ribbon.

On the way to the house, they passed a stretch of woods. Rosalyn saw a flash of color in the border ofthe field. She put her hand on Colin's arm."Please stop."He did, and she pointed to the fox sitting in the shadows. It was their fox, and sitting by him was a vixen.

"Is it my imagination, or is he grinning at us?" Rosalyn asked.

"He's grinning," Colin agreed before their bold little friend disappeared back into the shadows. His mate followed in his steps.

Colin and Rosalyn sat for a moment in the middle of the road. "Once I wondered where in the world I

would find a place to fit in," she said.

"Do you know now?" he asked.

She nodded. "In your arms."

"Let's go home," he whispered.

"Yes."

And together they drove off.

Yes, life was good.

Very good indeed.

Epilogue.

Colin and Rosalyn decided to change the name of their estate from Maiden Hill to Fox Hill.

The move was enough to set Lord Loftus's teeth on edge. To everyone he could, he told the story of how Mandland had denied him his fox.

Most people sympathized with the fox.

Of course, Lord Loftus's hunting days were over. Lady Loftus discovered she and her friends didn't have the wherewithal to create a society in the Valley without Rosalyn. They could have their routs and soirees, but they lacked the special "extra" Rosalyn had brought to these functions. Hers had been interesting; theirs were boring.

There was nothing left to do but return to where society reigned, and so Lady Loftus packed up her household and her husband and moved all to town.

The Valley heaved a sigh of relief. Most people liked Lord Loftus but agreed with Colin that a new age was arriving. Loftus was part of the old order. The Mandland brothers were the new.

Fortunately, Colin's viewpoints were those of a Moderate. There were those with more radical opinions, and he was instrumental in cooling down hot tempers. Not to say he didn't relish the role of loyal opposition and having the power to badger Mr. Shellsworth at every opportunity.

Very quickly the people in the Valley started talking about what steps could be taken to send Colin to the Commons. After all, not every seat was "owned" by a peer.

In December, Rosalyn realized she was pregnant. What's more, she'd grown very close to her sister-in-law, Val. Still, there was something missing from her life. She couldn't decide what... or, rather, she was afraid to face it.

On a sunny day the following May, Covey helped her discover what it was.

Rosalyn was scattering seeds in her front flower bed, the one that was her pride and joy and Oscar's favorite snack.

"A letter has arrived for you," Covey said.

"I don't remember seeing the post."

"It didn't come that way." Covey held out the envelope.

Rosalyn recognized the writing and the seal. Heedless of her serviceable gray dress, she sat on the lawn and broke the wax.

The letter was from her mother.

For a moment, Rosalyn couldn't breathe. Covey was watching her with concern, and Rosalyn didn't want to show emotion. She forced herself to focus on the words: My dear Rosalyn- It has been my fondest dream to someday see you again. Mrs. Covington has told me of your marriage and the impending birth of a child. I have always prayed for your happiness and take great joy in knowing you are married to a good and honest man.

I have decided to take a great risk. I have journeyed from our home in Glasgow to see you. I am staying at the home of a friend of Mrs. Covington's. I will be there until Monday. I hope you will have time to see me.

Your mother For a moment, Rosalyn couldn't think. Now she knew why Covey watched her so anxiously.

"Should I not have given you the letter?" Covey asked.

"No, it's fine." Rosalyn raised her hands to her temples and rubbed them. She got to her feet. "I need to find Colin."

She found him in the barn. Without a word, she handed him the letter. He read it. Except for when they

were first married, she'd not mentioned her mother again."Do you want to see her?" he asked."I don't know." She fanned her hot face with the envelope."Rosalyn, how would you feel if our child had this decision to make?""Our child will never have this decision to make."Colin put his arms around her waist. "The world changes every day. You don't know what the future holds. How would you feel if our child had this decision to make?" he repeated."I'd want her to see me," she said. She leaned against his strong chest. "And yet, I'm afraid.""I'll go with you," he said, and he did. They went that very afternoon.Rosalyn was nervous-until they arrived in front of Mrs. Howell's cottage. There was no mistaking the identity of the woman sitting on a bench in the sun there.

This woman was a far cry from the mother of Rosalyn's memory. This mother was older, sadder,

rounder. She came to her feet, and for a moment the two women stared at each other as strangers-andthen her mother opened her arms and said, "Rosalyn."Rosalyn could not have stayed away if she'd wanted to.That afternoon was bittersweet. The rift between her and her mother would never be completely bridged, and yet, at last, they could understand each other better.

Charles Mandland was born September second. He came into the world screaming with the healthiest set of lungs anyone had ever heard. Matt predicted he certainly had the makings of a bishop and told everyone so during Charles's christening.

Colin didn't care what his son had the makings of. He'd learned it made no matter if a man was acobbler or a vicar or a farmer.What was really important in life was whether or not a man had learned to love and to love well.Wasn't that what Val had once tried to tell him?He stood in the church, his son in his arms, his wife by his side, and felt his parents' blessings."No demons," he whispered when they retook their seats.Rosalyn smiled. She knew he referred to the threshold and his mother's tale."No," she agreed, "not now or ever."

And so it was.

Acknowledgments.

I had the best time researching this book.

If you ever find yourself in the Ribble Valley, you must visit the Old Post House Hotel on King Street in Clitheroe, John and Janet Spedding, innkeepers. Order John's toffee cake and cream. I tell you, I wake up in the middle of the night dreaming of it. John promised me the recipe, which he then never shared. You have my permission to badger him for it-and if you get it, I can be reached at cathy@cathymaxwell.com.

Truly, John and Janet are delightful hosts and well worth a visit.

I'd also like to express my appreciation to Mr. Simon Entwistle, local historian, raconteur, delightful traveling companion. He gave us a tour of the Valley unlike any other and patiently answered my questions. What a day we had.

Let me advise you now that any errors are my own and cannot be credited to that good man, who did his best to set me straight.

Also, if you are in the mood for a good story, Simon is easy to find. He conducts ghost tours for tourists like us, and the local tourism offices have his name. But see if you can share a few minutes over a pint alone with him. He knows the rumors behind every murder and bit of skullduggery in the Valley for the past eight hundred years and has the talent for telling a tale.

Exit, pursued by a bear.

Stage direction in.

The Winter's Tale.

Wm. Shakespeare.