Was the duke the type of man to harass his younger servants, then? Was that why her grace had asked about her relationship with him in London? She hoped fervently that he would keep himself there for a long time to come.

Well, she thought, thinking back, with a slight chill, to the duchessas words and manner, she had been warned that neither her grace nor Mrs. Clement would be pleased to see her. And she must not complain. Neither of them had been openly hostile to her. They would come around, surely, when they realized that she had no intention of standing over Lady Pamela with a stick all day long in a stuffy schoolroom.

MR. SNEDBURG WAS AT the end of a long dayas work. He had unbent enough to take a seat in the parlor on St. Jamesas Street and even to accept a glass of port.

aMuch obliged, sir,a he said, taking the glass from the hand of his host. aThe feet get sore from so much walking and the pipes dry from asking so many questions. Yes, indeed, Miss Fleur Hamilton. Too much of a coincidence not to be the same young lady, would you not say? And she fits the description.a Mr. Snedburg did not add that both his informants, Miss Fleming and the young womanas landlady, had described Fleur Hamilton as a very ordinary-looking young lady with very ordinary-looking reddish hair. He understood that his client rather fancied his cousin even if she was a murderer and a jewel thief. And men in the throes of an infatuation were to be forgiven if they occasionally waxed poetic. Sunshine and sunset tangled all together, indeed. It was enough to make the Runner want to toss up his victuals.

aAnd?a Lord Brocklehurst was watching him keenly, his own glass of port halfway to his lips. It had taken the Runner well over a week to make his first report, despite his reputation.

aAnd she has been hired as governess to the daughter of a Mr. Kent of Dorsetshire. Byaa"the Runner paused for effecta"aa gentleman who waited four whole days at the agency just for her, for a red-haired Fleur. She has left on her way already.a Lord Brocklehurst frowned. His glass was still stranded several inches from his mouth.

aThere canat be that many Kents in Dorsetshire,a Mr. Snedburg said. aI shall look into the matter and see if we canat nail our man to one single spot on the map, sir.a Lord Brocklehurst drank, deep in thought. aKent?a he said. aNot the Ridgeway Kents, surely?a aAs in the Dook of Ridgeway?a the Runner asked, raising one hand to scratch the back of his neck. aIs he a Kent?a aI knew his half-brother,a Lord Brocklehurst said. aThey lived in Dorset. Willoughby Hall.a Mr. Snedburg dug into his ear with his little finger. aIall see what I can find out for definite, sir,a he said. aWe will run her to ground in no time at all, take my word on it.a aFleur,a the other said, gazing into the swirling contents of his glass. aShe used to have tantrums as a young child because my mother and father would not call her that. Apparently it was the name she went by until her parents died. I had forgotten.a aYes, well, right you are, sir,a Mr. Snedburg said, downing what remained in his glass in one gulp and getting to his feet. aIall see what I can find out about this dook and his governess.a aI want her found soon,a Lord Brocklehurst said.

aIt will be soon, or sooner,a the other said briskly. aMy word on it, sir.a aWell,a Lord Brocklehurst said, ayou were recommended to me as the best. Though it has taken you precious long to find out this much.a The other chose not to comment on either the compliment or the criticism. He saluted in almost military manner and hurried smartly from the room.

FLEURaS LIFE WAS BY NO MEANS ARDUOUS DURING her first two weeks at Willoughby. She had been instructed to take her orders from Mrs. Clement, and Mrs. Clement, it seemed, did not approve of schooling for her young charge any more than the duchess did. The new governess was lucky if she was granted an hour morning and afternoon with her pupil.

She was somewhat uneasy, perhaps a little worried that she would be dismissed as a servant of little use or that the duke and Mr. Houghton would come home and find that she was not after all earning her keep. But she tried to take the advice of Mrs. Laycock, who told her to relax and do her best, and who assured her that when his grace finally arrived homea"and he would surely come when he heard about the party that her grace had organizeda"all would be set to rights.

In the meanwhile Fleur became familiar with and comfortable in her new home. There were long hours of quiet and peace in which to allow the old fears to die and the old wounds to heal. Sometimes a whole day would pass without her feeling that old urge to look anxiously over her shoulder for a pursuer. And sometimes she could sleep for a whole stretch without seeing that hawkish and scarred face bending over her and telling her what she was while making her into just that.

She was eating well and had put back on some of the weight she had lost. Her hair seemed thicker again and shinier. The worst of the shadows had disappeared from beneath her eyes. There was color in her cheeks. There was energy in her muscles. She was beginning to feel young again.

Mrs. Laycock found the time over those two weeks to stroll over much of the vast park with her. And always Fleur found out more from the quiet conversation of the housekeeper about her new home and the family for whom she worked.

aIt was laid out years ago to give the impression of natural beauty,a Mrs. Laycock said of the park. aThe lake was dug and the cascades created and every tree planted in order to give a pleasing prospect from almost every vantage point. A little silly, I call it, Miss Hamilton, when nature does very nicely on its own without the help of men to make their fortunes out of landscaping the gardens of the rich. I would prefer to see flat formal gardens with a good show of flowers myself. But that is only my opinion.a Fleur loved the park and its rolling and seemingly endless lawns and groves of trees. She loved the winding avenues and stone temples and other follies. She felt that she could wander there forever and never tire of the views or the sense of peace that it all brought her.

His grace, she discovered from Mrs. Laycock, had fought with the English army in Spain and at the Battle of Waterloo, even though he had always been the heir to the late duke, and had already succeeded to his title when he left for Belgium.

aHe never shirked any duty,a the housekeeper said. aThere were those, of course, who said that his duty was to remain here safe and alive in order to take over his responsibilities. But he went.a aAnd he came back safely,a Fleur said.

Mrs. Laycock sighed. aIt was a dreadful time,a she said. aHe was so happy before he went back to fight again when that monster escaped from Elba. He had just become betrothed to her gracea"the Honorable Miss Sybil Desford she was thena"and was as happy as the day was long. They had been intended for each other for years before that, but it was only during those months that he really had stars in his eyes for her.a aBut he came back to her,a Fleur said. aAll ended happily.a aWe thought he was dead,a Mrs. Laycock said. aNews came that he had been killed in battle, and his man came home all broken upa"he had been with his grace for years. I donat like to remember that time, Miss Hamilton. First the old duke and then our boy. Boy!a She chuckled. aJust listen to me. He is past his thirtieth birthday already.a They sat on a wrought-iron seat beside the path they were strolling along and looked down through trees to a crescent-shaped lake with an island and a domed pavilion in its center.

aLord Thomas assumed the title,a Mrs. Laycock continued. aHis graceas half-brother, that is. They look alike, but as different they are as chalk is from cheese. There are those who prefer Lord Thomas because of his sunny nature and his smiles. He betrothed himself to her gracea"to Miss Desford.a aAll so quickly?a Fleur asked. aBut surely the mistake was discovered very soon?a aIt was a whole year,a the housekeeper said with a sigh. aHis grace was taken for dead and stripped on the battlefield. Those French, or those Belgians, behaved just like barbarians, Miss Hamilton. But one decent couple discovered that he was still breathing and took him to their cottage to nurse him back to health. He was dreadfully wounded.a She shook her head.

aHe was unconscious or in a fever for weeks,a she continued. aAnd then he could not remember much. He did not know who he was for months, and then apparently he had trouble convincing anyone that he was who he said he was. He was naked, poor gentleman, when he was found.a aSo for a whole year he was thought to be dead?a Fleur asked.

aIall never forget the day he came home,a Mrs. Laycock said. aStill limping and sadly disfigured, poor gentleman. Iall never forget it.a aWhat happened to Lord Thomas?a Fleur asked when her companion stared quietly down to the lake.

aHe left,a Mrs. Laycock said. aJust disappeared about three months after his grace came home. There are those who said there was not room for the both of them in the one house and that his grace ordered him to leave. And there are those who say other things. I do not know the rights of it. But he has never come back.a aAnd the duchess married his grace after all,a Fleur said. aThe story has a happily-ever-after ending.a aYes.a Mrs. Laycock got to her feet and brushed at the folds of her black dress. aShe married him. Though such a wailing she put up when she came here with her papa and discovered that Lord Thomas had gone, that I had a hard time of it to quiet the servantsa talk, Miss Hamilton. And his grace so happy to be home only three months before that and catching her up in his arms and twirling her about when she stepped from her carriage for all the world to see.a They strolled on, each wrapped in private thought. It was strange that the duke spent so much time from home if he loved it so much, Fleur thought, and if he loved the duchess so much and had such a strong sense of responsibility.

But not all of Fleuras time was spare time, of course. She did have about two hours each day with her pupil, a small, thin, dark-haired child who might one day grow up to be handsome if her frequently petulant look did not become habitual. She did not resemble her mother in any way at all. She must be all her father.

The child was difficult. She did not want to look at books, she did not want to listen to stories, she did not want to pick up a needle, and when she painted she often did so carelessly, wasting both paper and paint and becoming mulish when Fleur insisted that she clear away the mess she had made.

Fleur tried to be patient. Lady Pamela was, after all, little more than a baby, and she must know, as children usually did, that her mother and her nurse were on her side. Fleur tried to entice the child into wanting to learn.

There was an old harpsichord in the schoolroom. Fleur sat at it and played one afternoon when Lady Pamela had refused to cooperate in any of the planned activities, and she continued to play when she was aware of the child standing still to one side of the stool.

aI want to play,a Lady Pamela demanded when Fleuras fingers finally fell still.

Fleur smiled. aHave you had any instruction?a she asked.

aNo,a Lady Pamela said. aI want to play. Get up.a aPlease,a Fleur said.

aGet up!a the child said. aI want to play.a aPlease,a Fleur said again.

aYou are a servant,a Lady Pamela said haughtily. aGet up or I will tell Nanny.a aI will gladly get up,a Fleur said, aif you will ask me rather than tell me.a The child flounced off in order to scold and slap a shabby doll she had brought to the schoolroom with her.

Fleur sighed inwardly and resumed her quiet playing. It all reminded her of so much. Cousin Caroline and Amelia, haughty and imperious because they were suddenly Lady Brocklehurst of Heron House and the Honorable Miss Amelia Bradshaw after the death of her parents.

And they had treated her just so because they were obliged to offer her a home in the house where she had always lived. Amelia had taken her lovely Chinese bedchamber and relegated her to a plainer room at the back of the house.

She had a few good days with her pupil. Lady Pamela had been excited one morning because her mother was to take her visiting in the afternoon, but word came to the nursery at luncheon time that her grace was feverish and had been told by the doctor to rest during the afternoon.

Fleur, who was taking her luncheon upstairs, saw the look of intense disappointment on her pupilas face and the tears that formed in her eyes and her trembling, pouting lip. The child saw far too little of her mother. But Fleur knew that the chief disappointment would be in not seeing the Chamberlain children and their dogs after all. Lady Pamela also saw very little of other children.

aWould it be possible for me to take Lady Pamela to visit the children?a she asked Mrs. Clement when the child could not hear her.

She expected a rebuff, but the nurse looked at her consideringly and said she would consult her grace. Within half an hour Fleur had the pleasure of seeing the childas face light up so that she had looked almost pretty. She jumped up and down on the spot, cheering until her nurse cupped her face in her hands and told her not to get overexcited.

She had done one thing at last, Fleur thought, that had won her pupilas approval.

They set out as soon as they were ready and the carriage had been brought around. And Fleur smiled as she watched Lady Pamela sit forward in her seat, looking at the scenery pass the window, waving at the gatekeeperas wife, and chattering intermittently about the Chamberlainsa dogs.

aMama will not allow me to have a dog,a she said, aor a cat. Or a rabbit,a she added a moment later.

For almost the first time in their acquaintance, Fleur felt, her pupil looked like a child.

Mr. Chamberlain was a widower of about forty years, who lived with his sister and his three children in an elegant manor that looked remarkably like the cozy manor of her dreams when she had been traveling into Dorsetshire, Fleur thought.

She explained to Miss Chamberlain, an elegant lady in her mid-thirties, who wore a lace cap on her smoothly parted dark hair, that her grace was indisposed and that Lady Pamela had been disappointed at the prospect of losing the treat of playing with the children. She asked to be allowed to sit in the servantsa quarters for an hour.

aIn the servantsa quarters?a Miss Chamberlain said with a laugh. aI would not hear of any such thing, Miss Hamilton. You are Lady Pamelaas new governess? We heard that there was one. You will take tea with Duncan and me, if you please, while the children play.a Fleur followed her hostess into the drawing room, where they were soon joined by Mr. Chamberlain, who bowed to her and showed no outward chagrin at being forced to take tea with a mere governess.

aOur conversation will doubtless be drowned out by barkings before long, Miss Hamilton,a he said. aThe poor dogs will be dragged inside to the nursery to be played with. It is always so when Lady Pamela is here. She does not have the chance to mingle with other children or with animals often enough, I believe.a aAnd she had been taught that horses are dangerous,a Miss Chamberlain added, handing Fleur her cup and saucer.

Her brother smiled at her. aI suppose it would be easy to be overprotective of an only child,a he said. aIt is a pity Adam is not home more often. Have you heard if he is to return for the ball, Miss Hamilton?a aI am afraid I do not know, sir,a Fleur said.

aIt will not be the same without him,a he said. aBut the Willoughby balls are always the most splendid of occasions. Opinion seems to be evenly divided in the neighborhood as to whether the indoor balls or the outdoor are the more so. Emily believes the outdoor ones far more romantic, donat you, my dear?a aOh, more romantic, yes, without a doubt,a she said. aI am not sure that they are more splendid. There is nothing like a promenade along the long gallery, Miss Hamilton, with music wafting through from the great hall and candles lit in all the wall sconces and all the Ridgeway ancestors watching. Are you pleased with your place of employment?a Fleur spent a pleasant hour conversing with brother and sister and walking in their flower arbor with them. They seemed quite unperturbed by the sounds of boisterous merriment coming from the upper part of the house.

aI employ a nurse to worry about broken bones and pulled hair and such,a Mr. Chamberlain said when Fleur expressed her hope that Lady Pamela was behaving as she ought. aA little noise I can easily endure.a aBy shutting yourself off into your books, Duncan,a his sister said. aOne could yell boo into his ear when he is reading, Miss Hamilton, and he would be oblivious.a For one hour Fleur felt like a real person again. Though perhaps even the word aagaina was inappropriate, she thought as she led a reluctant Lady Pamela to the carriage for the return ride home. She had never been treated with a great deal of respect when she lived at Heron House.

aWe will bring the children to the Hall for a return visit one afternoon,a Mr. Chamberlain said, taking Fleuras hand to help her into the carriage. aThank you for bringing the child, Miss Hamilton. I am sure the outing has done her good. And thank you for calling on us.a aI do not know what your working hours are,a Emily Chamberlain said, abut I suppose you must have some time to yourself. Do call here at any time, Miss Hamilton. I would enjoy your company.a aOne of the dogs bit Randallas bottom when he was climbing over a chair,a Lady Pamela told Fleur as the carriage jerked into motion. aTheir nurse said it was because we had made the dog overexcited.a She giggled. aBut it was ever so funny.a Fleur laughed with her but resisted the urge to hug the child. It was too early for that yet.

True to his promise, Mr. Chamberlain brought his sister and his children to call several days later. While Miss Chamberlain sat drinking tea with the duchess, he brought his children upstairs, only to find that Lady Pamela was in the middle of an arithmetic lesson in the schoolroom.

aI do beg your pardon,a he said when Fleur answered the door to his knock. aMay I invite your eternal wrath, Miss Hamilton, and beg that Lady Pamela be released early from classes in order to play with my trio? I am sure she will work twice as hard tomorrow, wonat you, Pamela?a aYes,a she cried eagerly, jumping to her feet.

aShe is also an accomplished little liar,a he said quietly to Fleur with a smile, aas are all children. Can I persuade you to step outside so they may romp and shriek and argue without murdering our ears?a aWhat a splendid idea,a Fleur said, and led the way downstairs and out through a door at the back of the house to lawns that led back to a distant tree line. She hesitated when he offered his arm while they walked. The children had run on ahead with a ball, which one of the Chamberlain children had been clutching. Was it proper? She was a servant. He was a visitor.

She took his arm.

aIf we stroll slowly enough,a he said, athe children will get far enough ahead that we will not feel obliged to listen for naughty words or unkind insults. The very best way to deal with children, Miss Hamilton, as I have found from personal experience, is to become blind, deaf, and dumb. And, of course, to have a competent nurse and a long-suffering resident sister. Tell me about yourself. What has brought you here?a Fleur felt guilty about the lies and half-truths she felt forced to tell.

aYou will be at the ball?a he asked when taking his leave of her some time later and turning to summon his three children. aI hope to dance with you there, Miss Hamilton.a She hoped so too. As she led Pamela by the hand back upstairs to the nursery, and endured the icy glares of Mrs. Clement when she observed the childas flushed cheeks and somewhat disheveled hair, Fleur hoped so profoundly. She returned to the schoolroom to put away the books they had abandoned earlier, and twirled about, the arithmetic book clasped to her bosom.

It was so good to feel young and happy and full of hope again. And to have had an attractive gentleman ask her to dance with him at the ball.

Not that she would be seduced by expectations for the future, of course. Nothing but the very mildest of flirtations was at all possible for her. Certainly marriage was completely out of the question. But she would settle for a mild flirtation. It would be quite enough.

And finally, it seemed, his grace was to come home. Lady Pamela brought her the news one afternoon, rushing through the schoolroom door, when she usually dragged her feet and frequently looked sullen as well.

aPapa is coming home,a she announced triumphantly. aMama has just had a letter from him. He should be here any day. He should be here before any of Mamaas guests arrive.a The duchess was expecting close to twenty guests within the week, the day before the ball.

Fleur smiled. aHow lovely for you,a she said. aYou will be very happy to see your father.a aNo, I wonat,a the girl said. aI shall be cross with him.a aIndeed?a Fleur said. aWhy is that?a aBecause he has been gone forever,a the child said. aAnd because he sent you.a Fleur smiled quietly to herself. She thought she had been making progress. But only outside the schoolroom, it seemed. Rome was not built in a day, she had to remind herself. aShall we look at the alphabet book?a she suggested.

aI have a headache,a Lady Pamela said. aI want to paint.a aA picture for your papa?a Fleur said. aA very good idea. But ten minutes of the book first.a Battle was engaged.

aI shall get Papa to send you away again,a Lady Pamela said.

aWill you?a Fleur said, seating herself beside the girl and taking her gently by the arm when she would have got up from her place. aDo you remember this letter?a aA for apple,a Lady Pamela said without even looking. aThat is easy. I donat remember the others. I have a headache.a Yes, Fleur thought, his grace might well dismiss her. She worked for no more than two hours a day, and even then, trying to teach Lady Pamela was rather like trying to pull a mule.

But she would not think of dismissal and all it would mean to her. She would not allow herself to be plunged into gloom again. It felt altogether too good to be happy and alive.

HOUGHTON WAS A VALUABLE EMPLOYEE. He had been in the Duke of Ridgewayas service for more than five yearsa"almost since the dukeas return from Belgium, in fact. And his grace had come to rely on him more and more to conduct the day-to-day business of his life. The man was sensible and hardworking and discreet.

One quality in Houghton the duke valued as much as any other, though, and that was his ability to sense his employeras mood and to adjust his own behavior accordingly. They took their meals together when in London and frequently conversed on a wide range of topics. But when the duke wished to be silent, his secretary seemed not to feel the necessity of keeping a conversation going.

Today as they neared Willoughby, Houghton sat quietly in the carriage, regarding the scenery through the window beside him, and held his peace.

His grace was grateful. That ache of love and nostalgia was in him again. They were driving beside the old park wall. Soon now they would be on the lime avenue and he would be home indeed. He wondered if all men felt about their homes as he did about his. It was like a part of his identity, a part of himself.

He thought in particular of that time six years before when he had returned after so long and so painful an absence. The porteras wife had had her apron to her eyes, crying at the sight of hima"her wrinkled face was wreathed in smiles now as she bobbed him a curtsy. He raised one hand in greeting and smiled at her. All the servants had been out on the upper terrace to greet hima"they had even cheered hima"and he would swear that their happiness had not been feigned.

And Thomas. The memory lost some of its luster. He had not thoughta"foolishly he had not thought of what the year of his reported death had meant to Thomas. He had been the Duke of Ridgeway and was now merely Lord Thomas Kent again.

The duke had always thought Thomas was fond of him, although they had had their differences and although they were only half-brothersa"Thomas was the son of his fatheras second wife. Perhaps he had been. Perhaps the blow of finding himself suddenly deprived of a title and property he had thought his had been just too much.

And Sybil later that same day. Sybil, about whom he had dreamed for weeks before that, ever since his memory had returned. Back in his arms againa"for a brief moment. More beautiful than ever.

He would not think of it. He was coming home again now and there was excitement in him despite the fact that Sybil was there.

Mrs. Laycock and Jarvis, the butler, were standing at the top of the horseshoe steps before the massive double doors leading into the hall. Dearly familiar. Mrs. Laycock had been housekeeper at Willoughby for as long as his grace could recall, and Jarvis had been at the house all his life, rising through the ranks of the footmen to his current position, which he had assumed four years before.

Mrs. Laycock curtsied and Jarvis inclined his body into the bow that had stiffened noticeably the very day of his promotion. The duke smiled and greeted them.

Sybil had not come outside or even into the hall to meet him. She was in her sitting room, Mrs. Laycock informed him.

Almost an hour passed before he attended her there. Sybil would not appreciate being greeted by an eager husband dressed in the creased garments he had traveled in. He bathed and changed first.

His wife was reclining on the daybed in her sitting room. She did not rise at his entry.

aAdam,a she said breathlessly, smiling at him. The same beautiful, fragile, wide-eyed Sybil he had fallen in love with once upon a time. aDid you have a comfortable journey?a He bent over her to kiss her and she turned her cheek to his lips. aHow are you, Sybil?a he asked. There was a high flush on her cheeks.

aWell,a she said. aBored. Sir Cecil Hayward held a dinner last evening and entertained the company with stories of his new hunter and praises of his hounds. I left early. I could not stop yawning.a aHe is, Iam afraid, just a typical country gentleman,a he said with a smile. aHave you recovered from your chill?a She shrugged. aYou are not going to fuss, are you?a she said. aNanny does enough of that.a aI must remember to thank Nanny, then,a he said. aHow is Pamela?a aWell,a she said, adespite circumstances, the poor darling. You really must get rid of that governess, Adam. What whim was it that made you send her here?a aIs she not doing a good job?a he asked.

aPamela is too young to be spending hours in a schoolroom,a she said. aAnd she dislikes her governess. I would like to know what she was to you, Adam.a aHoughton hired her,a he said. aWhom have you invited here apart from Chesterton?a aJust a few people,a she said. aIt was so dull here with you gone.a aYou know that you could have come with me,a he said. aI asked you. I would have taken you and Pamela both. We could have shown her London.a aBut you know you would have been playing jealous husband as soon as I smiled at another gentleman,a she said. aYou always do, Adam. You hate to see me enjoy myself. Have you come home to spoil things for me again? Will you be scowling at all my guests?a aWill I need to?a he asked.

aYou are horrid to me,a she said, her large blue eyes filling with tears. aDid you know about the ball?a aBall?a he said.

aI have arranged it for the night after everyone arrives,a she said. aAnd I have invited everyone, Adam. You need not fear that anyone will feel slighted.a aYou planned a ball without me here?a he asked. aWould that not have struck our neighbors as strange, Sybil?a aCan I help it if you take yourself off to London at every opportunity in search of pleasure?a she said. aI would imagine everyone would sympathize with me. It is to be an outdoor ball. An orchestra has been hired to play in the pavilion. A dance floor is to be laid on the west side of the lakea"in the usual place. And the lanterns have been arranged for and the refreshments. I hope it does not rain.a aThis is all to take place in four daysa time?a he said. aI am so glad you thought to mention it to me today, Sybil. I hate surprises.a aAnd I hate that tone of sarcasm,a she said. aYou used not to use it with me. You used to be kind to me. You used to love me.a She started to cough, and drew a handkerchief from beside her.

aIt is so hot in here,a she said fretfully. aI think I ought to rest now. The doctor told me to rest more. You will be anxious to leave me and go about your own business anyway.a aLet me help you to your bed,a he said, bending toward her. aI would have brought a physician with me from town if I had known you were still unwell. Obviously Hartley is not doing you much good.a aYou never wrote to ask after my health,a she said. aI shall be quite happy to rest here, thank you, Adam.a Donat touch me. She had not said the words, but her actions had said them for her. The slight shrinking from his outstretched hands. The refusal to be helped. The turning of her cheek for his kiss of greeting. The dukeas jaw tightened as he stood outside her door a few moments later. The old familiar words, sometimes spoken, sometimes merely implied.

Would Pamela still be at her lessons? he wondered. Or in the nursery? He would go and see. He had missed her.

FLEUR WAS READING A STORY TO LADY PAMELA, although she knew that the child was not listening. She had seen her father arrive more than an hour before from the nursery window, where she had been with Mrs. Clement. But her nurse had not allowed her to rush downstairs to greet him and had sent her to the schoolroom soon after.

The child was torn between an impatient eagerness for him to come and a stubborn insistence that she did not care, that she did not wish to see him anyway.

Sullen and petulant as her charge was much of the time, sometimes Fleur ached to take her into her arms, to hold her close, to assure her that she was loved, that she mattered, that she was not forgotten.

She knew what it was like. Oh, she knew, though she had not known at so young an age. And by the time it had happened she had been old enough to know that her parents were in no way to blame. She had always been able to comfort herself with the knowledge that they had loved her totally, that she had meant all the world to them.

Perhaps Lady Pamelaas case was worse than hers after all. Her mother rarely visited her, though she showered her with love and endearments when she did. Her father had been away for many weeks.

But he did come at last. They heard a firm masculine tread in the corridor outside the schoolroom and a deep voice talking to Mrs. Clement. And Fleur breathed a sigh of relief for Lady Pamela, whose face brightened into that rare expression of pretty eagerness as her governess got quietly to her feet to cross the room and put the book away in order to leave father and daughter some privacy.

The door opened and she heard a childish shriek. She smiled and arranged the book carefully on its shelf with the others. She was nervous, if the truth were known. The Duke of Ridgeway! She had always thought of him as a very grand personage indeed.

aPapa, Papa!a Lady Pamela shrieked. aI have made you a picture, and I lost a tootha"see? What did you bring me?a There was a deep masculine laugh, the sound of a smacking kiss.

aCupboard love,a his voice said. aI thought it was me you were happy to see, Pamela. What makes you think I have brought you anything?a aWhat did you bring?a The childas voice was still a shriek.

aLater,a he said. aYou look lopsided without your tooth. Are you going to get a big one instead of it?a aHow much later?a she asked.

The Duke of Ridgeway laughed again.

Fleur turned, feeling foolish at her own nervousness. She was the daughter of a baron. She had lived in a baronas home, at Heron House, for most of her life. There was no reason to be awed by a duke. She held herself straight, folded her hands in front of her in what she hoped would look like a relaxed attitude, and raised her eyes.

He had his daughter up in his arms and was laughing as she hugged him tightly about the neck. The scarred half of his face was turned to Fleur.

She felt suddenly as if she were in a tunnel, a long and dark tunnel through which a cold wind rushed. She could hear the hum of it, though there was surely not air enough to breathe.

His eyes met hers across the room, and the coldness rushed into her nostrils and up into her head. The sound of the wind became a thick buzzing. Her hands felt cold and clammy and a million miles away from her head.

aMiss Hamilton?a The Duke of Ridgeway set his daughter down on the floor and took a few steps toward Fleur. He made her a slight bow. aWelcome to Willoughby Hall, maaam.a She knew that if she could just breathe deeply and evenly for long enough, her vision would return and blood would flow to her head again. She thought only of her breathing. In. Out. Donat rush it. Donat fight it.