"Goodness, no."

"Who are you then?"

"Jane Wessington."

Emily wrinkled her brow. "I don't have any relatives by that name."

' 'Oh, dear, I'm wondering if the Earl's message never made it." Jane had expected some sort of welcome if not one with open arms, at least some acknowledgment by the staff and Emily. Whatever to do now?

Seeking assistance from wherever she could find it, Jane turned her attention to the crippled, white-haired man who'd been helping Emily with her horse. When they'd first pulled up the drive, Jane had thought him elderly. Now, up close, she could see that he was probably the same age as her husband. His white hair, and the sad lines on his brow and cheeks, made him look older. "And who might you be, sir?"

Emily knew that she should never tell her father, or anyone else who might know him, that Richard was still at the estate. Richard's presence was just one of the many secrets they all kept from him. No one would ever tell her why her father hated Richard, too, but he could never know that Richard was on the property. If he did, he would send him away. Emily couldn't bear the thought of losing her friend or of hurting him in any way.

She stepped in front of him, blocking him from Jane's view. "He's no one. I mean he's someone, but not anyone you'd be interested in. He was just . . . ah . .. looking at my horse. Thinking of buying it since it's one of the last ones left. But he was just leaving." Emily flashed Richard a pleading look, hoping he wouldn't argue.

Jane couldn't figure out what was wrong. For some reason, Emily was lying, and lying badly, about the white-haired man. She obviously didnat want Jane to know who he was. Well, there were bigger hills to climb at the moment. "Perhaps we'll meet later."

"Yes, perhaps we will," the man responded guardedly, his gray eyes taking in every detail of Jane, from head to toe. "Are you Emily's new tutor?"

"No, I'm .. . Oh, it's difficult to explain, and I'm famished from my trip. If I could find a bite to eat and a spot of tea, I'm sure I'll find it easier to explain everything."

"Explain it now."

The man insisted, not in a forceful or rude manner. In some way, he'd made the words seem like a polite request. Jane wasn't certain, but it seemed as though he might not let her into the house unless he knew her business. "Actually, I'm Lady Jane Wessington. I'm married to the Earl."

The silence was almost deafening, as if even the birds and spring crickets had been stunned by her declaration. From the look of the two people facing her, the announcement had been a complete mistake.

Emotions rushed across Emily's face. Confusion, anger, caution. Surprise. "I don't believe it."

"It's true, Emily. I'm sorry to blurt it out like that."

"But Father never said anything."

"He was supposed to have sent a message."

The man interjected. "Please don't mind us. We're just surprised. We never received any word."

"I understand. Really, I do. It all happened so quickly, I can hardly believe it myself sometimes."

"But if you married Father, that would make you my ... my ..." Emily looked as though the word were too distasteful to be spoken aloud.

"I'm afraid so. I'm your new stepmother. Believe me when I say it seems as strange to me as it does to you."

Emily ran a hand through the air vertically, indicating Jane's unassuming hair and dress. "But you're so plain!

"Emily!" The man's rebuke was sharp. "Mind your manners! Apologize this instant."

"No, no, it's all right." Jane, wanting only to ease the girl's distress, took no offense. "I do look a sight, don't I? 'Twas easier traveling in such a fashion, but I would greatly love to clean up and rest a bit. Then I'll answer all your questions."

"Of course, Lady Wessington," the man said. "Let's get you inside. Mrs. Smythe will be beside herself." He looked at Emily who stood by, pale and barely breathing. "Why don't you run ahead, Emily? Tell Mrs. Smythe that we've a guest." He looked back at Jane and offered his arm. "Oh, pardon me, I mean a new addiion to the household."

Emily didnat move, but continued to stare at Jane. .Although Jane couldn't quite read her emotion, there was nothing kindly in it. Perhaps it was hatred; perhaps it was envy. She wasn't sure. "Go in now, Emily," she said softly. "I'll be along in a moment, and we'll talk as long as you wish."

"I don't want to talk to you. Ever!" The girl spun around and raced for the door, quickly disappearing inside.

Jane glanced at her companion and sighed. "Well, I'd say I handled that perfectly, wouldn't you?"

"Please forgive her. I don't know if anyone's mentioned it to you, but Emily's relationship with her father is a difficult one. I'm sure she's just wondering where she'll fit in now that he's married."

"Funny, but I've been wondering the same thing about myself. I'd say she and I have a lot in common."

Jane spent the first few days learning her way about the house, memorizing the names and faces of the small staff who had remained on the property, discovering some of the workings of the large household. The only thing she didnat learn more about was Emily, who kept a discreet distance, never joined her for tea or meals and never seemed to be present when Jane was in the room. Jane left her alone, knowing she'd come around when she was ready.

By the beginning of the second week, her life was becoming routine. Meg and Graves had arrived. Graves had resigned from Wessington's service when the Earl refused to let him come to Rosewood. They were working with Mrs. Smythe to get the household back in order. With the two of them taking over so many tasks, Jane had finally found the time to begin examining the estate books. To her surprise, they were up to date, carefully kept and appeared to be extremely accurate.

After spending most of the day perusing the numbers, she came to the unmistakable conclusion that the estate was like a ferocious, starved sea creature, intent on devouring everything in its path. Great amounts of money were expended, but very little seemed to be generated in return. No wonder the Earl had found himself in financial trouble.

Jane knew how much money he'd been given as her dowry. While it was a large amount, it was clear that in a few years they'd find themselves right back in the financial doldrums if something wasn't done and done quickly to change the course of things. Jane wasn't sure what action to take, and she doubted if the Earl knew. But someone had to know.

Mrs. Smythe happened to be walking down the hall at the moment and poked her head in the library door, inquiring after Jane's comfort.

Jane commented, "I've been reading over the estate books, and they're very well put together. Tell me, who has been charged with the responsibility these past years?''

"Master Richard, Lady Jane," Mrs. Smythe answered without dunking.

Ah, the mysterious Richard Farrow. "Is he about at the moment?"

"I believe he's down at the stables with Emily."

' 'Would you send word that I need to see him immediately?"

Mrs. Smythe worried over her bottom lip, wondering if she should say something, all the while knowing she couldn't refuse to carry out her lady's order. "I'll see to it, milady," she finally said.

"Don't look so disturbed, ma'am. I only wish to speak with him."

Richard appeared some time later and stood silently in the doorway, watching Jane pore over a long string of numbers. She finally noticed him and looked up as he straightened. "Pardon me for staring, milady. I didnat know you'd be taking an interest in any of the properties."

"From these numbers, I'd say it's high time someone did."

He shrugged. "We've tried to maintain as best we could."

"I wasn't judging. Please sit." She indicated the chair across from her, but felt quite certain that Master Farrow was much more used to sitting behind the desk than in front of it. "The books are very well kept. And I can see that you've expended a great deal of effort on a losing cause. It has been your effort, hasn't it?"

He remained politely silent.

"So tell me, sir: what is the grand secret? You work here, but you don't. You live here, but you don't. You manage the financial affairs, but you don't."

Her statements finally brought a smile to his lips. "I will tell you the truth, milady, but I ask only this: if you decide to tell your husband, please promise you'll not mention Emily's knowing about me."

"Knowing what about you?"

"That I'm here."

"Why shouldn't you be here?"

"Because Phillip would be most upset." He squirmed slightly in his chair. "He and I grew up here together. We had a parting of the ways many years ago."

"You're no longer friends?"

"To put it bluntly, Lady Jane, your husband hates me. If he found me here, he'd run me off at pistol-point."

"But you keep staying, helping with the land, with the animals, with Emily."

He shrugged again. "My family has served here at Rosewood for centuries. It is my home, the only place I've ever lived. I love it here, and Phillip has hated it for many years now. If I hadn't seen to things all this time, who would have?"

"And my husband? Who does he think is running things?"

"I really don't think he worries on it overly much. He only stops by once a year for a few days, usually in the summer while he's traveling to someplace else. Whenever something important happens, I send word to Master Thumberton, who passes it on to the Earl for decision. He's never asked where the information comes from; I believe he thinks Thumberton has a man here who's in charge."

Jane rubbed her eyes. "Unbelievable."

"I'm sorry, milady. I didnat mean to distress you."

"You haven't. I'm just shaking my head because my husband is so witless when it comes to running these huge estates. How can he expect things to continue in such a fashion?"

"I don't know his thinking, but I do know that many changes are needed."

"Yes, I agree. I hope you're ready to get to work. I've need of a good teacher so I can get my hands 'round the root of the problems."

"So, you'll not tell your husband I'm here?"

"Master Farrow"a"Jane raised an eyebrowa""I've come to the early opinion that what my husband doesn't know, won't hurt him."

Richard smiled in secret accord. "Lady Jane, it shall be my pleasure to have you as a student. Let me begin by saying that we are sitting on some of the finest farmland in all of England ..."

Chapter Fifteen.

Phillip struggled into his coat. The new tailor had created some excellent items, but this one's sleeves were a bit tight. Looking over his shoulder, he hoped to see his new manservant stepping through the door, ready to offer assistance. Of course, he did not. The fellow was impossible. He was never around when needed, and always seemed to be underfoot when he wasn't.

Cursing John Graves, he yanked at his cravat, which ruined the knot so he had to tie it all over again, causing the curses to flow even more freely. The man had only worked for him for three years. How could one become so attached to a bloody servant in such a short time? The ungrateful wretch. Just as things were looking up, he'd run off. Phillip had tried to find him, had even suffered the indignity of having a Bow Street runner make inquiries, but the man seemed to have vanished.

In the time they'd spent together, Phillip had never asked about his family, background or life, so he had no idea where Graves had come from or to where he might return. All Phillip knew was that the man was gone and apparently gone for good.

"I hope you're starving in the streets, you bloody ingrate!" Phillip muttered as he headed down the stairs. At the bottom, with still no sign of his manservant or anyone else, he stood silently fuming. Where was everyone?

He needed his wife. He needed Jane in London to see to all this nonsense, to hire these people and to manage them. That was what wives did! What was the sense of marrying if one's wife refused to carry out her obligations? She hadn't even stayed long enough to receive the trunks of new gowns for which she'd been fitted. The accursed things filled several closets in the house, a silent and damning reminder of everything that was wrong with his life.

Cursing himself for a fool for letting her leave, and cursing her much more fluently than he'd done with Graves, he walked to the small cloakroom in the hall and found his own bloody cloak and hat. Just as he started for the door, his manservant appeared.

"May I be of assistance, milord?" the man asked in a bored voice.

"Go take a nap or something." Phillip waved him off irritably and walked outside. His carriage was not waiting as it was supposed to be. After several minutes, he heard the sound of horses' hooves and wheels turning. The driver, another name and face to learn, rushed the horses up the path.

There had been a constant influx of new people as he'd tried to return his house to some of its earlier grandeur, and he'd run into problems every step of the way. Excellent servants were quickly swept up and kept bv their employers. Phillip had been forced to rummage through the remaining dregs. Now his house was filled with people he didnat know, people who didnat care about him and people he didnat care about.

Things would have been so much different if Jane had remained. He wasn't sure how he knew, he just di. For the thousandth time, he cursed her again. How could a woman he barely knew, who'd been nothing but trouble from the moment he'd met her, continue to plague his mind every moment of the day and night? Well, the Season was quickly coming to a close, and people would begin returning to their country estates in the next two weeks. He had half a mind to postpone his visiting and head straight to Rosewood. He'd put his foot down and order her back to London, although he wasn't certain what he'd do with her if she returned.

The past night as he'd sat in his cold, silent, dreary bedchamber, pondering the miserable state of his life, he'd realized that he'd grown to be such a despicable cad that even his own wife wouldn't live with him. Once upon a time, the knowledge wouldn't have mattered. For some reason, it mattered now, more than he wanted it to. Something about those marriage vows, repeated before God and the assembled company, had had more of an effect on him than he'd imagined possible.

He approached the carriage. "I'm attending the Mil-tons' ball. Do you know the place?"

"Certainly, sir," the driver said with a tip of his hat.

The carriage took off with a jolt, and Phillip relaxed against the smooth leather seat, but, as the driver twisted and turned through London's streets, Phillip knew the imbecile had no idea where they were going. It took three times as long as it should have to reach their destination.

There were numerous balls going on that night, each one fancier and more excessive than the last, as all tried to wring as many seconds of enjoyment as possible out of their remaining time in London. Phillip had selected to begin the evening at the Miltons' for the simple reason that it was the least likely spot to run into Margaret.

Ever since the fateful morning after, he'd avoided Margaret like the plague. Whenever he thought about contacting her, he remembered how Jane had looked, standing there shocked and hurt and humiliated. He couldn't bear many repeats of that mental image, so he'd sent Margaret a note, telling her they'd have to lie low for a time until the gossip and scandal abated, although he fully intended never to see her again.

The only downside he could see was that splitting with her had wreaked havoc on his sex life. As a man used to finding release wherever and whenever he chose, the situation left him surly and in a constant state of discomfort. It had gotten so bad that he was seriously considering keeping a prostitute at one of the finer brothels.

For now, he was unattached, which meant he was seen with various women, but with his self-imposed restriction of not escorting the same one more than three times in a row. Tonight it was the Russian countess.

Entering the ballroom, he huddled along a side wall, scanning the crowd, looking for but not seeing her. As he continued his visual search, his eyes widened as they settled on a chestnut-haired woman across the room. From the side, she was the spitting image of Jane, but just as he wondered if she'd slipped back into the city without notifying him, the woman turned and he could see from her pinched expression and dour look that there was a close resemblance, but she was not Jane. She was too plump, too plain, and too miserable with herself and her surroundings.

She was dressed in simple clothing, outdated and terribly modest for the occasion. The white-haired older gentleman on her right wore a jacket that looked like something a seafaring man of high rank might wear. The balding younger man on her left was the only one of the three dressed appropriately for the affair. Watching the woman as she stood, morosely out of place between the two men, he had the worst sense of foreboding.

He made his way to the side of Lady Carrington, an old friend and lover before her latest marriage. She made it a point to know everyone's business, but she also knew how to keep a secret for her close friends. He slipped next to her. "See that odd-looking trio over there?"

"Certainly. How could one miss them?"

"Who are they?"

"You truly don't know?" Phillip shook his head as her laughter rippled quietly around the two of them. From a passing waiter's tray, she picked up a glass of champagne. "Take this," she said, handing it to him. "You're going to need it, and more than a few people are watching, so try not to show any reaction."

"To what?"

"To what I'm going to say." She raised a brow. "They're your in-laws."

It took every ounce of his self-possession to keep from spewing the mouthful of champagne he'd just sipped.

His face carefully blank, he swallowed, then took another long drink. "You're joking."