"Pray tell us what he said, Lady Winter," his mother said. "I do think it is so uncivil for someone to speak a foreign language."

"He only thanked me, ma'am, for the tea."

"What a mouthful, merely to say thank you," his father said. "What are the words?"

His question met a long silence. She seemed rooted in place, blushing.

"It's hardly that risque," Arden said. "You can tell them."

" 'May Allah reward thee, O my hostess,'" she murmured quickly, turning a deeper red, '"and multiply your children.' " She bit her lip. "It is a common blessing among the Mohammedans."

"A pleasant sentiment," his father said heartily.

His mother sipped her tea. "The heathens always seem inclined to multiply."

Standing beside Zenia, Arden saw her flush turn to white. She took it as a comment on herself-which it might well have been, knowing Lady Belmaine's stiletto methods. "I promised you would have tea with my mother," he said in Arabic. "Pleasant, is it not?"

She cast him a look, an unhappy appeal.

"It is quite rude, Arden, to speak in a foreign language," his mother said.

"I was merely complimenting Lady Winter on how becoming she appears in shoes," he said. "She was barefoot when we met."

Zenia's lips parted. She looked as if she would like to dash his tea in his face.

He didn't know why he said it. He had meant to be cordial. He could not afford to enrage her-his father had informed him that she was withholding her consent to their marriage-and yet he could not help himself. It was the only point of reference he could find with her, a shared language and memory. If they could speak of it, if he could tell her what he remembered and what had happened to him after she was gone, if they could talk of the red sands and the strange mountains of Jabal Shammar and the walls of Hayil; if he could discover his brave and graceful wolf cub in her ...

He could love her. He would. He already did, but he couldn't find her.

He wanted her; her body inflamed him, even here in the somber dress and cap. But it was strange to him, formed differently, moving differently: he needed to find her inside this new shape.

"That is hardly a time Lady Winter can wish to be reminded of," his mother said. "You are shockingly impudent tonight, Arden."

Which of course he was. "I think I liked her better then," he said, recklessly digging his own grave deeper. "I liked her barefoot."

"What an ungracious thing to say." Lady Belmaine set down her cup.

"Does she always wear shoes?" he asked. "The way Beth always stays in heated rooms?"

"Of course Lady Winter wears shoes. Whatever has got into you, Arden?" His father was scowling at him in a familiar way. He took a long sip of cordial and set the glass down hard on the mantelpiece. "Or need I suppose it is anything more than perversity?"

"Is it perversity, Zenia?" Arden asked, looking at her lowered profile. "Am I to forget everything I knew of you, all the best things, so that you can be an English lady?"

She stood there staring down at her clasped hands. The small bunch of black silk flowers pinned at her throat rose and fell, the only motion about her.

"Tea and seedcakes!" He gave a short laugh, turning away to the window. "Such a very proper lady. You came to the right place for that. My mother is the highest authority in the matter."

"I really must see to Elizabeth," Zenia said-slipping away, escaping him once again. He heard her footsteps hurry across the carpet, and the solid sound of the closing door.

Elizabeth was fussy and petulant. Zenia tried to calm her by nursing, but she found to her great distress that her milk was finally and completely gone. Elizabeth sat in her lap and cried. Zenia wanted desperately to weep too-it seemed such a cruel moment to lose the one thing she alone could share with her daughter.

But Elizabeth did not seem to want to share anything with her now. She refused to stay in Zenia's lap, she refused to be rocked or listen to lullabies, and she would not settle into bed, but kept sliding down and reaching to try to open the door to her playroom. If Zenia would not open it, she would begin to wail. So it was standing open when he came.

"It is only until she goes to sleep," Zenia said-but of course the moment that Elizabeth saw him, nothing would do but that she must be picked up and carried on his shoulders. He stripped to his shirtsleeves and hefted her up with a grimace and walked back and forth between the rooms, with Elizabeth cooing happily whenever he ducked under the doorframe.

There was a dangerous moment when she pointed at the outer door and began to whimper, but Lord Winter turned her over in a tumble onto the bed, and she was still tired enough that she lay laughing up at him, tousled and breathless and drowsy-eyed. To Zenia's dismay, he sat down beside her on the bed, then rested on his elbow amid the pillows while Elizabeth clutched his open shirt collar.

She fell asleep with it in her fist. He arid Zenia had not once looked at one another.

There was a light knock on the bedroom door-Zenia's nightly tray. The maid came in and put it down and curtsied on her way out. Lord Winter stayed where he was on the bed, and Elizabeth barely fluttered her lashes before she was asleep again.

They must look a real family, Zenia thought. A father and mother and child.

"Eat," he said quietly. "I don't mind."

Her throat felt so tight that she did not think she could force herself to swallow. "I don't care for anything now."

He still had not looked at her. "I understand that you are not yet certain . . . whether you wish to be Lady Winter in fact."

"We will wake her, talking," Zenia said, keeping her voice low. "I think it would be best if you asked your father to arrange for another room for you."He looked up at her then, a flash of blue. "No," he said."Your presence upsets her. I could not get her to bed with the door closed.""Then leave it open.""I cannot--" She stood, turning away so that she did not have to look at him."Do you think I'm going to ravish you, Lady Winter? Bring in a trundle for the nurse, if you feel the need of more chaperonage."She heard the bed move, and looked to see him disengaging Elizabeth's fingers. As he rose, Elizabeth rolled over into the warmed depression where his body had beenand sighed, relaxing.Zenia was angry with him. Elizabeth had never let anyone but Zenia lie down with her. Never.

He lifted the silver cover from one of the dishes and ate a thick slice of cheese. Andthen she was angry with him because he so easily made himself at home in her room."I wish you would leave," she said tightly. "A gentleman would leave, and arrange to sleep elsewhere.""Oh, a gentleman." He glanced sideways at her. "I'm sure you know all about that.""Please," she said."Beth likes me here.""She only cares for you because you allow her to do what she should not."He gave her a long look. "If you insist on keeping her imprisoned, you know, you may find that she doesn't care for you at all."

"I do not keep her imprisoned." Zenia expelled a sharp breath. "She goes outwhenever the weather is fair. You know nothing of it.""Zenia-" He moved to the shuttered window, his back to her. His voice was unexpectedly intense. "I know something of it.""What can you know? You only saw her yesterday for the first time in her life. What do you know of how I've tried to keep her safe? What do you know of what it waslike, after-"He looked back at her. She turned her face away. "They said the Saudis took you.

There was blood on the saddle." Her voice began to shake. "You were dead. AndI'm not going to let Elizabeth die! You aren't afraid of anything, you have no sense,you don't care if you kill yourself, and I'm not going to let-"

There was a whimper from the bed as Elizabeth lifted her head. Zenia realized how

her voice had risen."Please go!" she whispered, sitting down at the desk and staring at the silver dishes."Just go." "Zenia-"

"Go. You'll wake her-and I can't bear it if she cries." He walked past her to the other room. As the door began to close, Elizabeth pushed up on her arms and started to wail.

"Leave it open," Zenia hissed.

It stayed open. The light from the candle on the other side was suddenly snuffed, leaving the doorway dark. Elizabeth peered at it for a long moment, and then laid her small head down again with a satisfied sigh.

Arden stood in the estate office, trying not to gaze out the window at the gray sky. His father was leaning over a map spread across the desk, his forefinger pointing at each field in turn. "This was a part of the Lyburn Abbey place, but your grandfather bought it when old gentleman Cole had a stroke. There used to be a tenant, a Mr.-I don't recall his name at the moment. We'll look it up. That red volume, there. No, the green calf. Here." The earl walked impatiently to the bookcase and pulled a ledger down. He opened it on the desk.

Arden flipped the pages. There were endless entries and transactions, all dated forty years before-he had no idea how he could find the name of a tenant from his grandfather's day, or why he was doing it. "Is this man still fanning the piece?" he asked.

"Good God, no, he must have passed on a decade ago."

"Need we look him up, then?"

"You must start from the ground, Winter." His father sat down behind the desk again. 'This is the sort of thing you must learn if you wish to be a responsible landlord. Help him out, Mr. Pinkney."

"The tenant was Samuel Brown, your lordship," the bailiff said. He was a silent man with a full white beard and a sizable paunch for his five-and-a-half feet of height. Arden was informed that he farmed a large portion of the estate himself, but Mr. Pinkney was not forthcoming on this or any other topic.

"No, no," the earl said. "I meant you must help him out in looking it up. He needs to learn-well, never mind that for the moment. What was in the Abbey field last year, Mr. Pinkney?"

"Wheat, your lordship."

"And what are we to put in this winter?"

"Wheat, your lordship."

"And I suppose that the rough plowing will begin soon?"

"The field is already plowed and harrowed, your lordship."

"Excellent." The earl nodded toward Arden. "You see that a good mild winter has us well ahead. No frozen ground to put us behind this year."

"Yes, sir," Arden said. He thought of taking Beth for walks through the winter woods, showing her the holes in the trees and the animal tracks, and caught his gazestealing toward the window again."Are we plowing anywhere at the moment, Mr. Rnkney?" the earl asked.

"The clay bottoms, your lordship.""Ah! We haven't talked about the bottoms. The drainage- very neccessary to keepthe ditches in repair. Take him down this afternoon, Mr. Pinkney, and let him look atthe ditches. He can watch the plowing. If you change into something suitable,Winter, you can put your own hand to a row. I daresay you won't find it as easy as itlooks. Good lesson for you."

"Yes, sir," Arden said, feeling his jaw tighten. He exhaled and deliberately relaxed it."Mr. Pinkney, I trust you to take care that he doesn't get in a tangle with the oxen.They're not like horses, Winter. Quite the opposite-walk right over you if you don't watch yourself. Perhaps you'd best let the boys do the plowing after all. I wouldn'tlike to see you get hurt by a damn foolish pair of bullocks.""No, sir," Arden said."Now, what's next? Here, put this volume back. The miller's field. You'll want to have Mr. Pinkney show you the bounds and corners.""Why?" Arden asked.The earl paused. "Do you know them?""No.""Then learn them. You must know the bounds and corners."Arden's gaze wandered to the window again. He leaned against the sill. "Yes, sir.""The miller's field is always in hay," his father said. "And the piece by the dairy.

Where else?"

The question was sudden. Arden realized, belatedly, that he was being quizzed."Where else?" he repeated."What else have I said is in hay?""Nowhere that you've mentioned.""I believe I mentioned the second half of the Abbey place-did I not, Mr. Pinkney?""You did speak of the Abbey place, your lordship.""I thought I had. You should be writing this down, Winter. Pull up that chair. Mr.

Pinkney, get him a pen and paper."Mr. Pinkney opened a plain deal cabinet and handed Arden a book and fountain pen.Arden sat down. He made a note. Miller's, dairy, 2nd part Abbey-always in hay.

Learn the bounds and corners. He was perfectly sure that no one had said anythingat all about hay on the second half of the Abbey place.His father leaned over the map again. "Now, the old dairy-what have we done about replacing that poor fellow, Mr. Pinkney?""Mr. Fenton is grazing there until your lordship pleases to make a change.""Yes, the bloody fence. I really don't see the need. What do you think, Winter?""I have no idea what you're speaking of.""Should we enclose the west wood?" his father said, with a vague, impatient wave of his hand over the map. "I really don't see the need.""Oh, neither do I," Arden agreed blandly."Mr. Fenton seems content," the bailiff said.The earl nodded. "Good. We're all in agreement, then. I suggest you make a note about the tenant."While his father watched him, Arden wrote Old dairy- tenant content."In fact, Winter, why don't you manage that yourself?""Manage what?" Arden asked."Putting in the new tenant," his father said in a tone of slightly strained patience.

"Replace the old fellow who died."

"I suggest that Farmer Dingle would be the best choice, your lordship," Mr. Pinkney

said. "He will take it for two and a half."

"Good. Good. That will do."

"But doesn't Fenton have it?" Arden asked.

"No, no, we don't want Fenton to continue grazing there," his father said. "Not at all.

He complains of the fence.""I thought he was content with the fence.""Arden," his father said, "I'm afraid lack of attention has always been one of your besetting faults."

Arden turned his face down to the book. He set his teeth hard together. Fence, he wrote. Pay attention.

"Shall we have some coffee, gentlemen?" Lord Belmaine asked expansively as he tilted back his chair. "Ring the bell if you please, Winter. What a pleasant morning. A bit damp-I advise you to take your greatcoat this afternoon."

"Yes, sir," Arden said. He stood up and pulled the bell rope.

The earl looked at him, smiling warmly. "It's very fine to have you working here. It does me good to see it."

"Yes, sir," Arden said.

His father looked out the window. "What a pleasant morning!" he said in a glad voice.

* * * * * Arden wasn't allowed to visit Beth at midday. She was conveniently sleeping, he was notified by the nurse posted at the bottom of the stairs. He could hear Beth shrieking, but he didn't press the poor woman, who looked so guilty and harassed that he took pity on her. He was feeling rather suffocated by authority himself.

"I'll come back later," he said, "Mrs.-?" She curtsied. "I'm called Sutton, my lord." "All my nurses were Sutton, and the governesses too," he said with a wry smile. "What is your real name?" "Henrietta Lamb, sir."

"I'll come back later, Mrs. Lamb. When do you think would be best?"

She lifted her face. She had a worried look, her straight brown hair pulled back tight under her cap. "I'm not certain what would be best, my lord. My lady feels that- Miss Elizabeth's health requires complete peace and quiet, without visitors."

Arden felt a rush of anger. But he said, in a dead level voice, "That is very well, but since I am her father, and not a visitor, you may inform Lady Winter that I will come for Miss Elizabeth's daily walk at four. I expect both of them to be ready to accompany me."

"Yes, my lord."

'Thank you, Mrs. Lamb."

She dipped a curtsy and hurried up the stairs as he turned away.

He said nothing at all when he came, promptly at four, as he had warned. Zenia was ready. She was exhausted, Beth was exhausted, they had spent the morning and afternoon in a series of tantrums about everything from putting on socks to eating carrots to changing napkins. Elizabeth had cried when Zenia had left her with the nurse and cried when she stayed.