"Gracious," she breathed.

It was an impressive sight, Cedric conceded. Although not as large or ancient as Hartshore Park, the house was nicely situated with towering Ionic columns topped by statues of ancient Grecian gods. Carved into the smooth stones were delicate cameos of robed Greeks with heavy urns atop the roof. Four sweeping steps led to the double doors framed by large arched windows.

"My aunt's grandfather had it constructed for his new bride," he explained as they turned onto the tree-lined drive. "A rather whimsical fancy, but it suits my aunt and her brother."

"I did not realize it would be so vast."

"It is very comfortable."

She worried her bottom lip in a manner he was beginning to realize meant she was inwardly agitated.

"I shall no doubt spend most of my days lost."

Cedric felt a burst of sympathy for the young maiden. Whatever her reasons for coming to Kent, it could not be easy to be thrust among strangers.

"Nonsense," he said gently. "You shall soon feel quite at home."

"Yes," she said doubtfully.

The carriage pulled to a smooth halt, and without waiting for the groom to assist him, Cedric pushed open the door and vaulted onto the paved courtyard. Turning around he prepared to lift Miss Cresswell from her seat.

"Here we go."

"No." She sank back into the leather cushion with a stubborn expression. "I prefer to walk."

His lips twitched. She was a contrary wench, but he admired her courage.

"Very well, Miss Cresswell."

He waited for her to awkwardly climb down, then, firmly placing her hand upon his arm for support, he slowly led her up the steps.

With commendable speed the door was pulled open by a uniformed butler so Cedric could escort the limping maiden into the foyer.

"Welcome, my lord," the servant murmured with a bow.

"I come bearing gifts, Mallory," Cedric retorted.

The aged butler gave a faint smile. "So I see. Welcome to Mayford, Miss Cresswell."

"Thank you."

Mallory turned back to Cedric. "Lady Hartshore is in the front parlor."

"I will show myself in."

"Very good, sir."

With the same care he had shown earlier, Cedric led a silent Miss Cresswell up the staircase paneled in a rich mahogany. For a moment he considered warning the maiden of the upcoming confrontation. After all, his aunt and her elder brother were bound to be a shock. But a brief glance at her set features warned him that she was already battling a flare of nerves. He was certain that the confession of his relative's odd fancies would be her undoing.

Reaching the landing, he moved to push open the door to the front parlor, then escorted his companion into the long room. He watched her eyes widen as her gaze swept over the English rosewood furnishings and tapestries gracing the walls. A white marble chimneypiece and elegantly scrolled cornice completed the image of splendid elegance.

She was given little opportunity to appreciate her surroundings, however, as a tiny lady with a fluff of gray curls sprang to her feet and rushed across the carpet.

"Cedric, at last," Lady Hartshore chirped, her narrow features more birdlike than ever as she peered at her new companion.

"I have brought Miss Cresswell safe and sound, Aunt Cassie," he assured his fluttering relative.

"Thank goodness." She reached out to lay a hand upon Miss Cresswell's arm. "My dear, you have no notion how I have fretted. I am so wretchedly sorry. James promised me faithfully that he would not so much as have a sip. If I had suspected for a moment . . . well, it is too late to put the milk back into the jug once it has spilt, as my Fredrick would say."

Miss Cresswell blinked as the words tumbled from Lady Hartshore's lips at breathless speed, but accustomed to his aunt's habit of chattering without pause, Cedric merely chuckled.

"Aunt Cassie, I believe Miss Cresswell would be more comfortable seated."

"Oh, of course. Forgive me." Lady Hartshore fluttered behind Cedric as he escorted Miss Cresswell to a velvet-covered sofa. Then, neatly pushing him aside, she dropped herself on the cushion next to her guest. "Such a dreadful thing to have happened, my dear. I hope that it hasn't quite turned you against us."

"It was an accident," Miss Cresswell graciously conceded.

Lady Hartshore gave a click of her tongue. "I should have sent dear Cedric's coachman as he requested, but James did promise and I did not like him to think that I did not trust him. He has worked very hard, you see, to become a more dependable father and husband, and I always feel that we should do our best to support such worthy efforts. Are you in terrible pain?"

Covertly moving to stand beside the blazing fire, Cedric watched as Miss Cresswell attempted to follow his aunt's tumbled speech.

"Not at all," she bravely lied. "I hardly feel a twinge."

"She should remain off her feet for the next few days," Cedric interposed in firm tones.

Not surprisingly Miss Cresswell flashed him a glittering glance for his efforts, but his aunt was giving him a firm nod of her head.

"Of course."

"I assure you that I am quite well," the maiden perversely argued, clearly disliking his interference.

Lady Hartshore reached out to pat her hand. "Cedric is quite right. You should rest until your ankle is fully healed."

"Lord Hartshore is very kind, but I believe I am capable of knowing what is best for my ankle."

The older matron gave a tinkling laugh. "Oh, no, Cedric is always right, I fear. It is really his most annoying fault."

Cedric tilted back his head to chuckle as the emerald gaze once again snapped in his direction.

"There you have it, my little wood nymph. I am always right," he drawled.

Three.

Cedric watched in pleasure as a faint color crept beneath the pale features. How lovely she was when she forgot to pinch her expression into prim lines, he thought. As lovely as any maiden who graced the drawing rooms of London. It made him determined to wipe those tight lines away forever. No woman should spend her life all pinched and puckered.

"Wood nymph?" Lady Hartshore chirped in confusion.

Cedric kept his gaze trained on the narrowed emerald eyes. "I came upon her in the woods with her hair flying and those amazing eyes flashing. I thought she must be a nymph come to bewitch me."

Lady Hartshore clapped her hands. "How delightful. She does rather look like a sprite. Although she is very pale." Her head tilted to an inquisitive angle. "Was it a ghastly journey?"

With a warning frown at the gentleman leaning nonchalantly against the mantel, Miss Cresswell returned her attention to her employer.

"Fairly ghastly."

Lady Hartshore heaved a sympathetic sigh. "I do hate to travel. All that swaying and bumping. And it invariably rains as if God is punishing one for not staying home, where one belongs. Of course, if you are like most young people these days, you prefer to be forever gadding around from one place to another."

"Oh, no, I prefer to live quietly," Miss Cresswell insisted in sincere tones.

"Then we shall suit each other perfectly."

"Yes." Miss Cresswell conjured a hesitant smile. "Although I am not quite certain what my duties shall be."

"Well, to be honest, I haven't the faintest notion. What does a companion usually do?"

Cedric watched Miss Cresswell blink in surprise. "Well . . . I suppose they answer correspondence and read aloud and ensure that their employer is always comfortable."

Lady Hartshore took a moment to ponder the suggestions.

"That seems rather dull for you, my dear," the older woman at last concluded. "A lovely young maiden should be enjoying the local entertainments, not dancing attendance upon an old woman."

Cedric lifted a hand to cover his twitching lips as he prepared for the revelations to come. The prim and proper Miss Cresswell was about to discover the true reason his aunt had hired a companion.

"I do not understand." Miss Cresswell's brows puckered. "I am here to be your companion, am I not?"

"Certainly," Lady Hartshore assured her with another pat on the hand. "Fredrick was quite emphatic that I must hire a companion."

"Fredrick?"

"My dear husband."

"Oh ... but . . . I presumed you were a widow."

Cedric's hidden smile widened. He was far too familiar with his aunt to consider the notion she might remain discreet. She found nothing odd at all in her unusual notions.

"I am. Fredrick died several years ago," Lady Hartshore said serenely. "Still, he visits me quite frequently. I should be lost without him, you know."

The slender frame slowly stiffened as Miss Cresswell struggled to accept the truth of Lady Hartshore's words.

"Fredrick is a ... ghost?"

As always, Lady Hartshore misinterpreted the hint of horror that accompanied her blithe confession.

"Oh, you needn't fear," she assured the younger woman. "He isn't a frightening specter. He merely bears me company and makes suggestions from time to time."

"I see."

"I must admit I was quite astonished when he first told me to hire a companion," Lady Hartshore continued to chatter, blissfully unaware of the rather sick expression on her guest's countenance. "After all, I am not feeble in any way. But I have learned to always heed dear Fredrick's suggestions. You know, he once awoke me and told me to go down to the parlor and I discovered that a candle had caught the drapes on fire. And then there was the morning he locked Bart in his chambers so that he could not go in search of his treasure and we had that terrible flood. Of course, Bart was quite furious, and to be perfectly honest I am not certain that he has completely forgiven Fredrick. Still, it has taught me to always mind what Fredrick tells me."

Miss Cresswell's lips opened once, twice, and then three times before she could speak.

"Are you telling me that you hired me because a ghost told you to?"

"Oh, no," the countess denied, her expression sweetly sincere. "It was Fredrick who suggested that I hire a companion, but it was Mrs. Borelli who actually read the tea leaves and determined that you were the perfect choice."

Cedric felt a mixture of amusement and sympathy as Miss Cresswell's hand dropped to clench in her lap. Even those closely acquainted with his aunt were at times disarmed by her casual reference to her dead husband. And, of course, it did not improve matters that her cook was a proclaimed fortune-teller. All very disturbing for a maiden who valued respectability above all things.

"Oh," she muttered.

"And now that you have arrived, I am quite certain the tea leaves were right. What a delight it will be to have a young person in the house. Bart and I have become quite tedious with only the two of us to bear each other company."

Miss Cresswell was shaking her head before Lady Hartshore even finished.

"Actually . . . I mean . . . perhaps . . ." The maiden stammered in an attempt to extricate herself from the clearly disturbing encounter.

Cedric straightened, realizing that the moment to intercede had arrived. But before he could speak, the door to the parlor was thrown open to reveal a tall, portly gentleman with gray hair and florid face. He stepped briskly into the room, and Cedric sighed at the sight of his aunt's brother. Although he loved Bartholomew Carson as dearly as he loved his aunt, he realized that Miss Cresswell was not about to be reassured by the owner of Mayford. In fact, he was quite certain that her faltering nerve was about to be shattered completely.

"Cassie, you must speak with those gardeners," he bellowed in the loud voice that had once commanded a thousand soldiers. "I will not have them searching for my treasure when my back is turned. Should have that beady-eyed one strung up by his toenails."

Unperturbed by the thunderous interruption, Lady Hartshore waved a delicate hand.

"Yes, yes, Bart, I will speak with them, but first I wish to introduce you to my new companion, Miss Cresswell."

Giving a grunt, Bart glanced over the stiffly silent Miss Cresswell.

"Companion, eh? About time. Deuced tired of searching for every fallal you lose around the house. Black Bart at your service."

"Black Bart ..." Miss Cresswell's already pale face drained to a near white.

Bart readily performed a deep bow. "The pirate, don't you know."

Lady Hartshore smiled at her brother. "I was just telling Miss Cresswell how nice it will be to have a young person around the house."

"Aye. It has become devilishly quiet around here," Bart agreed.

Cedric watched carefully as Miss Cresswell clutched the folds of her skirt. He was not certain whether she was about to faint or flee.

"Actually, I am not certain if I-"

"Aunt Cassie," Cedric firmly intruded into her hesitant words. "Perhaps you would request Mrs. Borelli to bring in tea? I have been longing for her scones for days."

As expected, his aunt readily rose to her feet with a pleased expression.