chance of anyone catching me, and it's dull work playing for fish."

"Oh, not fish! I thought we might play for imaginary riches." Her eyes sparkling, she held up her book. "Carnelian and sardonyx, jacinth and spinel, gold-broidered brocade, Damascene nenuphars-whatever they are-and even talking dogs and flying horses."