"It is a relief," said Amelia. "He doesn't look quite so ill kempt as he did last night."

"No, Jasper brushed him a hundred strokes."

Amelia touched her fingers to her own glorious black hair, and I wondered how many strokes she pulled through hair every night. She said, "So, Judith, you have already met your new stepmama and George?"

"Oh, yes," Judith said, her eyes still fastened on George, who had his eyes closed in bliss, since John's long fingers were rubbing in exactly the right place at the base of his left ear. "I did win a shilling off Andy. She hasn't paid me yet."

"However did you do that?" Lawrence asked.

"Oh, dear," I said. "Perhaps the wager itself isn't properly spoken of here."

"Nonsense," said Amelia. "What is it? The color of a certain flower? The scent of Judith's soap? What was your wager?"

Judith just blurted it out. "We bet on which bush George would use in the garden."

"Which bush for what?" Amelia looked blank.

John was laughing so hard I thought he would drop my dog. George thought so to, because he twisted about in John's arms and licked his jaw to remind him he was still there.

Lawrence looked from me to John, but he spoke to his daughter. "Judith, what is this all about?"

"Sir," she said, and immediately broke off, her innocent face flooding with color. "Oh, dear," she added in a whisper, her eyes, now pleading, on Miss Gillbank's face. Miss Gillbank cleared her throat, stoking up her nerve, I thought.

John said, before Miss Gillbank could embark on what promised to be a delightful recital, his voice still shaking with laughter, "George, Uncle Lawrence, is a very selective animal. He needs to examine many bushes and plants and trees, even low-hanging ivy, before he makes the choice of which to use to relieve himself. It is nothing more than that. Judith, which tree or plant did you wager on?"

"I said he would use the rhododendron bush, and he did. Andy couldn't believe it, since it's the only one in the garden, and it wasn't all that noticeable, but he went right to it after sniffing, then passing by, ever so many others."

Miss Crislock looked up from her tatting, and nodded as she said, "The next time I walk George, I will make a wager with myself. Just maybe I will win."

"Well," my husband said, first eyeing Miss Crislock with a good deal of fascination, then eyeing the rest of us, his own eyes alight with humor now, "it appears that there will be no uncomfortable silences, no overly polite conversations in order to get through the evening. Andy, do you have a shilling to pay my daughter?"

"I shall present your shilling to you tomorrow, Judith." I smiled around at all the assembled family, remembered that Lawrence had said in passing that Amelia was a snob, and said with a good deal of enthusiasm, "Sir, we are very fortunate.

Miss Gillbank agreed to dine with us tonight."

I looked at Amelia as I spoke, but she wasn't paying any attention to me. She was kissing Thomas's hand. I found this show of affection between the two of them disconcerting. It made me uncomfortable, since this sort of thing between married people simply wasn't in my experience.

I added, turning back to my husband, "I believe I should also enjoy having my new stepdaughter dine with us as well."

At that addition, I thought Miss Gillbank would leap up from her seat and throw her arms around me. As for Judith, she was so excited she couldn't keep still.

She jumped up, let out a little squeak, then hurriedly sat down again.

"An excellent idea," said my husband. Of course he knew blackmail when it smacked him in the face. He was a gentleman, I'll say that for him, and accepted what the cards dealt him.

And so it was that Brantley sent George back to The Blue Room in the devoted company of Jasper, but only after Judith had been allowed to pat his wet nose, and hug him until there was a colorful selection of dog hairs on her lovely gown.

In the vast dining room, I was pleased to see that my husband had had several sections of the table removed so we wouldn't all be shouting at each other over platters of food and a very ugly epergne made up of giant porcelain fruits.

I don't know how Brantley managed it, but the two additional dinner settings were in place when we came into the room.

To no one's particular surprise, everyone rubbed along quite nicely. Judith was very quiet, understandably, since she was crowded in among adults. But she smiled a lot. Miss Gillbank didn't have to worry about being condescended to.

Perhaps Amelia would have been a bit cool to her if she herself hadn't been found napping on the floor of an empty room that very morning, with no logical explanation to be given. She was quieter than usual, but she was perfectly pleasant. I prayed she had written to her father.

Perhaps Lawrence was mistaken. If there was a snobbish bone in Amelia's body, I had yet to see it. As for Thomas, he told Miss Crislock about the exciting climb he and his friends had accomplished just three months before up Ben Nevis in Scotland.

Amelia said, "I was concerned, naturally, that he would become light-headed with the increase in altitude, but he did marvelously well, only spraining his little finger when he grasped a rock and it came loose too quickly. It didn't impede his ascent at all."

"It was very cold on top of Ben Nevis," Thomas said to Judith. "You could see your breath, and here it was the middle of August. I'll tell you we were all wrapped up to our noses. When we reached the top, one of the lads broke out a bottle of champagne and we toasted each other. Of course, with my sprained little finger, it was difficult to hold the glass, but I managed."

"Did the champagne freeze?" Miss Crislock asked.

"We drank it far too fast for that to happen," Thomas said. "I choked only once, but the champagne was very cold, naturally, perhaps too cold for a throat such as mine." Thomas then gave us all the most beautiful smile. "Amelia insists that she always sip the champagne first to see that it isn't overly chilled."

I happened to look over at John, who was staring at his brother, his jaw nearly dropped to his chin. I suppose the brothers really didn't know each other all that well since John hadn't been about much in the past years. "Thomas," I said, "I believe Amelia has played a jest on you. She is simply using your throat as an excuse to drink more than her share of champagne."

"Is that true, dearest? Are you a tippler?"

"Not yet," Amelia said.

"Ah," said Miss Crislock, "I shall never forget the first time Andy had an after-dinner glass of port with her grandfather. The dear man was so very pleased."

There was just a small silence before I laughed and took another bite of the delicious chicken breast roasted in cream and curry sauce.

After dinner, Miss Gillbank took Judith away. Thomas and Amelia were speaking quietly in the corner, probably about her unexpected nap in that empty room and what it could possibly mean. John picked up a book on the exploits of some Frenchman called de Sade. I don't know why he was reading it, as he certainly didn't seem to be getting any pleasure from it. Every time I looked at him, he seemed to be perfectly appalled.

My husband said, "Andy, would you please join me in the library for a moment?"

I kissed Miss Crislock good night and walked to my husband.

Now was the time he would make his confession, bless him. I couldn't wait to hear his excuse about keeping mum about a second wife and a female offspring only six years removed from her Season in London. I was coming to realize that there wasn't all that much difference between younger people and older people.

Lawrence had kept something from me, and now he had to clear the slate and offer an abject apology. How many times had I done the same thing from the age of three onward?

There was only one branch of candles lit in the vast library. It was dark and shadowy and strangely cozy with a healthy fire burning in the fireplace. I watched him take a turn about the room, walking in and out of the shadows. He seemed inordinately worried, or perhaps, he was reticent. Did he think I would rip up at him? I started to relieve his mind when he came back to me, took both my hands in his, and said, "I suppose you must see me as a miserable man."

That was a different approach and really quite disarming. "I don't believe so,"

I said.

"I kept something very important from you."

"Yes, but I imagine that you will now tell me why, and it will make sense to me, and I will allow you to pay me off and relieve your own guilt by offering me Small Bess."

He stared down at me, no hint of a smile in evidence. Oh, dear, I wasn't treating this with the appropriate gravitas.

"I am perfectly serious now, Lawrence. Forgive me for making light of things."

He waved away my apology and paced again. "Sit down," he said over his shoulder.

I went to the large, dark brown leather wing chair close to the fireplace, and sat.

He leaned against the edge of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. "I was married, Andy. Thirteen years ago, I married Caroline."

Caroline, I thought, a lovely name. "Tell me about her," I said.

He closed his eyes a moment over a pain that was still greatly felt even after all these many years had passed. He cleared his throat. "It was such a long time ago. Caroline Farraday was the daughter of Wilson Farraday, Viscount Clarence.

She was so lovely, so spirited and gay. She saw the world and all in it there to be at her command, and most people were quite willing to do anything at all for her." Another look of pain crossed his face, and he raised his hand as if to brush it away. I held my tongue. This was highly personal, these memories that had deeply scored his heart.

"Even though I was a good deal older than she, she wanted me and informed her father that she would wed no one else. And so we were wed in London. I took her to Cornwall on our wedding trip, a place she believed vastly romantic.

"It was only after I brought her back to Devbridge Manor that I began to understand her true nature. That is to say, Caroline was inclined to be vivacious one day, nearly giddy, she laughed so very much, and the very next day, she would be silent and sad, withdrawn, as if she'd lost her best friend. I never knew which woman would appear across from me at the breakfast table.

"When she became pregnant not long after we married, I rather hoped that the child would steady her. And it was true that during the months of her pregnancy she seemed more stable, her outlook more normal, if you will.

"In those days, neither Thomas nor John were here much, both of them at Eton. I'll never forget though that when they did visit, she became worse. She neither spoke nor ate. She resented them, I realized quickly enough. Obviously it was because she wanted her child, a boy child, to follow in my footsteps; and indeed, if she had birthed a boy, he would be my heir. I told her this, but it made no difference. She didn't want to have anything to do with either of the boys. I asked Thomas and John to stay away, to visit friends on their vacations. They both felt very sorry for me, I believe, and I felt immensely guilty.

"But nothing I did seemed to matter. Toward the end of her pregnancy, Caroline became more unpredictable by the day. I never knew what to expect, none of us did, including her physician. She would simply disappear, only to be found up in the old north tower, huddled in a corner, her eyes wide, staring, no explanation of why she had even gone up there. She insisted on riding her mare even though she was large with child. She never fell, thank God. I found her trying to chase down rats in the hay barn one afternoon. One night Brantley found her dancing in a heavy downpour. Once a servant found her wading in the stream, discussing with an invisible person how fine it would be to drown.

"I had no choice but to order a woman to be with her all the time. I was terrified that if she didn't try to harm herself, she would harm her unborn babe."

"The bars in The Blue Room," I said. "They were for Caroline."

"You noticed the holes, then? Yes, of course you did. I didn't believe them that obvious." He paused yet again, and drew a very deep breath. "One time I came into her room to find her outside on the narrow ledge, singing to a buck that was staring back at her from the edge of the home wood. I was never so frightened in my life. It seemed as if normal, predictable life no longer existed here. Everyone in the house tiptoed around, so afraid that something would set her off.

"Then Judith was born. When the doctor put her into Caroline's arms, I remember clearly that Caroline began laughing. She laughed and laughed and said, 'After all this, I still could not produce a boy child.' I assured her that it didn't matter. There would be other children if she wished. I will never forget how she smiled at me, smiled with such hope.

I remember how she caressed my face, how she told me she was so very happy.

"To my infinite relief, after Judith's birth, Caroline became once again the same girl I had met nearly two years before. I remember thanking God for the blessed cure. The whole house seemed to breathe a huge sigh of relief. There was even some laughter to be heard once again at Devbridge Manor. To be honest, until I heard laughter, I simply had not realized how very grim everyone had become. Caroline appeared to adore Judith. She spent a lot of time with her, singing to her, rocking her, playing with her."

I continued to be so quiet I could have blended with the shadows.

Lawrence plowed his hands through his hair. "Damnation, there is no other way to say it?it was all a ruse. Caroline was fooling all of us, and very cleverly." He fell silent again. His hands were clenched at his sides. I could feel the great strain in him. "More time passed. But then it all ended abruptly. In her madness, she threw herself from the north tower. As it happened, I had Judith with me.

She was all of two months old then. If she had been with Caroline, I am certain that Caroline would have taken her child over the tower balcony with her."

He drew a deep hard breath. He smashed his fist against his open palm. "There is just no way around it. I am responsible for her death."

Chapter Fourteen.

It was difficult, but I held my tongue. I did not blurt out things like "what an idiotic thing to say" or "don't be ridiculous." Finally, I said in a lovely calm voice, "Please tell me why you believe that."

"Only the day before she had begged me to remove the bars from her bedchamber windows. I had them removed immediately, and I felt guilt that I had not thought to do it sooner. She had recovered; she was once again the lovely girl I had married. I remember how she was smiling when she handed me Judith, down in the drawing room, and left me, just for a moment. She told me she was chilly and wished to fetch her favorite shawl. Of course a servant followed her discreetly, and obviously she knew it. She went in The Blue Room, closed the door, and climbed out the window. She made her way along that narrow ledge between The Blue Room and the chamber next to it. From there she went to the north tower. If only I had been less ready to believe her normal again, if only I had waited, just a few more days, to have the bars removed from the windows, she would not have been able to hurl herself off the tower balcony."

It had all happened twelve years ago, and still he was carrying this mindless guilt he didn't deserve. I said, "If you had waited, well, then, it seems logical that she would simply have waited, then done the same thing once she was able."

"Perhaps, perhaps."

"It is a very tragic thing, Lawrence. I am very sorry."

"I couldn't bring myself to tell you, Andy, and I'm sorry I was such a coward.

But I could not be certain that you wouldn't want me because I had a child who might carry her mother's madness. Or perhaps you would believe that the madness might have come from me."

And I said, "Do Caroline's parents visit Judith?"

He looked very surprised at that question, and I suppose that it was unexpected.

"No, they have never seen her. They never wanted to see me again, if you would know the truth. John and Thomas know all about what they did."

"And that was?"

"They claimed that their daughter Caroline was perfectly normal, that nothing at all had ever been wrong with her, that it was I who ruined her, destroyed her somehow. They did not understand what possible reason I had for doing it, but there was no doubt in their minds that I had murdered their daughter. I was responsible for their beloved daughter's death. They said they never wished to see any child that was mine."

"They continue to deny their own granddaughter?"

He nodded.

"That is extraordinary, but hardly your fault. Incidentally, Lawrence, I think you've done a magnificent job raising Judith. She is a sweet child, very enthusiastic, bright as the sun itself, and utterly normal. You selected a fine woman to instruct her. I am very sorry for Caroline, but please believe me when I say that it was a very long time ago. None of it will touch Judith, nor should it."

And because it was all so grim, and there was so much long-ago misery still sifting through this room, I said, "I am twenty-one years old and have come to grips with the fact that I am now a stepmama. Judith and I will become great friends, I promise you. Forgive yourself, Lawrence, for I forgive you for not telling me."

"I may come eventually to forgive myself, but never can I forget it. I have already said it, Andy. Judith carries her mother's seed. Is there madness in her that will emerge when she gains years?"

I said, "The king is mad. Was his father, George II, mad as well?"

"Some Tories would quickly say that he was," Lawrence said. "But no, certainly he was not mad."

It was an attempt at a jest, and so I smiled. "You know as well as I do that madness is not something that is automatically visited by the father or the mother on the child. There is no madness in Caroline's parents, is there?"

He shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "there is not, only hatred toward me."

I swear he wanted to believe that his young daughter would be just fine. "But I will tell you that before Miss Gillbank came, I feared for Judith."

"How old was she when Miss Gillbank arrived?"

"Perhaps three years old."

To me that was madness to even say that, much less think it, but again, I was the voice of calm and reason. "Judith was a toddler. I imagine that when a parent sees all the havoc a young child can create, they are ready to believe that the child is the spawn of Satan. That is how my grandfather viewed me upon occasion, and I didn't turn to madness. Yes, I remember now. He called me an ill-begotten imp of Satan."