Rake's Reflection

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Table of Contents The Rake's Reflection CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN

The Rake's Reflection A Regency Romance By Lesley-Anne McLeod

Published by Awe-Struck E-Books Copyright ©2002 ISBN: 1-58749-344-6 Electronic rights reserved by Awe-Struck E-Books, all other rights reserved by author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law.

"Dearest Aunt, We are Within a day now of London, and Morag is Uneasy about our Welcome. I have indeed been Froward in depending upon a family I have not met, despite my Father's association. But I wished for Adventure and now I have it. It continues very cold."

CHAPTER ONE In the dark, frozen streets of London, frost glittered viciously in the feeble lights of torches and lanterns. Smoke from a million coal fires hung in noxious billows about the substantial buildings. The pavements were almost deserted. The few people that were abroad were mufflered and greatcoated so much as to be unrecognizable to their dearest friends.

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Miss Cordelia Tyninghame leaned forward to stare from her coach window. The comfortable but very chill traveling coach lurched on the frost-slick cobbles into a street lined with important residences. "The city does not look as I imagined it, Morag," she said ruefully to her companion, a plain, competent woman some twenty years her senior. "Ye would travel in January, miss. Ye had a desire to see London. Here it is. No doubt the place has a pleasanter aspect in May," Mrs. Lochmaddy replied, "'Tis gone seven o'clock -- the cold has slowed us." "Then the welcome will seem doubly warm. It was kind of the old earl to invite us to reside in his home while we find our bearings." "I did think some lady of the household might have written. We could go immediate to an hotel." Delia smiled at her attendant's worried comment. "Indeed we might, but my father's old friend was firm in his invitation. We shall do very well here. Come Morag, where is your spirit of adventure?" She drew her bonnet's georgette veil across her face as the coach drew to a stop. The coachman pulled open the door and she gathered her fur-lined crimson wool cloak more closely about her. The man's broad face was red with cold, and he had to draw down his muffler to speak. "Shall I knock, Miss?" he queried, his Scots burr reassuringly familiar. "Yes, Cullen, if you please, and do close the door." The coachman obeyed quickly -- the air within the coach was warmer than that without but would not long remain so. Delia peered excitedly from the window, and watched him cross the paving, mount two shallow stairs, and ply the knocker. The heavy door was opened by a short, plainly dressed man. Delia glimpsed a dimly candle-lit entry hall. There appeared to be a brief conversation, and the coachman trod back down the stairs. He opened the coach door again and spoke as he let down the step. "Yon wee man had doots about your arrival, but the housekeeper is within the hall, and she says she expected ye." Morag Lochmaddy busied herself gathering up Delia's reticule and her cushions, the baskets and bandboxes -- all the odds and ends of their long journey. Her silence was eloquent comment on the doubtful wisdom of her mistress's impulsive journey. Delia entertained no qualms. She stepped down, delighted to be arrived at last. She was well aware that Morag had long thought her inclination to visit London quite mad. She would admit that her choice of the winter season for travel had been questionable, but she regretted nothing at this moment. The horses were steaming in the frigid night air, and the groom at their heads looked chilled to the bone. The 'wee man' descended the steps with a stout housemaid, and Delia nodded to them as they took possession of various articles of her baggage. She paused beside her coachman. "Cullen, you have been most helpful all journey -- you and Nairn. I thank you. You have earned some

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rest; I will ensure your accommodation is provided. I am sure the...er...that man will direct you to the mews." The coachman nodded gratefully and mounted his box once more. "Come Morag, all will be well," Delia said gaily. She ascended the broad stairs, with the Scotswoman in her wake. The entry was now thoroughly illuminated, and as Delia entered, it felt most comfortingly warm after the chill of the coach. The earl's housekeeper was a woman of more than middle age, gray-haired and grim-faced. She greeted them reservedly. A footman bore away Delia's crimson cloak immediately, but before she could put back the veil on her feather-trimmed velvet bonnet, and look about her, the housekeeper spoke. "I am Inniskip, Miss Tyninghame. The earl is in the library, if you will follow me." Delia had been about to introduce Morag Lochmaddy, but she abandoned the attempt and trailed the spare figure of the older woman across the entry, slightly discomposed. The housekeeper paused before the door of the bookroom. Delia wondered at her hesitation. She experienced unease as the woman beckoned to Morag, who was supervising the disposal of the trunks. "Your maid must come in with you, Miss, and I shall remain, rather than only announce you, if you do not object. The earl may be a little...irritated...by your arrival." Delia's slender frame tautened apprehensively. "But why? What is amiss? His lordship's letters were welcoming," she faltered. The housekeeper would not meet her worried gaze. Morag hurried across the passage, concern and protectiveness merged in her expression. The housekeeper had already entered the book-lined chamber. It was but dimly lit by a single branch of candles. Across an expanse of fine India carpet, there was a gentleman seated at a massive walnut desk, a dark haired man who did not lift his head at the opening of the door. "What is it, Inniskip?" He seemed to snarl rather than speak. A glittering decanter and an empty goblet stood at his elbow. He plied a quill determinedly. "Guests, my lord." The housekeeper seemed to brace herself -- for what reason Delia could not imagine. She directed her anxious gaze from the housekeeper's tense, worsted-clad back to the gentleman at the desk. He appeared much younger than she had expected of the fourth earl of Torgreave. "Guests? The hell you say." He flung down his quill, and lifted his head. Delia drew in a deep, shocked breath, as she stared at his fine-drawn, dissipated face. His features were as familiar to her as her own. She reached for Morag, who was immediately to hand and seemed as dazed as her mistress. They supported each other wordlessly. "This is Miss Cordelia Tyninghame, my lord." The housekeeper hurried into explanations, apparently unaware of the distress of the visitors. "She wrote in November to the late earl your father, believing him

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still to be alive. The late Viscount Tyninghame was a friend of the fourth earl. Miss Tyninghame asked if she could prevail upon that friendship to visit London from Edinburgh for a few weeks, before the Season. Knowing you would not respond to the letter, I did." Torgreave replied slowly, only his clenched hands revealing his immediate understanding, and his anger. "And you believed I needed company, that this would waken me to the error of my ways and change my life." The fifth earl's face was sardonic. "Damn you Inniskip. Who do you think you are -- my mother?" He corrected himself. "No, you care more for me than my mother ever did. But this is too much -- you have overstepped yourself." He rose, displaying a richly brocaded banyan drawn carelessly over dark pantaloons and a fine lawn shirt. He was above an average height. Though lean to the point of emaciation, he exuded a latent strength. "And have our guests no tongues?" he mocked, as he rounded the desk. Delia shrank away, imagining a threat in his proximity. "Do Scotswomen not speak in the presence of men -- or has the discovery that your host is not some doddering fool unnerved you? It cannot be that my reputation has traveled to the Athens of the North." "Miss Tyninghame deserves your respect, my lord," Morag snapped bravely. "God preserve us, another interfering servant," jibed the fifth earl. Morag's words gave Delia strength. "My lord," she said, "I have suffered a severe shock. It goes beyond your discourtesy and the discovery that the fourth earl had naught to do with my invitation to London. I beg Mrs. Inniskip will close the door, and that she and Mrs. Lochmaddy remain with us. Morag knows what I am about to reveal. Your astonishment will equal my own." "What the devil can you mean?" Delia lifted gloved hands to put back her veil. "Good God!" he exclaimed. The housekeeper gasped as she saw Miss Tyninghame's face. No blemish or deformity caused their dismayed response. On the contrary, her countenance would always be described as beautiful. But what had shocked Delia and her companion silenced the gentleman and left Mrs. Inniskip speechless. Even in the dim light of just six wax candles, Miss Cordelia Tyninghame and the fifth earl of Torgreave looked enough alike to be brother and sister. The abundant darkness of her black hair crowded within her gray velvet bonnet was matched by his own thick, disordered raven locks. The brilliant blue of his eyes was repeated in the sapphire of hers, and their straight black brows were mimicked each by the other. There were dissimilarities -- their noses declared some divergence in heritage. His jaw was uncompromisingly square, hers was not. Her skin was silken smooth where his was creased and lined by harsh emotion and dissipation. Nevertheless, the likeness was remarkable and would always attract attention and comment. The housekeeper was the first to speak, in a hushed frightened tone. "Had I known of this I never, ever would have interfered. How can it be?" She shook her gray head with her pale eyes wide. "As you thought, my lord, I sought only to draw you from self- serving lethargy. I had no notion that Miss Tyninghame from Scotland could, could -- ." Words failed her.

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Morag Lochmaddy said, "May my mistress sit and warm herself? Despite the problem before us, we have had a long and cold journey, and would welcome refreshment." The earl and Miss Tyninghame were silent, powerless to move and apparently unable to refrain from examining each other's face. With obvious effort, Mrs.Inniskip recovered a stern calm. "Mrs....ah...Lochmaddy has the right of it, my lord, and the drawing room is warmer. If you will, Miss Tyninghame?" The earl spoke suddenly, without taking his eyes from Delia's pallid face. "You deserve I should turn you off, Inniskip." The housekeeper blenched but waited silently for him to continue. "However, I cannot. Have Bowland bring refreshment to the drawing room. Miss Tyninghame, may I escort you upstairs? Do you wish to remove your bonnet? I assume you will stay and discuss with me this extraordinary coincidence?" Delia finally found her tongue and some degree of control. She shivered, and not, she thought, from cold. "I see no alternative, my lord." She untied her bonnet and handed it to Morag. "I cannot like Mrs. Inniskip's deception. If we did not appear to be siblings, I should remove from your home immediately. I feel now I must not leave until we discuss this resemblance." As the older women moved to depart, the earl snapped over his shoulder at his housekeeper, "I assume you have prepared chambers for 'our' guests. Take this woman," he indicated Mrs. Lochmaddy,"to them. I will have no discussion of this coincidence, Inniskip, by any of the staff. If word goes beyond this house, be assured I will turn you off." Wooden-faced the housekeeper dropped a curtsey. She led the Scotswoman to the entry hall. The earl offered his arm to Delia, and with reluctance she placed her gloved fingertips upon it. In silence, they crossed to the door, traversed the passage and climbed the broad stairs to the first floor. They entered an immaculate, elegant drawing room. Unlike the bookroom, it was well lit with candles in every sconce and stick. Delia accepted a tall, winged chair before the flaring fire with relief. She could not imagine that her resemblance to the earl was coincidental. It was too complete, too significant. But if it was not coincidental, it indicated that they were related. If they were related, they were half siblings. And if they were half siblings, at least two of their four parents had been living a lie. She wished with all her heart that she had not left Edinburgh. Her life-long happy confidence had been utterly destroyed in an instant. Her shivers were replaced with trembling. With a muttered curse, the earl poured a glass of wine from a tray of decanters and thrust it into her hand. She drank it off, sensing that he would not move away from her chair until she had done so. When she set the glass down, the earl seated himself across a Pembroke table from her. Unwillingly enthralled by the sight of her own face cast in masculine form, she stared at him.

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At length she broke the silence. "I am at a loss, my lord. I must suppose you to be unfamiliar with my family, as you did not read my initial letter. I assure you your father and mine were friends. My father often spoke of the fourth earl. I believe they traveled on the Continent together in the '80s. I was born in and have passed all my life in Scotland. Last month as I approached my twenty-second birthday, I conceived a desire to travel a little. Having no other acquaintance in London I wrote, I thought, to your father. I hoped I might call upon him if I visited the metropolis. He responded, at least so I supposed, almost at once. He said I would be most welcome to reside here until I chose an hotel. There was some indication of other family members, ladies, who would be of assistance -- I cannot precisely remember..." She searched Torgreave's ravaged, fine-drawn face for some indication of his emotions and saw only anger. She added, half fearfully. "Why should your housekeeper do this?" "For the most misguided and, I suppose, goodhearted reasons." His frown lightened only a little and he stared into the fire. Some of the harshness drained from his voice, and revealed its deep tones to be curiously mellow. "She was my nurse in infancy, and became my housekeeper when I set up my own establishment. She has disliked the path I have chosen. I surmise she saw your letter as an opportunity to change my way or at the least to shock me into thought." He seemed ill disposed to reveal any more about his life. "I have never heard the name Tyninghame before. I would have said that my family has no connection in Scotland whatsoever." He lifted his head to stare directly into her wide sapphirine eyes. "So it entirely escapes me why we, separated by half a country, and with no knowledge of each other, should look so much alike." "To my certain knowledge, our fathers corresponded, though you knew nothing of it. But my parents never left Scotland after their marriage in 1794," Delia offered. "To my knowledge, the earl and countess never went further north than Leicestershire from London after their betrothal in '85," he countered. "Were your parents happily wed?" "As much as any couple I suppose." He shrugged. "And yours?" "I believed them to care deeply for each other, and our family." "Then someone was living a lie -- probably two people." His frown deepened. "I find it disconcerting -- nay, distressing -- to look at you and see myself," Delia admitted. "I don't even know your name." "Rupert Deverall Manningford." He brushed her query aside. "I will admit to discomfort at seeing an image of myself seated across from me. Though you must be accredited a beauty in Edinburgh society." She coloured. "You were -- could be -- very handsome." He grinned wickedly. It was the first smile she had seen on his countenance and it was not one she cared for. "I was as beautiful as you, in my salad days. I am still accounted highly presentable by most ladies. I am a debauched, discredited rake; you had as well be warned." She was appalled into silence and wondered if he spoke the truth. Debauchery would explain the

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devastation of his handsome features, but she could not decide on his honesty. There was a tap at the door, and Mrs. Inniskip and Morag Lochmaddy entered. One carried a tray of food, the other a tea tray. Delia responded to a querying look from her maid. "I have rallied, thank you, Morag." She continued, attempting to attain a degree of normality. "The earl and I must explore this strange coincidence. You and I will be staying. If possible I would have you attend in my bedchamber. If a bed could be placed in the dressing room perhaps, Mrs. Inniskip?" She offered a small smile to the dour housekeeper, "I am sure you will see that my coachman is lodged suitably." The housekeeper responded apparently approving of Delia's returning self- possession. "Bowland has seen to your groom and coachman, Miss, already." "Bowland?" "My valet." Torgreave nodded at the two women. "We will ring when we require you again.". "Thank you." Delia softened the dismissal, and began to brew the tea. The earl apparently intended to ignore the tea, for he poured himself a glass of Madeira from the crystal decanter. "We must be brother and sister," he declared. Delia flushed. He continued, "But I cannot understand how that is possible." "Perhaps I should return to Edinburgh -- we will pretend we have not met and endeavour to forget the whole matter. It cannot make a difference after all. It does not interfere with your inheritance, or mine." Delia lifted a delicate china cup and found her slim hands shaking again. "Is that what you wish?" He lounged in his chair, booted feet stretched to the fire, his posture contradicted by the tension in his long legs. "It is devoutly what I wish," she assured him. She chose a cake from the plate on the table, and bit into it hungrily. After a moment's reflection she added, "But I am not of a nature that will permit me to choose that path. I must know why we appear to be of the same lineage, when to my knowledge my family has never strayed south of the Borders." "I have a brother who does not appear so much like me as do you," he commented. He refused a cake as she offered the plate. She paused in drinking her tea. "And does he too reside here?" "He does not." There was a note of finality in the earl's rich voice, and she did not question further. "I believed I had no siblings alive." There was sorrow in her tone. "I had once both a brother and a sister." He said, with a shade of kindness in his voice, "We must be of close relationship to be so similar. Perhaps half-siblings. It is impossible that you are a child of my parents, given away, or I the child of

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yours. We must not share two parents, but one." "But I favour both my parents. My father had black hair, and my mother blue eyes," she interpolated. He paid no heed but continued his line of thought. "'Tis unlikely we might claim the same mother. Therefore we might share a father. Was it yours or mine that wandered, do you suppose? Could one of these friends have cuckolded the other? Would your father have come to Leicestershire in 1784 to visit and got me upon his friend's wife?" Delia gave a croak of distress. He disregarded her. "Or was it my father? My lady mother died on the birth of my brother. He is older than you. I wonder did my father travel to Scotland, perhaps in '94? The most likely event is that my father met your mother after her marriage to his friend." "My mother..." stammered Delia, her throat closing unhappily. It caused her to choke a little on another cake. His grin was almost a leer. "Are you a properly virginal young lady with no knowledge of human weakness or how children are conceived in this world?" She cast him a fiery glance that held her answer. "Well, consider then -- can there be another solution?" "Some other family connection?" she offered uncertainly. "My parents...they appeared contentedly wed. My mother died two years ago, my father some years earlier." There might have been a gleam of sympathy in his blue eyes, so like her own, but he said brusquely, "It will require some adjustment -- no, a great deal of adjustment -- this discovery. If it is difficult for you to accept your mother's frailty, consider me." He barked a laugh. "I cannot feature my father adventuring, for he painted himself impeccably virtuous. I only wish he were alive so I might cast it up to him." This last was said with such obvious ill will that Delia was shocked. She looked past the resemblance to herself in his face, and discovered that the man she saw was of a sort unfamiliar to her. A rake, she realized and, she fancied, distasteful to her. She rose stiffly. "I will retire if you will excuse me. I feel quite exhausted by this evening's revelations." He rose to his feet and bowed, the barbaric banyan swirling about him. He crossed to the door to have her companion, Morag, summoned but she was just outside. Torgreave turned back to Delia. "Good night," was all he said, his fine ravaged features congealed by coldness. She murmured what was proper and moved to the door. Looking back briefly she saw him stand before the fire, staring broodingly into its heart, and she shivered. Neither she nor Morag spoke until they reached the comfort of their chambers. The rooms were very comfortable. They were expensively furnished in old walnut and new mahogany, with silk hung in panels of yellow and green on the walls. A bright fire burned in the substantial grate. Delia sank down wearily on the soft bed and stared at her ginger-haired attendant.

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"I had only a desire for a little travel. Was it so very dreadful?" she questioned. "I feel as though I have been punished for it. My world is turned upside down." "Not dreadful but foolish and unnecessary," Morag stated trenchantly, "That's certain. You being a toast of Edinburgh society and all. Ye could have knocked me down with a feather when his lordship lifted his head." "And I," Delia agreed, removing with Morag's assistance her blue merino traveling gown. "For a moment I thought I must faint, and I am sure I never have in my life. And what was his housekeeper about to deceive me, and him, by her letter?" She stood in her shift, staring sightlessly at the flowered carpet. Morag slipped a beribboned robe over Delia's shoulders and urged her to sit to have her hair unpinned and her earrings removed. "As to that, Mrs. Inniskip is a good enough woman. And he by all accounts is a rogue. He was her nursling and she's fond of him. He's gone a bad road these last eight or nine years. She'd no thought, but that a new face or a shock might benefit him. That it's a shock we'll none of us get over, she cannot credit. She's a close mouthed soul I think, in ordinary times, but she confided in me, being shaken as she is." "Did she say anything else?" Delia crept wearily into the broad bed after donning her nightdress. She found a desire in herself to remain there indefinitely. "Naught but that she's glad you must be sister and brother, for otherwise she would not trust him, him being a rake, and you so very lovely." Morag tidied the room deftly and drew the bed curtains. "We cannot be brother and sister," Delia said half to herself, "I cannot like him. I cannot believe it of my mother." She choked back a sob and questioned, "Is your comfort assured? And that of Cullen?" "Aye, that wee man Bowland has seen to it all. I am within your call," the older woman answered. "I will not claim him for brother," Delia said softly but firmly. *** Delia rose late in the next morning feeling rested, for despite her belief that she would not sleep, she had, deeply. Morag preserved her customary silence as she dressed her mistress. Delia chose her blue striped gown and deeply fringed Norwich shawl carelessly, but Morag took care with her mistress' appearance, and extra time with her heavy raven-silk hair. Delia's composure had returned to such a degree that, as she descended the stairs, she could reflect on the decoration and furnishings of the earl's comfortable townhouse. It held nothing that was not in the newest and most luxurious style, yet it had an air of unappreciated coldness. The man, Bowland, was in the lower hall, and he gave her a polite bow as he opened the door of the dining chamber for her entry. She slipped in, her face turned from him. The earl was beginning his meal as she entered. He rose and regarded her keenly.

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She said composedly, "Good morning, my lord. Pray continue your breakfast." "Thank you, Cordelia." His voice was as rich as the Devon cream before them on the table. She had not been mistaken in her impression the previous evening. "You had as well call me Rupert," he continued. "There will be no keeping distance with this resemblance." In the act of serving herself from a dish of buttered eggs, Delia considered that and found she agreed. "Very well, Rupert," she said calmly, "you may make free of my name. I am known as Delia. I admit no connection between us as yet." "Coincidence is it, our likeness?" he commented ironically. "Such scepticism may aid our inquiries, I suppose." They ate in silence. Delia had a good appetite. The earl ate sparingly, she noted. He was without the barbaric banyan this morning, yet still did not wear a coat. His full sleeved shirt, damask waistcoat, and buff pantaloons displayed his physique. Despite his leaness, he showed a strong leg and shoulder. "My servants may be trusted with our secret," he said minutes later. "They know better than to speak of my affairs. What of yours?" "My servants respect privacy and are very loyal; there is naught to fear from them. Morag is more than my maid. She is frequently my companion, and always my friend." She lifted her eyes to discover him contemplating her, and she coloured uncomfortably. "There is no point in not looking at each other," he commented. "The similarities will not go away, and the more one reflects the more differences one sees." Delia searched his face then for the first time that day. "What age are you?" she asked. Curiosity was ever her besetting sin. "Nine and twenty." "You look older." "Drink and life on the town are the very devil. But I shall reform," he mocked, "and all will be mended." "You would be an uncomfortable sibling." Delia had finished her breakfast and rose, as did he. "My brother has always found me so," he agreed bitterly. He rounded the table to stand before her. Involuntarily, Delia took a step back. She was of medium height. He was several inches taller. Despite his leanness, he gave an impression of strength that unnerved her. He appeared not to notice her action. "You had best wear a veil if you desire to go abroad," he stated. "We shall not wish to make explanations before we know them."

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"I agree, but I shall not go out today. London's charms hold little appeal for me in light of what has happened. I have letters to write." She moved to the window to stare into the busy frosty street below. "And what shall you say? Who have you left behind you?" He was watching her again. She could see his dark reflection in the window glass. She drew her fine woolen shawl protectively around her. "I live with a dear aunt, my mother's sister, and I have a host of relatives on my father's side." She faltered over the word 'father'. "I will tell them of my arrival and little else. It would be impossible to explain this..." She gestured with a slender hand at his face and her own. "...on paper. Oh, and I shall not be a charge on you though I shall want your frank. You may wish to know I am a considerable heiress, though my...Lord Tyninghame's land was entailed to a male heir." He paced restlessly to the end of the room and returned to stand at the window beside her. "How have you reached two and twenty without marriage? And what did you hope to accomplish with this visit?" She responded before she realized that she owed him no explanation. "I have found no gentleman whom I thought might improve my happiness. My only thought in traveling south was to see the sights of countryside and road and visit the wonders of London." "In January?" "You know the roads are best now, if one may avoid snow, and I did not regard the cold. I did not wish to miss celebration of Hogmanay at home or the delights of spring. I have no interest in the London Season. I have all that society can provide in Edinburgh. Summer, I hear, is unbearable in this city, and autumn -- ah, the shooting parties at home. That is why I came in winter," she said vexed to discover herself explaining again. It was chill by the window and she crossed the room to the fire. "I thought the fourth earl was an elderly man possibly with daughters or granddaughters with whom I might go about. The letters hinted at it," she added staring at the fire's yellow flames. "Alas for your innocent hopes." He was mocking again, and Delia detested him at that moment. He continued to pace the chamber, apparently aware that she disliked to have him near her. "We should go into Leicestershire," he said suddenly. She swung about to stare at him. "Why, in the name of heaven?" "There may be answers to be had from my brother who resides there. Or perhaps Manningford Tower, my family's seat, holds a clue. We must begin our inquiries somewhere, and Manningford is closer than Edinburgh." He frowned. "I have also an uncle who might be of help, but he is traveling abroad."

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"I...inquiries in Edinburgh?" she stammered. "My aunt...oh surely my aunt would not have kept such secrets from me." He disregarded the interpolation. "Do I understand you traveled in your own coach, with your own coachman?" She nodded and turned back to the fire. "We will have need of them if we set out together in this cold. I keep no such, for I always drive myself. I would not travel post, with hired help, in this situation." He stopped his pacing beside her and interrupted himself. "You are a woman of few words. That, in my experience, is unusual. Do you agree with these plans of mine?" "Few words does not indicate few ideas," she countered. "But yes I do agree, though I regret the necessity for further travel. I should like a few days for rest and reflection, before we depart." He nodded, and she wondered if he was understanding or indifferent. She added, "I shall be glad of Cullen's assistance. He is my aunt's coachman. And wherever we travel, Morag Lochmaddy must attend me." "Very well." They stared at each other once more. She did not this time flinch from his examination. "It will be a difficult journey," he said. There was a depth to his words that she could not understand. *** The Earl of Torgreave saw little of his guest over the next two days. He was acutely aware of her presence. There was a workbasket spilling silks in the drawing room, and the writing desk showed signs of use. He heard her light step above stairs, and her melodic voice in the quiet of the late evening. She took meals in her chamber, so there was no doubt that she was avoiding him. He inquired after her health when he encountered the maid, Morag Lochmaddy, in the upstairs passage one morning. He received gruff assurances that indicated to him that neither maid nor mistress liked or trusted him. He did not care. But he hoped Miss Tyninghame's reflections gave her more peace than his gave him. He found himself by turns angry, worried, intrigued and disgusted. He could not reconcile his feelings over the appearance of this new sibling. If she was a sibling, he brooded, in his library one frost-bitten morning. He sat before the fire with a book on his knee and a table by his side. He stretched out his hand for the decanter that usually stood at his elbow. He withdrew it immediately, for the decanter was not there. He had recently developed a distaste for the wine-sodden haze in which he had conducted much of his life for the past four years. In fact, in the past six months he had made many decisions concerning his future. He had thought as recently as three days since that his life was in order for the first time in a decade. Now this woman -- this lovely young woman with his face -- had put all his plans in jeopardy.

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He stretched his long legs to the fire. Bowland opened the door abruptly. Torgreave shifted and turned in irritation. "Major Rhyle, my lord, is come," the valet announced. He returned his master's unfriendly stare stoically. "And will not be denied," boomed a massively built, fair-haired man on the threshold. Bowland bowed with dignity, assured the major of his welcome and departed. The earl waved his uniformed friend to a substantial chair and said nothing. Major Gideon Rhyle, of the 11th Dragoons, assigned to the Depot of Military Knowledge, held his hands to the fire. "Demmed cold out there. Colder than an opera dancer's heart. And where have you been these past two weeks? Drinking yourself into a stupor now Boney's beat and your work is over? Or has Bowland hid the brandy?" "Damn you for a light-hearted fool, Gideon," Torgreave responded. "I swear you'd jest if you froze to death. The brandy is on the desk." "You're sober," the major marveled. "Come to think on it, you have been sober the greater part of the last six months. And demmed little pleasure you seem to derive from it. You're more solemn than a Chapel preacher." The earl, who would not have entertained these strictures from anyone else, laughed, albeit with a bitter note. "You shall have to accustom yourself, my friend." He rose to his feet, stretching. He poured Rhyle a glass of wine. He did not take one himself. "I am set on a new course." The major accepted the glass. He searched the earl's face with a sudden, surprisingly keen look. "You are serious, Rupert? What's to do?" "The war is over. It is a new world for everyone, including me. I am going into Leicestershire tomorrow." "Manningford?" the major frowned. "You swore never to set foot in it again." "I think that was a mistake." Torgreave could be candid with his old friend. "My father's ghost is no longer there." "And Charles?" "I hope to be reconciled." "He was a fool." The major's words were harsh, but not condemnatory. "He was young and grieving. He is my brother." "Aye, well, I can see you've been thinking. First time you've done that these seven years." Rhyle's words surprised a crack of laughter from his host. "You could be right," the earl admitted.

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The major tossed back his wine and heaved himself from his chair. "Short visit. I only came to see how you went on. Looked for you at Watier's, the opera, and that place near Birdcage Walk. No one had seen you this age." "I am touched you were worried." Torgreave allowed acid mockery to tinge his words. "Don't come the nasty with me, my lad," the major reproved him. He entered the passage. "Not if you are turning over a new leaf." "Old friends cannot be deceived," the earl agreed, relenting, "but they are appreciated." He shook his friend's hand warmly. At that moment, a female voice echoed unintelligibly from above stairs. The major had picked up his shako, but paused and shot his friend another of those disconcertingly keen looks. "That was not a maidservant," he observed, moving to the door. Torgreave strove to appear unconcerned. "A new leaf, Gideon, you said it. I have female relatives staying. Nothing more dramatic." "Aye, tis a good enough tale. Except that you have no female relatives." The major peered up the stairs, but no one was visible. Torgreave glowered at his friend. Rhyle grinned. "Aye, well, we shall look to see you on your return from the country." "I shall report," the earl said, gently mocking. With a brisk nod, the major departed. *** Delia, in response to a request from the earl, joined him in the paneled dining room for dinner that evening. She had purposely avoided him in the days since her arrival, the better to consider the shocking change in her circumstances without his disturbing countenance and presence. She had found solitary reflection fruitless, however, and discussion with Morag Lochmaddy equally so. Although she had shed many tears, she had found no answers, arrived at no decisions. She came to dinner, therefore, with a reluctant hope that the earl might have solutions to offer. Morag Lochmaddy had taken pains with her mistress' appearance. Delia appeared to advantage, gowned in lustrous blue silk, which matched her eyes. Her thick black hair was confined by a broad band of silk twisted with silver cord. Delicate silver earrings dangled gleaming sapphires against the satin skin of her neck. After being seated, she stared across the table at the earl curiously. Torgreave had not troubled himself to don his coat, but dined in barbaric splendor wearing the silk banyan over his shirt and pantaloons. The candlelight deepened the lines of dissipation drawn on his skin, but his fine bones, blue eyes and black silk hair were nonetheless prepossessing. "Thank you for joining me." He returned her scrutiny. "It seemed to me that we must further our acquaintance."

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Her glance slid away. "It would be foolish not to do so," she acquiesced. "You have been avoiding me. I wonder why?" "I wished for time to reflect, without interruption, or distraction." "I see." He surveyed the wine in his goblet. "And have you taken any decisions?" "None." The word vibrated in the air between them. "You still agree that we must travel to Leicestershire?" "I do, and I think we should undertake the journey soon." She accepted soup from Bowland, who seemed to undertake a myriad of duties in the household. "Then, if you have no objection, Delia, I should like to speak with your coachman." Torgreave's manner was polite but remote. "You may certainly, if you wish," she agreed. "I have consulted with him, however. The coach is in good repair. He is rested and has no objection to being seconded to your household." "How kind of him," Torgreave murmured. She let her expression reveal her distaste for his sardonic tone. "Mrs. Lochmaddy comes with me." He merely nodded and took a bite of fish. In a moment, he resumed speaking. "I shall not take Bowland." The small man made a move to speak but was silenced by a glance from the earl. "Yes you are invaluable, but I cannot descend on my brother overburdened with retainers." Bowland glared at his master, but was ignored. The earl continued speaking to Delia. "I should warn you that this visit will not be easy. My younger brother is a clergyman. He may not wish to receive me. I shall not bore you with the details but we have not been on the best of terms. In truth I have not spoken to him for five years." Delia abandoned the pretense of eating, and stared at him in horror. "What reason can he have to deny you? Can you be so very dreadful?" she exclaimed. She was surprised to see him wince. "I do not know if he will welcome me," he repeated, "but we must have his help. I have rented Manningford Tower and its park to a nabob these five years. I have not set foot there for ten." "Good gracious, but your tale grows more and more melancholy. I do not pretend to understand, but it seems your past may prevent us ever solving the problem before us." He rose abruptly and, turning his back, strode across the mahogany-paneled chamber. "We must hope to stay at my brother's rectory. I am known at the inn, and we cannot expect to keep the secret of your appearance, if we stop there." His grave voice echoed back to her.

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"This sounds a vain hope," she said. He swung round abruptly. "I believe not. My brother mixes logic with piety in varying degrees, and I think he may be talked into reason. As well, he appreciates a beautiful woman as much as the next man, and you are very beautiful." He came down the room, and stood beside her chair. She rose, so to be at less disadvantage. "A rake will always appreciate beauty. A clergyman may not. And my beauty or lack of it is of no matter." She countered the assessment in his dark blue gaze with a sharp retort. He regarded her, with her own eyes. The thought annoyed her. "And what experience have you of rakes?" he queried softly. "Little enough, though there are rakes a-plenty in Edinburgh. One hears of them by reputation, but never entertains them." "Never?" "Unwillingly, or unwittingly," she amended. "Ah, then they are not very successful rakes. A rake should always be welcome because of his charm." "Like you?" "You've not seen my company manners." She countered, "For a man of fashion...a rake...you do not go much abroad, my l...Rupert." He accepted her diversion with a cynical grin. "There is little activity in town these days, except for Parliament, and there my views are not regarded seriously." His self- mockery was pitiless. "I thought a rake must be forever adventuring." "You hold many opinions on rakish behaviour," he observed. "If you require explanation, I was abroad on Tuesday night. In point of fact, I make a habit of absence from my home fire on Tuesdays. But even rakes grow weary, and will stay at home on a cold night." She sighed in frustration. He could not be bested in a contest of words. "We should depart on the morrow," were his final words. Abandoning his meal unfinished, he abruptly quitted the chamber. Delia sat down precipitately. She had a brief inclination to argue with the earl about their imminent departure, but quelled it with fatalistic reasoning. Better to have the trip over and the matter resolved. She finished her meal in solitary state, and trod up the broad stairs deep in thought. She harboured doubts about the wisdom of remaining in proximity with the earl. His manner disconcerted her even while his appearance reassured her. The intimations she had of his way of life appalled her. She was accustomed to deal with almost all manner of gentlemen in Edinburgh society, but had always been

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insulated by birth and fortune from its most rakish elements. He was right to query her on her experience of men of his sort. "I can scarcely credit the position in which I find myself, and I sadly feel the want of Aunt Barbara's good advice," Delia commented in a low voice, half to Morag as she gained her chamber. "But this problem will not be written of, and so I must deal as best I can." "You will manage," said the older woman calmly. "Perhaps," Delia broke the news of their sudden departure. "We leave for Leicestershire tomorrow." The Scotswoman received the news stoically. "His lordship's wee man told me what the earl was planning." "You have become very close with Bowland." Her companion snorted. "Ach, he's a sensible wee man for all his town-bred ways. And he is in a right taking that he is not to come on this journey. Says he always travels with Torgreave. Despite his good sense, I do doubt he is right in his respect for the earl. That one is a devil." "That one, as you phrase it, may be my brother. And you may say one will manage but I have never dealt with anything so...so...devastating. You have certain knowledge that you can cope with difficulty, nay tragedy, to some purpose." Delia removed a fragile silk gown from the press and clutched it, to its imminent danger. "I have not that confidence. I have dealt with little more than society in my life." "That is not true," Mrs. Lochmaddy responded, removing the dress from her mistress' uneasy hands, "and you know it. This is naught but nervous distress. The imputations his lordship has placed on your mother are enough to give anyone pause, and there is no doubt but what he is a wicked, disconcerting rogue. So our situation is uncomfortable, but I shall not permit him familiarities with you." Delia laughed with a rising note of hysteria. "How can you not permit him familiarity? He is as familiar as my face in the glass!" The Scotswoman continued. "Well, he may look as much like you as Jack does Jill, but he'll not play the brother with you, nor anything else as long as I draw breath. And howsomever, the truth of this oddity may be discovered quickly. Then we shall be back in Charlotte Square and soon forget his lordship's existence." Delia doubted her ability to forget Torgreave, but did not voice her opinion. "Besides, his lordship's brother is a clergyman, and that must stand us in good stead," added Morag, from a stout Presbyterian perspective. Delia abandoned her hysterical laughter and began to weep instead.

"Aunt Barbara, Things are not quite as I could Wish. However, the Earl seems a kind enough Gentleman and has offered me to stay as long as I will. He has no family, but one brother. Morag Lochmaddy continues to be Disapproving, but I hope to see much of the Metropolis."

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CHAPTER TWO The next morning, the comfortable traveling coach left London as dawn lightened the eastern horizon. The quiet, chilled villages on the edges of metropolis were quickly left behind. Though the cold had moderated slightly, frost had rendered the road surfaces iron hard. The coach, drawn by four very fresh horses, bowled up the Great North Road with some speed. There was little conversation within the coach. Morag was dour. Torgreave was remotely polite, and Delia was pale with anxiety and the previous night's tears. At last the earl spoke. "Your coach is comfortable, but I dare say you would not wish to be traveling again so soon. I regret the necessity." His words were apologetic but his tone, Delia fancied, was not. She had earlier wondered if he intended to converse at all. He had supplied himself with journals and had been perusing them since their departure. He seemed at ease beside her, with his tall beaver tilted over his intensely blue eyes. A fur rug concealed his long legs, but she had a notion that he was not as relaxed as he appeared. Certainly, she found herself unable to be at ease in such proximity to him. But she also possessed some arts of dissimulation and so agreed, "Both coach and road have a tiresome familiarity." She settled her fur and wool cloak about her more closely and put back her veil. "It remains very cold." He agreed to the prosaic observation with only a nod. He said, "You will have noticed that Bowland has, despite my decision, joined us." Delia had indeed observed with interest that the short, garrulous man directed the loading of her coach. She had watched him confidently mount the box beside Cullen. "I did remark his presence," she admitted. "He would not be gainsaid. He has accompanied me on several doubtful ventures these past six years. He now feels I cannot manage without him." "Such loyalty should be rewarded," Delia said. She imagined that the earl must appreciate such devotion. "He is a damned nuisance," Torgreave snapped. Morag Lochmaddy, seated with her back to the horses, across the carriage, frowned at the profanity. Apparently noting her reaction, the earl queried with an abrupt change of manner, "Mrs. Lochmaddy, are you warm enough?" "Thank you, my lord, I am," she said. She appeared to have difficulty diverting her gaze from the two faces, so very alike, across from her. "I am aware our similarity must be fascinating, but if you regard us too long, I fear we shall be put to the blush," he commented. His crooked grin coaxed a softened expression from the Scotswoman. He continued, "Am I right in thinking you a Highlander, Mrs. Lochmaddy?" "Ye are, my lord." Her reply was dauntingly brief. He appeared unaware of it. "I had the privilege of knowing several members of Highland regiments a

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year or two since. They were fine soldiers. You are a widow, are you not? Would your husband have been an army man?" Delia shot him a curious glance. She speculated briefly on the reason for his conversational efforts, and wondered about his military connections. "Sergeant Lochmaddy was killed in the peninsula in '08." Morag cast aside her reserve, to Delia's surprise. "My acquaintance was with officers in France, but I know something of the Peninsular actions. The Highlanders were most heroic, their lives not lost in vain," Torgreave said. Morag muttered something unintelligible, and smiled mistily at the earl. Delia realized her companion was quite overcome. She stared at the man by her side. He gazed back guilelessly. "I have followed the war closely," he said. It appeared he misunderstood her speculative glance. "What then is your opinion of our position at this moment? Is the war over?" she demanded. "Are we victorious?" "Our position? We have little to fear. It will never be over as long as Boney lives, but we are victorious." "That is pleasant hearing," Delia said. "We in Edinburgh have felt ourselves isolated from immediate threat but we have not been untouched by the conflict. Many of our men have been killed." She nodded sympathetically at her companion. "But our ties to France have been different from those of England. Loyalties can be confused." "Ah, Mary still causes concern in the hearts of her followers." Torgreave shook his head over the long-dead Queen of Scots. "She cannot do otherwise as long as Holyrood stands on Castle Rock," Delia countered. Unwittingly she opened a discussion that would last the better part of the day. They could not agree on Mary's role in history, but the brangling was without acrimony. With such conversations, the journey passed quickly. The earl did not again seek refuge in his journals, and Delia had no need of recourse to the volume of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry in her reticule. Torgreave's charm, when he exerted himself, was considerable. Their acquaintance deepened, and the capitulation of Morag Lochmaddy was complete. The level of tension in the carriage diminished. The party stopped that night at a substantial posting inn near Bedford, at which the earl was unknown. Their appearance made them instantly acceptable as brother and sister. Bowland's able interventions saw to their comfort. Their party was provided with several chambers, and all dined and slept well. The next day was gloomy and bitterly cold. They were to reach the environs of Manningford Tower -- a little south and east of Leicester -- shortly after midday. Delia perceived Torgreave's heightened tension from their earliest encounter in the morning. His conversation was abstracted and punctuated by silences. They paused for a nuncheon near Market Harborough at the smallest inn upon which Cullen, Bowland, and the earl could agree. Delia bore the men's discussion of respective inns with determined patience. She found it interesting that the earl did not overrule his inferiors. He weighed their suggestions with courtesy and attention.

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When they had eaten and were once more settled within the coach, Delia commented, "It is a deal of work to keep this visit secret." She observed that the earl's gloved hands were fisted on his thighs. In the close confines she shared his unease and contracted some of his anxiety. "In the end it will not be possible. There was a farmer in the taproom there who stared intently at me. He will remember shortly why he knows my face." "Does it matter so much?" "Not for my sake...but for yours." He shrugged his broad shoulders with a curiously foreign gesture. "So that if we cannot solve this mystery, you may at least go back to Edinburgh with your family history unblemished." "You are kind." She stared at him, at the fine lines that fanned from the corners of his eyes, the sardonic grooves etched beside his mouth. "I do believe no one has ever said that of me before. I cannot think it true. If we cannot discover our relationship, I shall have to vow never to visit your city. I might not be kind enough to do that," he mocked. All hint of humour drained from his expression, and he grew serious. "I should tell you that our stay at Manningford may be very brief. My brother may refuse to see me." "I cannot believe that he would...no matter what you have done. He is a minister of the cloth." "He's no Presbyterian," muttered Morag, who had been silent for most of the day. Even that wry jibe did not relax the earl's stiff expression. He said, "We shall soon know. Within the hour." *** The high road soon offered a distant view of Manningford Tower. Rupert had not thought the sight would affect him, but he found his vision blurred. A wave of longing swept over him, coupled with a fierce possessiveness. He was right to come home; he was right to seek a reconciliation with Charles. His gloved hands remained clenched though. The coach clattered through the small village, which subsisted because of Manningford Tower. It drew up to the church and the substantial rectory that it dominated. He had rarely been so nervous as he now was. "What if he is from home?" Delia cried with sudden concern. The earl did not respond to the question but realized that he had not even taken into account that possibility. Her words reminded him that Cordelia Tyninghame was a complication he could have done without on this difficult journey. "I shall ask you to wait in the coach while I go in. I shall not keep you long in the cold." He could not forbear to draw courage from her presence. Raising her gloved hand, he touched his lips to back. He could not meet her eyes. The coach swayed as he stepped out. He was conscious that the two women watched him closely.

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He strode unhesitatingly to the rectory door. Acutely aware of his own tension, he plied the knocker. The door opened, and after a moment, the middle-aged servant in the aperture dropped him a deep curtsey. Astonishment was writ on her face. Torgreave stepped into the Rectory entry. The maidservant had long served the Manningford family. "W...Will you come into the parlour, my lord? I...I...I will fetch the Rector, my lord." She curtsied again and almost tripped upon the Turkey carpet. "I will wait here, ah Jane...is it not?" the earl said gravely. "You know how matters stand between my brother and I." Concern transformed her expression. She disappeared down the corridor. While he waited, Torgreave stripped off his gloves and looked about the chamber. He saw with relief that Charles lived comfortably. He had wondered, for his younger brother had refused any support from him but the stipend of his living. He recognized a few of the pictures decorating the walls. They were from his brother's bedroom at Manningford Tower. He drew off his beaver and, with it held tensely in his long hands, examined one painting more closely. Only the click of a door latch told him he was no longer alone. He turned slowly, and his younger brother stood before him. Charles was unsmiling and assessing him with a keen gaze. "The prodigal returns?" his brother questioned acidly. The earl winced, but nodded and agreed. "An appropriate simile." "You look much, much older than when last I saw you." "And you, only a little. It is good to see you Charles. I have missed you." Torgreave extended his hand, and saw that it trembled. His brother must have seen it also, but he made no comment. For a moment Torgreave thought Charles would not countenance his presence. Then his hand was gripped, and not released as they embraced. "I told you I cared never to see you again. I was lying...I was wrong." The young rector had tears in his eyes when he stood away at last. Relief and something akin to joy surged through Torgreave. He had to clear his throat of an emotional obstruction before he could speak. "I am come for many reasons," he began. "Thank God you are come at all, Rupert." Still his brother did not loose his hand. "Come into the parlour." "I am accompanied. May I explain?" The rector released him and stepped back. Suspicion entered his smooth face. "I am come with regrets, to try and make amends," Torgreave spoke slowly. He was unwilling to tarnish

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the joy of their reunion. "I have been planning to do so these many weeks. My visit is made sooner however than I expected. I have a lady with me." The younger man burst into speech. "You have not changed then, and you must know I abhor the way you live." The earl flinched and lifted a long hand. "Hear me out. I said a lady. I meant it. It is a devilish complex matter, one for which I need your help. This lady may be a member of our family." "I do not pretend to understand, but you must bring her in then, out of the cold." His expression displayed the incomprehension he did not vocalize. "Thank you Charles, for your acceptance." Rupert smiled warmly at his younger brother. "I will endeavour that you will not regret it." *** When the earl emerged from the rectory, the groom opened the door of the coach. Delia, who had drawn down her veil, stepped out and crossed the forecourt hurriedly. She immediately sensed a change in Torgreave. The tension was gone. He was as ever restrained and urbane, but she perceived some new happiness. She felt she was growing to know him a little and was content for it to be so. He strode to her side, took her gloved hand, and said, "Come within. My brother is welcoming, though he harbors doubts. We have explanations to make." In the hall, the maidservant had returned and was ready to take their heavy wraps. Delia discarded hers gladly, and indicated that Morag Lochmaddy should do likewise. Delia retained her bonnet and veil. She preferred that some explanation should precede her revelation. Torgreave shrugged out of his greatcoat, and then they were ushered into the parlour. The rector waited within that comfortable room. The fire and the candles blazed. The night was drawing in, and the gold-coloured wool damask curtains were drawn to keep out pernicious drafts. The earl produced the necessary introductions and something by the way of explanation for his brother. From behind her veil, Delia studied the younger man avidly. As Torgreave had said days earlier, the Reverend Charles Manningford was not as like his older brother as she herself was. He was a fine-looking man in his own right, Delia recognized. But he had not his brother's strength and grace, or his definition of feature. Where the earl's hair was coal-black silk, the rector's was merely dark. The earl's eyes were identical in colour to her own startling sapphire; his brother's eyes were only blue. His brows had not the straight blackness of theirs, and his nose was not aquiline. Puzzlement drew his face awry as he listened to his older brother's interpretation of the events of the past week. "You will have to put back your veil." Delia suddenly realized the earl was speaking to her. "This makes little sense, unless my brother can see your face." "I wish I had not to do it," she said. Her voice was quiet and not without humour. She drew off her bonnet altogether and Morag took it from her hand.

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The earl's brother gasped. He sat down abruptly upon the nearest chair. "How can this be?" he said in a low, shocked tone. His gaze was fixed on her face. "That is what we hope to discover," Torgreave responded. "Miss Tyninghame is from Scotland, and we none of us had any knowledge of this? It is beyond belief!" the rector exclaimed. Delia wondered how he could say that, with two pairs of identical eyes regarding him seriously. She glanced at the earl and knew he shared her frivolous thought. She said, "It must be believed, Mr. Manningford, for the evidence is before you." "Indeed." The rector seemed at a loss for words. Then he managed to say, "What have you in mind to do? How can I be of help?" Delia was conscious of relief at those words from the younger man. His assistance could not but be of benefit. She was thankful, too, that he was of a type of man more familiar to her than his elder brother. The earl handed her to a chair near the fire, and sought one himself close by. Morag Lochmaddy moved to a straight-backed settle behind her mistress. "It seemed to me that Manningford Tower -- or even the servants or the tenants of the Tower -- might hold some answers to the questions raised by our resemblance. But we have no desire to spread this news abroad," Torgreave said. "No...indeed no. An unexplained sister? My position would be untenable!" The rector flushed as his brother grinned mockingly. He continued a little fiercely, "I have struggled to overcome your notoriety, to regain the respect in which our family once was held. I have attained some position in this community. I should not wish to lose it all." The earl's grin faded at mention of his past transgressions. "I can summon a little concern for your 'position', but I wish above all to protect Miss Tyninghame's reputation," he said. "As you say, I have none for which to be concerned." Delia felt a pang of sorrow for the brothers' pain as they stared at each across the comfortable room. The rector broke the awkward silence, saying gruffly, "If you desire it, you will stay here at the Rectory. There is space enough, and Miss Tyninghame's anonymity will be ensured. My servants are a few of ours of old from Manningford Tower. They will delight to see you. Those one or two that must know of Miss Tyninghame's presence will hold it to themselves." "This is very kind of you." Delia thanked him quietly and sincerely. "Our arrival must be a great shock for you, as mine was for the earl. The events of the past week are beyond imagining. My desire to travel and Mrs. Inniskip's wish to be of help to the earl have combined to create a disastrous situation." "Yet it is rightful we should know of each other's existence," the rector countered, observing her directly for the first time. "There can be no doubt that we share a common forebear." He transferred his gaze to his older brother. "My father's papers are still at Manningford Tower, locked in the cabinet secretary in the library. He must have known something of this."

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Torgreave achieved a sneer. "If my surmise is correct, he is the author of our situation." His brother coloured but said only, "I will try if Sir Thomas will allow you access to Manningford, Rupert." "Will allow?!" The earl had been lounging at his ease, but he straightened at that statement. He exuded aristocratic disdain for his tenant. "He abhors your character," his brother retorted plainly. "He has only rented Manningford Tower because you never were in the place as its master. He always tells me he feels that in some way he rents it from my father, not you. He has a young son, and three daughters. He has told me he would not wish them exposed to you." Delia listened to this interchange with fascination not unmixed with horror. She had discovered the earl to be a cultivated, cogitative, reserved gentleman. He was occasionally kind, frequently unsociable and had displayed once or twice a formidable anger. Everything she learned of him from others was to his detriment. She had little to say, and much to learn. Torgreave lashed out with a white-hot temper that shocked Delia, who had experienced only his ice-cold fury. She shrank back in her chair. "Exposed to me!? I have not got the plague. Children and animals are safe with me. I am still a gentleman. You live on rumour here in Leicestershire. These people know nothing of what I am or am not. Sir Thomas sounds the sort of man that were I to dally with his daughter he would be busy about forcing me to marriage. He would not call me out. His disgust of me would be tempered by his avarice." Charles jumped to his feet. "These people are my friends. More friend to me than you have been these five years. I will not have them maligned. You have said it; your reputation is bad. Tell me that it is all lies!" The earl rose slowly. Delia observed pride and anguish, as well as the ashes of anger, in his fine-drawn face. "I will not excuse myself to you. I am what I am. There are many things in my past I regret, but I am not a monster. Shall we leave or stay?" Charles sagged, and stammered boyishly, "I...I...stay, please Rupert. I beg your pardon. You were a good brother always. Your differences with my father coloured my view too much. Hearing echoes of your actions and not seeing you did me no good. I am become too much the clergyman and not enough the brother." The door opened and Delia, who had her back to it, started. The maid called Jane beamed at the two men still standing in confrontation. "The mutton is ready my lord," she said. She glanced at Delia, and showed only mild surprise that she displayed a marked resemblance to the gentlemen. In the interval, the earl and the rector swung apart in relief. The younger man struggled to produce a normal response. "Our guests will be staying for a few days Jane. Miss Tyninghame is a...a cousin, who wishes to keep her presence private. Will you show her and her companion to chambers please? We will dine within the hour."

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Torgreave crossed to Delia's side, and drew her to her feet. His exquisite voice was low, for her ears only. "I regret you have to witness these dramas. Our family history is long, and not altogether pleasant. We will manage better, I am certain. Advise me if you have not everything you need above stairs." Delia looked across the room, to see Charles contemplating them. She flushed a faint pink, and said quietly to them both, "I will return to you shortly." She withdrew, followed by Mrs. Lochmaddy. Delia felt disinclined to talk to Morag. She was unnerved by the strong emotions experienced and expressed by the two gentlemen. There was a long, most welcome, silence when they reached her chamber. She slowly withdrew the combs from her hair, and allowed Morag to brush out the tangled length. "At least the rector is a good man, as I expected," the Scotswoman said at last, after dressing Delia's hair once more. "He is," Delia agreed, washing her hands and her face in the china bowl provided near the fire. She accepted a fresh tucker of lace from Morag for her violet kerseymere gown. She changed her silver eardrops to ones of amethyst. They matched a delicate locket about her slim neck. "I cannot fathom completely the earl's nature. It is most contradictory. The rector will be more easily understood. Their emotions run strongly at present, and they have much to discuss. I shall withdraw soon after dinner, and leave them to talk." Dinner was a quiet affair; the food was simple, but well prepared. The rector often gazed from his brother to Delia in silent, puzzled astonishment. They spoke, however, of innocuous topics -- the weather, Delia's journey and Manningford's concerns. Immediately the meal was concluded, Delia made her excuses and retired. The earl held the dining room door open for her. He murmured as she passed through, "Thank you for your tact." Her blue eyes flew to his and dropped at the warmth she found there. A disconcerting sense of more than physical familiarity coursed through her. "Good night," was all she managed, in a strangled tone. *** When the earl turned back, he discovered his brother had risen. With the decanter of port in one hand and two glasses in the other, he was advancing to the door. "The parlour is warmer. We may be snug and private there," Charles said. He led the way across the hall. When they were both settled before the fire, booted feet outstretched, Torgreave was first to speak. "I have worried that you were not comfortable; I am glad to see you have been." His younger brother flushed. "I thank you for your concern. My material wants have been supplied, but oh, I have been lonely. I missed my father..." Rupert uttered a sardonic laugh.

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"Oh, I know you did not. Nevertheless I did. And I missed you, after I recovered from my anger and grief. Why did you leave Manningford Tower ten years ago?" "My father wished an exact replica of himself. He wished me to be that replica. I was not. He knew it from my earliest years. He attempted to force me into his mold, and I rejected that at every turn. You know the results. You lived through the turmoil. I thank God he allowed you to be your own man. In the end I rejected everything he was and loved, even the Tower itself." "And now?" Charles drank deeply of his port, but the earl scarcely sipped his. "Now I must sort the coil presented by Miss Tyninghame." "She is very beautiful, and very like you. My father always said you were too handsome." Charles grinned at his brother with some glimmer of past youthful jokes. Rupert responded with his own grimmer smile. "He told me so many times did he not? I understand it better now I see Delia. Her beauty is a formidable distraction." Charles lifted a brow at the familiarity. Rupert found himself explaining, for despite Charles was the younger, he had always been the conscience of the pair. "She and I agreed that there was no point in false formality. We must be related...perhaps even siblings. Delia and I have reckoned that the weakness of her mother and my father must be the explanation. I can scarcely credit it of my father." Rupert regretted the distress he saw in his younger brother's face. The rector said thoughtfully, "Nor can I, and it may not be true. Leaving it aside though, tell me all the details of your meeting. Why and how did Miss Tyninghame come from Scotland?" "From Edinburgh to be precise." Rupert turned his glass in his fingers, watched the candlelight shatter over its cut surface. He did not drink from it. "Inniskip invited her, in the mistaken impression that a surprise might reform me." Charles laughed outright at that. "Have some respect for your elders! I am the earl." Rupert mocked his own dignity, in quite their old joking manner. He continued more seriously, "Before Inniskip interfered I had already decided to make changes in my life." "Have you been ill?" his brother questioned. "I...you are much altered...very thin and...and haggard." Torgreave betrayed his astonishment with a glance, then he laughed bitterly. "That, my dear, is the result of drink. Bowland would tell you I have been drinking myself to death. It interferes with appetite and sleep. I shall be better now that I have resolved against it." He waved a long hand dismissively. "To continue regarding Inniskip's interference...the surprise has been for us all. I for one wish to know the facts behind it." "I am not certain I wish to. It can only reflect badly on our family," Charles said slowly. "I must tell you, I am wishing to be wed." Torgreave almost dropped his glass, and shot a glance at his brother. "Do you say so?" He added more

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calmly. "Who is the fortunate lady?" "Miss Susannah Slimbridge. And her father does not think her fortunate. He is Sir Thomas, the same who rents Manningford Tower." He looked away from his brother's even gaze. "He will not hear of his family being allied with ours. It is you that stand in the way of it." He said the last without anger or recrimination. The earl set down his goblet carefully, and rose, to present his back to his younger brother. He said nothing for long minutes. The rector poured himself another glass of port. "One forgets, when one goes to the devil, that one does not go alone," said Rupert. He turned and shocked Charles with his ravaged face. "Can you forgive me?" "When you argued with my father as he lay dying and you swore you would never come to Manningford Tower again, I thought I could never forgive you. And I told you so, didn't I? But I was wrong. I told you also that I hated you. That was not true. I could never hate you. I have gained wisdom and compassion over the years, I hope, and some understanding through my work here. We both have much to forgive." "I will make it right." "You always said that, whenever we were caught in mischief," Charles said. "And you always did, no matter the cost to yourself." The earl seated himself again. He covered his face with his long hands. "Rupert, do not distress yourself so. It will come right, as you say." "It will. We will change the opinion of this Sir Thomas," Torgreave vowed. He straightened slowly. "But I cannot see where Delia fits, and I must. I shall want all of my father's papers from Manningford Tower. Did he not keep a journal?" "He did. It is here, in several volumes, in my study. You do believe that this -- that Delia -- is Father's doing?" "I believe nothing yet, but I must start somewhere. 'Tis impossible we share a mother, therefore it must be a father. Tyninghame is unlikely to be my father, but our father may be hers." Charles nodded thoughtfully. "Come, I will show you the journals." *** Delia saw no one until the next midday. She took breakfast in her chamber, and dealt as best she could with the speculations and theories that chased around her brain. She wrote letters and unpacked her needlework. Morag Lochmaddy preserved her customary reticence, and saw to her mistress' needs. When Delia descended the stairs, with her workbox in her hand, the rectory was quiet. She discovered Charles in the parlour, writing. He rose quickly. It seemed to her that he recoiled a little at the sight of her face. She said, "It is disconcerting is it not? At least you have not the same look as we two, for that would be too much to bear."

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He looked relieved by her candour. "You are two very handsome people. I remember I once envied my brother his appearance. Then I realized it seemed the root of much of his troubles. To see you together delights the eye, but raises so many unanswered questions." "Where is the earl?" Delia asked. "I have lent him my mount. He is gone for a ride. He wished to see the Tower; I am thankful for that. As recently as yesterday morning, I feared I would never see him again. I thought that the Tower had permanently lost its rightful heir." Delia chose a chair with a piecrust table close to hand and put down her workbox. "I am afraid I have caused a great deal of trouble. Had I stayed in Scotland and not indulged my wish for travel..." He hastened to reassure her. "Trouble, perhaps, yet good also. My brother would not wish to hear it, but I see the hand of Providence in this. Your arrival has brought us back together and I thank you for that." Looking at his face during this earnest speech, Delia thought what a pleasant and uncomplicated young man he was. He was very unlike his elder brother. "Will you tell me a little of your family's history?" she requested. "Or tell me if I am too bold in desiring it?" "You surely have a right to know, involved as you are now even against your will." The young rector sighed. When Delia had seated herself, he followed suit. "It seems simple enough to tell. My father and my brother did not get on. My brother left Manningford Tower ten years ago, when he was nineteen, to set up his own establishment. I was sixteen. He returned from time to time, and always there would be terrible rows. Five years ago my father was dying, and I asked Rupert to come. They argued even then and Rupert would not stay. I told him if he left he need never try to see me again. I told him I hated him." His voice was briefly suspended by emotion. Delia ached for his pain. "I had not seen him since, until yesterday. He did not come for the funeral, or the reading of the will. He took me at my word, you see. Soon after the funeral came a letter advising that he had sold my father's London house and rented Manningford Tower to Sir Thomas. I had taken up this living a year before my father's death. I tried to renounce it, but Rupert would not hear of it. He vowed to influence the bishop so that the living would stand vacant. I could not allow that to happen to the people of Manningford." "How terrible for you both," Delia whispered. "That was the worst of it. He seemed to feel nothing. It was not terrible to him. As I went about my business, I heard tales of his actions. His existence consisted of pointless gaiety, debauchery even, gambling and carousing. He was much in France, despite the conflict and war, and I still wonder over that." He looked deeply troubled. Delia put her slim hand on his arm, and said, "I have seen little evidence of such activities. But of course, I have known him only a week. His face, I think, proclaims hard living."

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"He hasn't...you have been treated as you should?" "He has treated me with respect and every kindness. His London house is beautifully kept by Mrs. Inniskip." The door was flung open and they both started. Torgreave strode in bringing the chill air of the outdoors as well as his sardonic presence. Delia snatched her hand from Charles' arm as the earl looked askance at it. "How pleasant," he sneered. "You are becoming acquainted." "We are. In fact, I shall call your brother Charles, and he must call me Delia." She smiled at the younger man. Then she looked back at the earl. "I dislike your manner, however, Rupert," she informed him, meeting his gaze with a challenge in her eyes. Torgreave was the first to turn away, ostensibly to warm himself before the fire. Delia was conscious that Charles watched the interchange with widened eyes. She supposed he would never have spoken so rebukingly to his elder brother. She suspected that when their father had chastized Rupert, rebellion had been the response. "The frost is hard," the earl said curtly over his shoulder. "We should return to London as soon as possible, unless my brother is to have our company indefinitely." Delia thought he looked very tired. "I should not be averse to having you remain," Charles said. Rupert turned to smile at his younger brother. "I was up all the night, reading those journals of my father. They are just like him, correct, cold, and uninformative. Entries are very short: a brief note regarding my mother's funeral, a remark here and there on my transgressions, and a list of your achievements, Charles." Delia heard no rancour in his tone as he related what he had found. "He wrote regularly on Sundays, and there is no indication that he ever was anywhere but Manningford Tower or London. I think he traveled not at all." The rector sighed, but said only, "I think that Jane has a nuncheon for us. Let us go through to the dining room. After, I shall ride to Manningford Tower and speak with Sir Thomas." True to his word, Charles rode off after they had shared a light repast. The earl retired to his brother's study, with only a brief word of apology. Leaving Morag undisturbed abovestairs, Delia went alone to her workbox in the parlour. She settled on a sofa beside the fire. Sorting her silks aimlessly, she reflected yet again on the change in her circumstances. It appeared that at least one of those she had considered her parents, was not. If Torgreave's speculations were correct, the cold uncaring man that he had disliked was her father as well. She paused in her work and stared absently at the candle flames flickering from the candelabra at her elbow. Her mother's honour was in question. Her mother, who had been a loving companion to her husband, and a thoroughly delightful parent. And the man she regarded as father -- the good man devoted to estate and country -- was he no relation by blood to her? Had that marriage then been a sham, like so many

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amongst her acquaintance? Had her own brother and sister, both of whom had died, been only half-siblings? She felt dizzy with questions and shivered. She started when a hand touched her shoulder. It was the earl. He held her green figured shawl, her warmest, in his strong hands. She had left it in a chair across the room. She stared at him still lost in thought. He wrapped the shawl about her, very gently, before seating himself beside her. He could be tender, she realized with surprise. How little she knew him yet. She supposed he could be very charming. One could scarcely be a rake without possessing the arts of pleasing. She had seen little of that side of his character. "This changes your life, does it not?" the earl said. "At times I feel I shall never compass the facts. I find myself rehearsing them constantly as though repetition might bring acceptance and understanding. My mother...," her voice was suspended by emotion. He interpolated gently, "Why should we feel so differently about this moral transgression? My brother and I can contemplate my father's possible actions as unremarkable. The possibility that your mother broke her marriage vows brings distress to you." Delia recovered her composure. "You should know better than I," she said without malice, "for you are the male, a rake who is condemned yet accepted. The women you use are deemed without honour and unacceptable anywhere." "Perhaps I should know." Intense weariness marked his face. "But I do not. As for our own situation, we must all support each other. There may yet be a good explanation, though I cannot find it in those journals." "You hated your father. I cannot wish him mine. And my mother would never have loved such a one. Or borne his child." "My father was a decent enough man. Ten years ago I could not have said that, but it is the truth. He desired me to be a replica of himself. I could not. And he held himself as a pattern card of virtue, against my misdeeds. If he is your father as well as mine, it is proved he was not so virtuous as he claimed. That eases my guilt, I think." Stamping in the hall heralded the return of the rector. Delia began to pack up her silks mechanically, though she had not laid a stitch. "Ah you are both here," Charles put his head in at the door. "I have brought boxes of papers from my father's desk." The earl's face darkened. "Sir Thomas?" "Sir Thomas allows of course that you may go about the estate as you wish, with access to the steward and his rooms. But he will not allow you in the house, as it is rented to him. He will not have you speaking with his family." "He sounds the sort of pious, hypocritical fellow my father would have called friend." Torgreave was pleased to be unpleasant.

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"You can scarcely condemn the gentleman for disliking your reputation. From my conversations with you, I have discerned that you dislike it yourself." Delia rebuked him. She surprised a deep choke of laughter from the earl. "I saw Susannah...Miss Slimbridge..." Charles said. Delia looked at him, wondering who Susannah was. A groom from Manningford Tower began to bring the boxes into the chamber. Bowland bustled in to assist. Rupert answered her unspoken question for his brother, while regarding the wood- framed crates. "My brother is in love, Delia, with a daughter of Sir Thomas. My tenant is implacably opposed to any relationship. Because of me." Delia studied each man in turn, her wide eyes solemn. "I see. We add complication to difficulty to confusion, and create such a coil as we may never sort." The gentlemen stared at her, apparently much struck by her words. No one had a thought to add. They worked at the papers the remainder of the day, in company only with Morag and Bowland. The work was undertaken silently. Not until they sat down to dinner did they discuss their conclusions. "Morag and I found nothing among the household accounts," Delia said, pushing her chicken about her plate. "The earliest papers were as orderly as the last, all from London or Manningford Tower. There is no hint of irregularity, and no evidence of travel." Charles appeared also to have little appetite. "I had the same experience. Wills, inventories, record books, all perfectly tidy, and uninformative." "As are the estate accounts, such as are here." The earl was the only one eating. "I shall go to the steward's room as well, but there is no clew to be had among them. I left Bowland packing them away. I believe that I must have access to the Tower." "I cannot think how we will arrange that," observed the rector. "Nor can I, at the present. So, if Delia agrees, we will return to London tomorrow." "As soon as you wish, Rupert, but not tomorrow," Delia contradicted. The earl paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "It is Sunday. Morag and I will not travel on the Sabbath." "Good God, you have been concealing your Presbyterian scruples from me most cleverly." He laid down his utensil and stared at her. "I claim no peculiar degree of piety," Delia responded meeting his stare. "But some restrictions I will observe. It is a day of rest. Besides I would like to hear Charles preach." "You cannot, not and keep this visit as private as we agreed necessary," he objected. "Do you not remember the old pews, Rupert? Miss Tyninghame may attend with perfect propriety, and

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be all but undetected." Charles smiled with increased appreciation at Delia. "Besides," Delia added, "You shall not wish to miss this opportunity to hear your brother's sermon, my lord. I shall be glad of your company." Rupert stared from one to the other, apparently suspecting a plot between them. He sighed."Very well. But if you choose to speak on the prodigal son, Charles, I shall not be responsible for my actions." The Rector tried to smother his laughter, but could not, and his explosive hilarity was contagious. Until that moment Delia had thought she might never laugh again. And it sounded as though it had been an age since the earl had indulged in genuine mirth.

"Dear Aunt, I have been to visit the Brother of the Earl. He is a Rector and a fine man. The cold has Intensified, and the Thames has frozen solid. There is talk a Fair will be held upon it."

CHAPTER THREE It was remarkable, Delia reflected as she trod up the steps to the house in Grosvenor Street, how quickly one adapted to new circumstances. This return to London seemed almost a homecoming. Life in Edinburgh was a remote fancy. Only the letters she sent tied her to her former existence. They were scribed with difficulty, hampered by the unrevealed truth. The missives she frequently received seemed to come from a distant, half-remembered past. She looked over her shoulder at the lean, great-coated figure of the earl directing her coachman. "Travel with a gentleman carries a degree of security and comfort with it," she commented to Morag Lochmaddy, who followed at her heels. "Aye, they have a usefulness," the Scotswoman agreed. "'Tis offset by the trouble they cause." "You are harsh," Delia chose to laugh at the comment. "Torgreave was kindness itself on the journey. And Bowland was such a help." She smiled warmly on the small man. They entered the hall and he took their wraps. Morag snorted. The earl entered the hall after them. He asked, "Who or what has given Mrs. Lochmaddy such displeasure?" He shrugged out of his greatcoat. Delia was saved from framing a reply by the housekeeper's hurried approach. She could not detect emotion in Mrs. Inniskip's angular face. Torgreave apparently sensed a query for he said, "Inniskip, you will like to know that my brother is well. He sends you kind regards. We shall see him again, perhaps here in London. So your interference has wrought one good thing at least."

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The housekeeper dropped a slight curtsey, stony-faced, and greeted Delia. Then with Morag Lochmaddy, she passed through the green baize door. Bowland, laden with wraps, scurried after them. "You must not be so unkind," Delia reproved Rupert. They moved upstairs to the drawing room, which was bright with candles and firelight. "I regard her interference as intolerable. I will not pretend otherwise." The earl shot her a keen look. He rested a booted foot on the shining fender of the broad fireplace. "Can you truly tell me that you are glad of what has happened due to her audacity?" Delia's pearly skin whitened. "No," she murmured. "Of course not. I would give anything to be at home in Charlotte Square with naught to consider but a myriad of invitations and my aunt's next rout." She was less than honest -- she knew it. If she had not left Edinburgh, she would never have met Rupert. The thought was unbearable. She had rather be in London, with him. That realization took her breath away. "Tell me about your life in Edinburgh," he invited. He cast himself into the wing chair nearest her as she seated herself by the fire. She thought he was in an uncertain temper. She had no real wish to comply with his request. It was the present dilemma that occupied her mind. "There is little enough to tell. It is not at all remarkable." Delia met his shuttered gaze steadily. "My come out was made three years ago. I attend at balls, routs and all manner of fashionable gatherings. I have two or three close friends with whom I tour the shops and libraries, and drink tea and gossip." "And you entertain myriad admirers?" he said. He stared into the fire, his face set in grim lines. "Yes," she responded. She thought wistfully of fresh-faced Geordie McKenna, William Scott, Neil Rosslyn and others: mere lads, open and carefree. They held no attraction for her anymore. He frowned, deepening the carved lines about his mouth. "But you are yet unmarried. Can you mean to follow in the footsteps of Lady Barbara?" Delia had regaled the earl during their journey with tales of her aunt's prodigious learning, sociable nature and successful salons. "I think not; I don't know. Why do you ask me? What business is it of yours to pry so?" "None." The single word, the heaviness of his tone, frightened her. She sought to lighten their conversation. "Perhaps it is merely that Morag frightens my suitors away." Rupert seemed to pull himself from his dark mood with a palpable effort. "The redoubtable Mrs. Lochmaddy. She is an odd mix of maid and companion surely?" "My aunt Barbara, while no republican, has long treated her servants with an awareness of our parity." Delia eagerly seized the opportunity to divert the conversation. "Morag has served in my aunt's household in a variety of capacities. The tragedy of her husband's death brought us together. One morning when I found her weeping over the bedlinen in my chamber, we discovered an empathy. I was in need of an abigail. We became friends, as unlikely as that may seem. She has an invisible boundary for our

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relationship, which I cannot see. She will not cross it." Delia smiled thinking of it. "And she was happily wed and yet has no use for my sex?" the earl queried. He straightened in his chair, as Bowland carried in refreshment. "She merely believes that you are in fact the weaker sex," Delia responded. She could not agree with Morag. Torgreave's strength belied any thought of weakness. Bowland ventured a disapproving snort on his way out of the room. "Bowland disagrees. Now we shall have the two of them arguing." He seemed to find the thought amusing. Delia was only happy that his mood had lightened. She poured out the tea. "What next shall we do to find some clue to our relationship?" she asked. Her own mood had darkened. Rupert accepted a porcelain cup brimming with tea from her. "As we found nothing in my father's papers at Manningford, I believe we must question those who knew him. If we continue in our investigations so slowly though, it may be sometime before you see Edinburgh and the admirers again. Conversely, I foresee that a journey to that city may soon become necessary, if we persistently have so little success." He returned to harshness, his face cold-set. Delia wondered what she could say that might alleviate his anxieties, return him to ease. "You had best adjudge yourself at home here, and occupy yourself with your needlework. I shall put some inquiries afoot over the next few days, and see what fruit they bring." "I am accustomed to order my own existence," she snapped, her desire for his comfort destroyed. "I am not some idle, fashionable doll." "Are you not? I thought you just indicated that you were." "I did not mean it so," she said. He had deliberately misunderstood her words. "I have my charities, I work for them. And I study the pianoforte, and Greek, and...and things." "I meant no insult." His ravaged face lightened in intensity. "But you must see that there is little of benefit that you can do at this moment. And I merely spoke of something I thought you enjoyed to do. You have undoubted skill with your needle." "You would be an uncomfortable sibling," she said. She had said it also a few days previously, and meant it most sincerely. Her head was spinning with contradictions. "I hope at least to prove that I am not your brother," he ground out. He rose. "I will not be in to supper." "Ever the rake?" she queried sweetly acid. He paused, half way to the door, and looked back. "Always," he said. "Take care, your tongue is become as sharp as mine." ***

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The cold grew more intense over the next days. Like some great primeval creature it held London in its icy grip. Frost glittered in errant sunbeams that escaped through strands of billowing smoke. It snowed with great flakes that delighted even the most pinched of young crossing sweepers. Stocks of wood and coal were quickly bought up. Roasted potatoes and chestnuts sold briskly in the streets. Despite the hardship that the weather undoubtedly brought, there was an atmosphere of carnival about the city. The earl noted it. It was at variance with his own grim mood. He proceeded to investigate his father's past. He spoke with aged gentlemen in White's and Boodle's. Some regarded him with suspicion, some with nostalgia, a few with surprise at his discreet, casual inquiries. He took to attending at the House of Lords, though not so often as to cause sensation. Between sessions, he queried those who had been his father's friends. He returned to Grosvenor Street always weary. It occurred to him that sobriety and earnestness caused him to feel more fatigued than ever gaiety had. Delia was the reason for his efforts. She was his one comfort. Her residence and her activities in his elegant townhouse seemed unaccountably to make it a home. She was seldom without her needlework or a book in her hand. She was of a disorderly nature, so both appeared randomly, occupying chairs and tables in the drawing room, the morning room and even the dining room. The shelves of the library showed signs of disarray. Her letter writing left discarded quills and paper in her wake. Often she hummed a snatch of song as she moved from room to room. Occasionally a delicate scent of tuberose hung in the air after she had passed by. Inescapably Torgreave was conscious of her presence. He came gradually to doubt whether he wished to clarify the mystery surrounding their relationship. He began to wish only to discover whatever would require her to remain in his home another week or another month. Delia found herself equally conscious of his propinquity, with less joy. He was an unhappy man, she thought emotionally, haunted by his past decisions and mistakes. "I find myself wishing upon occasion that I may be his sister," she confided to Morag Lochmaddy one evening as they sat together in the drawing room. "I could perhaps make him more comfortable, assist him to seek more joy in life." "Ye cannot reform a rake," her companion said. "Surely he cannot be so very bad." Delia selected a primrose silk and threaded her needle, after drawing a lamp closer. "We have seen little evidence of it. He lives quietly enough." "We have seen little of him, these past days," Morag pointed out dourly. "The Good Lord alone knows where he goes. Mrs. Inniskip has told me tales of revelries here... Well, I would not relate them to you. She has had to lock the maids in their rooms to protect them, and has taken the precaution to lock herself in as well." Delia was momentarily silent. "I will not believe such gossip and you must not encourage her to discuss his lordship," she said. She wondered at her own vehemence. Her companion accepted the reproof with a grim nod and lapsed into silence. It was broken moments later when the object of their disagreement strolled in. "You may leave us," Delia instructed her companion. Morag gathered her things, and with only a slight bow to the earl, departed. He looked after her in sardonic amusement. Delia observed him covertly. He wore evening dress, the dark cloth and white linen accentuating his striking colouring. There was a blazing sapphire in his neckcloth mimicking the colour of his eyes.

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"I had thought she had begun to like me," he observed. He turned back to Delia, who smiled at him with lifted brows. "She likes you very well. You have charmed her. But she does not trust you." "I cannot suppose there is anyone save Bowland, who does," he said unemotionally. He dropped, with a tired sigh, into a chair near the fire. Delia noted with concern that he seemed always weary. "She does not believe that siblings may be alone together?" he added idly. "She does, of course. But she will not feel comfortable until she has seen proof that we are siblings." "Perhaps she is right." He reached out a long hand, and took hers from her needlework. "She has need to be careful with such beauty." Her slim fingers trembled ever so slightly in his before she withdrew them. She bent her head until her luxuriant black curls concealed her face from him. She wondered if she imagined a light touch upon them. "You may reserve your charm for those who appreciate it. A sister does not," she said. Her manner was determinedly bright and calm. "What I would appreciate is some diversion. I am without news to write to Edinburgh, and am accustomed to be abroad more than I have been these past days. Morag and I ventured once out to the shops." She looked up then, and met his gaze with candour and with humour. "I have a number of attractive veils, and some pretty bonnets. I solemnly promise to conceal my face, but do pray accompany me out!" Rare amusement lightened his face. He said, "In truth, you have seen but little of London, which was after all your only reason for traveling south. Perhaps we could to some degree remedy the matter. I might escort you wherever your veil would not occasion comment. Not to the opera or theatre, but surely to Bond Street, the Tower, or the Egyptian House. I regret I did not myself think of it." Delia said, "I have seen in the newspaper that the Thames is frozen quite solid. There is talk that a Fair may be held upon the ice. I should like to see it. And I have heard from Bowland that people are skating. I enjoy that of all things." The earl looked startled. "A Frost Fair. You would wish to attend?" "Oh come, you must not be high in the instep," she laughed at his expression. "Do you know I was used to imagine a libertine would be the most merry and lighthearted of persons? He has after all no sense of what is right and proper. You have corrected my impression." He laughed but without real humour. "I was used to imbibe freely so to be merry and light-hearted. Shall I begin again?" "No indeed," she responded, aware of the ring of truth in his words. "Do let us shall go to the Fair tomorrow though." ***

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The cold was too intense for an open carriage the next day. The coach was ordered for eleven o'clock. Delia donned her fur-lined cloak as well as her warmest pelisse. She noted with approval the earl's many-caped drab olive greatcoat. "You gentlemen have a great advantage in your tall Hessians," she said. Morag assisted her to wrap a veil about her blue velvet bonnet. "And wool stockings as opposed to silk," he mocked, accepting his beaver from Bowland. "I have worn my stoutest boots," she protested. She displayed the elegant leather laced about her trim ankle. "But lace stockings, I see," he teased. She blushed as she dropped her ruched skirt. "You should have your muffler, my lord," Mrs. Lochmaddy said. She held out the finely knit woolen. "Should I?" he queried. "I thank you for your concern." He accepted the scarf, and tossed it casually about his strong neck. Morag flushed to the roots of her ginger hair. When Bowland had closed the door behind them, Delia said, "That was too bad of you." They stepped into the coach and he settled opposite her. "What was too bad of me?" he queried. "Bewitching poor Morag." She wavered between amusement and annoyance. "I suppose you scarce note it, it comes so naturally to you." "Not at all," he commented, relaxed in her company. "I have to concentrate to be charming. I need Mrs. Lochmaddy as an ally. It is worth any sacrifice." He shrugged, and added, "I have directed Cullen to Blackfriars Bridge, he will leave us for two hours and retrieve us at London Bridge." Delia peered from the window of the coach with an excess of curiosity. The streets from Mayfair to Fleet Street were uncommonly quiet. The poor crowded around makeshift fires, bundled in layers of rags. The few wealthy that were abroad were wrapped in furs. The contrast caught at her heart as always. She hoped the poor had a place where they could obtain hot food. She resolved to query by post her friend, Jane Whitborn, if their soup kitchen in Edinburgh had sufficient reserves. She realized with regret that her new concerns had drawn her attention from her long-standing involvements, Near the Thames existed a bustle of activity. The coachman left Fleet Street and pressed through the traffic on New Bridge Street toward Blackfriars Bridge. Delia was distracted from her preoccupation by the slowing of the carriage. It was surrounded by hawkers and barrows, pedestrians, coaches and horsemen. A jangle of voices, shouting, calling and swearing, beat against the carriage doors. When they drew up, Torgreave stepped down, and handed Delia from the coach. They approached the stairs that led to the river, and the sight spread before them was remarkable. The great river was completely frozen from bank to bank, and as far as they could see towards London Bridge, with rough, icy folds. The couple descended the icy steps with care, Torgreave going before and Delia clinging to his extended hand. At the bottom, a waterman desperate for income charged the earl a

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toll to enter the fair. Delia saw a crown change hands and the waterman beamed. They reached the river's edge and paused in astonishment near a barge frozen into the river. People thronged the rough ice which was crowded with booths and entertainments. Roughly dressed folk were dancing to the music of fiddles on the decks of some vessels that were frozen into the ice. Oyster-wenches called to the earl, and a stall holder offered him a go at skittles. Torgreave seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of ha'pennies in the pocket of his greatcoat. He handed them out freely but refused most of the goods offered in return. It was a nonchalant charity, easily offered, easily accepted. He did take a broadside printed before their eyes on a press which threatened the ice's stability. The paper offered a crude view of the scene before them. The earl presented it to Delia with a quirk of his brow. They wandered down 'City Road' toward London Bridge. Delia stared up at the City which seemed to hang above them anchored by the dome of St. Paul's in a cold, steel- gray sky. They examined the cheap wares the stalls and barrows displayed for sale. There were toys, and books, even chalkware ornaments, all bearing the words, 'bought on the Thames'. The smell of warm gingerbread teased Delia's cold nose. She followed the scent, ignoring all others, with Torgreave in tow. When she located the gingerbread seller, she purchased two sizable pieces with his pennies. "Come let's eat it. It will warm us," she urged Rupert. She loosed and drew aside her veil to consume her share, after ensuring that they were surrounded by only those of lower classes. There were just a few fashionable folk abroad so early in the day. No one paid them any heed; all were intent on the wonders of the Fair. Across the 'road' squatted a tent selling spirits. Raucous laughter spilled from it. Oblivious to their surroundings, Delia reached out and pulled the earl's muffler closer about his ears. Their gazes met and tangled. "Are you warm enough?" he queried. Concern echoed in his voice. He reached out to touch her rosy cheek then pulled away before doing so. He redirected his gaze with visible control. "Yes, but for my feet." Delia managed a whisper. "We shall attend at the shops, some time soon," he declared with a false jollity. "We will purchase you some woolen stockings. I believe I know where some may be got." "You know where ladies' stockings may be purchased?" She shook her head, matching his change in manner. "I could wish you did not, you shocking creature." As she readjusted her veil, she spied a look on his face she could not decipher. She almost thought it was regret, but it was quickly concealed. "Do let's walk on." He stamped his booted feet, and drew her gloved hand through his crooked arm. "It was delightful," she confided to Morag later in the day. She handed the broadside to her companion. "See, this is a passable representation. We walked the length of this road. It was rough in places, but serviceable. The ice was very dirty, all manner of things frozen in it. The water must be very unpleasant. "There even were swingboats though we did not approach them. Torgreave said they must surely overburden the strength of the ice." She opened a small, paperbound parcel. "And he bought me this." She withdrew a crudely carved wooden doll, with a pretty painted face and a gay calico gown. "Note the tag?"

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Morag took a cursory glance at the toy. "Aye, well, your feet feel near frozen. Sit you down." Her attendant wrapped the offended appendages in a warm blanket near the bedroom fire. "It was worth it. It was lovely to be out, and to hear Rupert laugh so freely." Delia sat the little doll on a nearby table. "Do you notice the novelty of being in a masculine household, Morag? I do. His heavy tread on the stairs and his deep voice in the passage sometimes startle me. And the scent of leather boots and beaver hats mingles with the smell of polish and coal fires. I encountered Bowland in the upper passage yesterday with his arm draped over with fresh neckcloths. He was mortified. I do think it might be delightful to have brothers." "I had six. They were naught but nuisance," her companion grumbled. "As for Bowland, he was asking me about starch for those neckcloths. He enjoys the activity in the house, I've no doubt, the busy wee man." Delia laughed gaily, then grimaced. "My feet do sting. Why do I not have any woolen stockings, Morag?" "Because ye have always previously been wise enough to stay within doors in the bitter cold in Edinburgh. Ye've not needed them." "Well Rupert is determined I shall have some." A tiny smile curved her generous mouth. "I do think today was the first time he has truly relaxed since we met. He enjoyed himself at the Fair." She thought over the matter. "He has said he was used to imbibe immoderately." "Mrs. Inniskip will confirm that." "I believe he had made the decision for change, before ever we appeared." "We should go home, home to Edinburgh now, tomorrow," Morag suggested suddenly. Delia surveyed her plain, intent face in surprise. Her own secret smile lingered. "Why? Because Rupert has charmed and teased you?" she queried. "No!" exclaimed Morag. "Because he is in a fair way to charming you, and if he be your brother, that is truly immoral. I am fair torn with indecision these days. If you are siblings I may, I suppose, safely leave you unattended in his company. But if you are not siblings, then you must surely not be left alone with him, because of his iniquitous attentions. They are those of a rake indeed." "Enough," Delia interrupted with rare temper. Her pleasure in the day was destroyed. "We will not be leaving tomorrow or in the foreseeable future. Now I wish to be undisturbed." She picked up her book deliberately. Morag Lochmaddy, tight-lipped, retired from the chamber. *** Her companion's words troubled Delia greatly over the next days. She worried over them in solitude when Torgreave was abroad. She examined them as she strolled the library one cold afternoon, searching out a book with which to distract her thoughts.

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True to his word, the earl had escorted her to each of the places he had suggested, and had organized further outings. Delia, because of Morag's strictures, had striven to reestablish formality in their dealings. It was difficult to do, for she was more in his company. She had developed a concern for the unhappy man she had discovered behind his reserve and elegance. She felt for his weariness. As she enjoyed his society, she had more than once to remind herself that she scarcely knew him. Certainly any feeling of charity must be engendered by their similarity. She reassured herself that her behaviour had been no more than sisterly. Surely her feelings were only familial. His sentiments she could not determine, but his 'iniquitous' attentions must, she felt certain, be figments of Mrs. Lochmaddy's imagination. She idly spun the orrery which sat on the central library table, then firmly put her thoughts aside. Crossing to the shelves, she selected a book at random, and took it to the blazing fire for consideration. A nasty north wind rattled the windows and she drew her Paisley shawl more closely about her. There was a commotion in the passage, laughter and the sound of booted feet. Delia lifted her head. Deep masculine voices sounded, distant then suddenly nearer. The door burst open. "Out of the way, man, we'll announce ourselves." She rose and turned to see Bowland following three gentlemen into the room. "I am sorry, Miss Tyninghame. I could not..." "Good God!" burst from one of the gentlemen. "It is alright, Bowland, you may go," she said. She waved off his further attempt at expostulation. "Send Mrs. Lochmaddy to me if you please." She calmly surveyed the gentlemen staring at her. Two were in uniform; one in elegant day attire. The tallest was a massive gentleman with guileless grey eyes, just now full of astonishment. The others were much of a height, one slender and chestnut-haired, the other a compact amalgam of muscle and energy with a shock of red hair. "Our humble apologies," the slender gentleman spoke. "We assumed Torgreave -- the earl -- was at home. We are his friends." "And most heartily embarrassed at bursting in upon you." The giant spoke in earnest concern. "I am Major Gideon Rhyle. May I introduce the Honourable Hugh Taunton," this was the slender gentleman, who bowed deeply. "And Captain Sir Egon Finglas," he indicated the other uniformed gentleman. "And I am Miss Cordelia Tyninghame," she introduced herself with a faint blush over the irregularity of it. "I am a...relative...of the earl, as you may have guessed." "Indeed the resemblance is remarkable," Taunton said. "We are staring like gapeseeds for which we must also apologize." "We were taken aback ourselves," Delia chose her words carefully. "I came from Scotland to visit all unaware of it. It has put us on end." That was the plain truth. She had not yet become accustomed to their uncanny resemblance. She even looked in the glass with reluctance. Her face was no longer her own, but shared. "It must have been you that I heard two weeks ago when I visited," Major Rhyle was thinking aloud. "I thought Rupert uneasy."

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"We've n-not seen Torgreave of late," the Captain spoke for the first time. "G -- g- got worried." "You must wait; he will not be long, I think, for he has been abroad all day," Delia urged them to stay. It could only be restorative for the earl to see his friends. "Please do sit down," she invited. The door opened admitting Morag Lochmaddy with a tray of refreshment. It was nearly thirty minutes before the earl's firm tread was heard in the hall. Delia had enjoyed visiting with the gentlemen. After their initial discomposure, their innate excellent manners made them unexceptionable companions. She was laughing at a remark Major Rhyle had made when Torgreave entered. He looked discouraged. His day must have been unfruitful. She saw something flare in his gaze. Jealousy? It was quickly gone. She watched him look for Morag, and read relief in his expression. He concealed his emotions however. With good grace, he greeted his friends. He seated himself proprietarily near to Delia. He spoke to her in a low voice, though he must know that they were closely observed. "I have purchased a town chariot, after ascertaining that Cullen will drive it. The coach is too ponderous for London streets." He was emphasizing their intimacy by confiding news of a household nature. Delia understood his actions and disapproved of his motives. She dispelled the intimacy by rising and leaving his side. "Surely this orrery is new." Hugh Taunton was examining the ivory and brass model curiously. Delia joined him at the table. "It is," Torgreave confirmed, his voice curiously inflexible. "C-Can't think why you find all that scientific n-nonsense interesting," complained Captain Finglas. "You must excuse our friend Finglas," Taunton said to Delia. "He has charms that make up for his lack of scholarly curiosity. Has Torgreave confided his guilty secret to you? He aspires to intellectual heights much beyond Rhyle and myself." Delia could not hide her questioning confusion. "Do not play the fool!" the earl said to his friend with asperity. The Major, apparently the peacemaker, explained to Delia's querying look. "Rupert is a member of the Royal Institution, a founding member in fact, and highly regarded in its ranks for his studies in astronomy." The earl flushed darkly, and frowned on his friends. "Does the Institution by chance meet on Tuesdays?" questioned Delia. She remembered accusing Rupert of seeking dissipation on that night a week before. "B-Believe it does," Finglas responded unexpectedly. "At least that is the n-night he will not attend at card parties or anything else." Delia surveyed the earl calmly, until he rose and poured himself a glass of wine. She noted that he did not drink from it. He chose to counter his friends' raillery.

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"Have they told you their occupations?" he queried. "No? Well, Rhyle is attached to the Depot -military intelligence, Finglas the War Office, and Taunton is an idle Corinthian." "Not by my own desire," that worthy grimaced. Delia moved to a chair and settled herself well away from the earl. "I am the only son of anxious parents, heir to a viscountcy, and they would not hear of me purchasing a commission. So here I am set to squire my sister about on her first season. 'Tis an unsatisfactory prospect," Taunton explained. "He is not the saint he tries to appear," Rhyle rumbled, laughingly. "Unlike you, who is striving for sainthood," Torgreave turned on his massive friend. "You have yet to attend at one of my soirees. You are a devoted mentor of the recon officers, and a dedicated soldier." "Make me sound demmed boring," the big man protested. "You are. Occasionally," Taunton interjected. "And Finglas, what shall you say about him?" He directed the question at the earl. Torgreave considered their fiery-haired friend. "Egon? A reliable friend, a good man on the field or in a fight, and an honourable gentleman." The Captain flushed uncomfortably. Delia could not forebear to laugh. "You are a motley crew!" she offered. She ignored Morag's patent disapproval. "We could be united in admiration of you," said Taunton. "My cousin has no need of your admiration," the earl snapped at his friend. Taunton raised his brows and blinked. "Shall you be here for the Season, Miss Tyninghame?" queried Rhyle. Delia was glad of the intervention. "I think not. I shall be home in Edinburgh well before April, I believe." "Pity," Taunton said, "But perhaps I may bring my sister, Aurora, to visit you here? She is driving us all mad waiting for invitations and diversions to appear." Delia exchanged an uneasy look with Torgreave. "I should be happy to receive her, though my visit is a private one." Taunton looked satisfied. "We are promised to Holland House tonight. We must be off. Torgreave, will you join us?" The earl's bleak gaze regarded each of his friends in turn. "I think not. It is a cold night. My cousin's

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presence has accustomed me to be more at home." Delia read challenge and warning in his eyes. She coloured deeply, but composedly accepted the farewells of the gentlemen. To her relief, Rupert departed the bookroom to see his friends out. To her surprise, and Morag Lochmaddy's expressed satisfaction, he did not return. In fact, despite his intimations of domestic harmony, Delia had no notion of how or where he spent that evening. *** They did not speak of his friends' visit the next time they met. Delia was involved with her needlework, in the morning room, and Morag was knitting when the earl entered. Bowland was close behind him carrying an unwieldy paper parcel. He set the package on the scarlet-clothed central table, and began to unwrap it. "What do you suppose that I have brought?" Torgreave queried. He set his beaver and York tan gloves aside, and warmed himself by the fire without removing his greatcoat. Delia placed her stitchery on a nearby table. Her eyes gleamed as she looked from Rupert's face to the parcel in Bowland's hands. It was a largish, awkwardly shaped bundle, and she could not imagine its contents. Morag Lochmaddy looked suspicious. Delia rose to inspect the parcel and exclaimed almost immediately, "Ice skates! Oh Rupert it is ice skates!" "It is," he smiled. Bowland removed the final layer of paper. "Bowland has been busy abroad this morning investigating the Frost Fair. The watermen have cleared and smoothed some ice on the river, and there are dozens of people skating. Do you care to venture out? I have not skated for many years so you shall have to support me." "I reckon that I am expert," she laughed, holding up the metal blades. "We have had ice on Nor' Loch these past ten years, and a very active skating club." "Before we skate, you must have those woolen stockings we discussed. If Mrs. Lochmaddy will fetch your bonnet and pelisse, I will attend you to the shops." Morag slipped out of the room in company with Bowland. "Thank you Rupert," Delia said meeting his gaze squarely. "This means a great deal to me. I was used to skate with my young brother." He lifted an inquiring eyebrow. "Half-brother?" she said sadly. She knew her pain was evident. "In any event, he died from fever. I was twelve, he was eight." "I am sorry." "I had a sister as well. She died in infancy."

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"Lady Tyninghame bore a great deal of sorrow," Torgreave said. "I thought so. It seems there was more, that she did not confide. I find that so difficult to understand. I thought we were remarkably intimate." "We all hold close guarded secrets. We may never find the words to divulge some of them. We do not know the truth as yet. Her reticence may become clear. She may not be involved," he said. "Just now let us go out." With an effort she brightened as Morag returned with her warm outer wear. The earl ordered the new town coach. It took a very few minutes only to reach Bond Street. It was crowded with the fashionable ton who were apparently undeterred by the frost. Delia drew down her veil before they left the coach. "I should not be averse to announcing our connection to all and sundry," Torgreave murmured. He assisted her from her seat in the coach to the pavement. "As you did to your friends?" she queried. His proprietorial air on that occasion still disturbed her. "I wondered when you would mention that." His smile held tension, as he found their way through the crowds. "You had no license..." she began. "My friends needed warning. They are dedicated womanizers. They had to know the family connection. I will not have them go beyond the line." "Major Rhyle seemed to me the perfect gentleman," she protested feeling her temper rise. "Oh Gideon...yes, he is. And he is the one most likely to fall in love with you, and to wish to protect you from me." "I need no protection from you," she offered, her anger fading. "Not yet," he muttered. He bowed to an acquaintance She was silent with confused thoughts. Could Morag's observations be true? Were his attentions more than brotherly...could they be? And would she be averse to intimacies that he might attempt? She must. "Everyone is wondering who you are," he said. He unknowingly put an end to her conjectures. Delia gulped, and said, "You are known by everyone, and no one is surprised to see you in company with a veiled lady." She marvelled at the even tone she managed to produce. "But they are curious. They are imagining you much less than respectable." "There is a certain charm in being the 'mysterious unknown'," she commented. Her thoughts had been less than respectable. "They would be very surprised, could they but see me." He agreed, then paused as a gentleman approached him out of the throng of fashionables. Delia watched curiously from behind her veil. Rupert turned aside a little to listen to the man who spoke earnestly in a low voice. Buffeted by the crowd, she could not hear what was said. At length Rupert drew out his

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purse, and it seemed to Delia that a great deal of gold changed hands. He turned back to her without comment on the incident. She took his proffered arm once more and they walked on. Delia could scarcely see to the shop windows, but spied fine china in one, and jewels spread on velvet in another. "Ah, here we are." Rupert paused before a bow-windowed shop. Within a shopgirl hurried to open the door for them. Delia could not fail to see the languishing look that the girl bestowed on the earl's fine features. "My lord!" A massive lady gowned in black, surged from behind a counter. "We have not seen you this age. With what may we assist you?" Delia smiled behind her veil to see the woman eyeing her with discreet but avid curiosity. Rupert was obviously well-known here. "My companion requires some warm stockings, your best wool, rose coloured I think, and your warmest shift." Delia gasped and nipped his arm with her fingers. "I have plenty of chemises," she hissed. "And you need not decide the colour of my stockings!" "Hush," he retorted, in a deep whisper, "Or I shall help you try them on." There was a wicked smile turning his lips as the woman brought goods for Delia's inspection. "You will not, and you may stand near the door while I examine these things," she directed spiritedly. He had the decency to do as he was bid while she made her choices. He returned only when she appeared finished. "You must be warm if we are to skate. You have your fur-lined cloak, but it will not do for such activity. Have you a tippet and muff?" he asked. He directed the shopkeeper to deliver the parcel and ushering Delia into the street again. "No, I did not bring..." she began. "Do you prefer light or dark fur?" "Light, but..." "Such a necessity cannot be discussed." He chose another shop, and led her in. "Indeed it may be discussed," she hissed. "I have a perfectly good set of furs at home." "In Grosvenor Street?" "In Edinburgh," she admitted ruefully. Aware that her gloved hands were icy, she argued no more but chose from amongst the beautiful wraps offered. She accepted the warmth gratefully as the soft fur was wrapped about her throat. Eagerly she tucked her hands into the muff. "These bills must not be submitted to you, but to me," Delia admonished the earl. Ushered out by an obsequious clerk, they regained the pavement.

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"You will not accept a gift from a brother?" he asked. His hand at her elbow urged her to walk on as the shoppers showed a tendency to stare at their immobility. "Not as matters stand, no I will not," she said. Tears threatened her composure and she was grateful for the soft veil that covered her face. He was unaware, and continued to tease. "I have no secretary. You shall have to remind me." "I shall have Bowland deliver the bills to me," she stated. Irritation overcame her distress. They were interrupted as Gideon Rhyle, muffled in a dashing military cloak, loomed out of the throng. He hailed the earl. "Major Rhyle, how nice to see you!" Delia exclaimed. She offered him her hand, after the gentlemen had exchanged greetings. "Miss Tyninghame, I was hoping it was you, but dared not venture a guess, knowing Torgreave as I do." The Major laughed. The earl grimaced at his friend. "Will you join us? I believe we are for home?" Delia asked. "At least I believe our business is concluded, is it not?" she addressed Torgreave. "It is," he agreed. "And as it has got even colder, we will not skate today, I think." The major indicated he would join them. Then he exclaimed, "Skate? Good God Rupert how long is it since you have done that? What if you should break a leg?" "If I break a leg, I shall rest with good conscience. How long is it since I have done that!" the earl retorted. The threesome mounted into the new town chariot on a wave of laughter. It was a tight squeeze because of the Major's size. He apologized for it ruefully. Delia disclaimed discomfort a little breathlessly. She was only too aware of the earl's broad shoulder behind hers and his thigh measured against her own. A brother's proximity should not affect her so. She was still chastizing herself when they alighted in Grosvenor Street. Within the house, the candles were lit and the fires blazed warmly. "I cannot remember that I have ever seen such cold," the major said. They all removed their heavy outerwear. Delia was aware that his gaze was admiring as she shook her black curls free of her bonnet. Torgreave, she noted, saw the admiration. He looked angry and, possibly, fearful. Mrs. Inniskip entered through the green baize door. "Mr. Dougherty, the steward from Manningford is come, my lord. He is in the library." Torgreave responded with evident irritation. Delia was surprised for she knew that the earl had been awaiting this visitor with some impatience.

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"Very well, I will go to him. Some warming refreshments Inniskip please, to the drawing room, for the major and Miss Tyninghame. And send Mrs. Lochmaddy to Miss Tyninghame," he said, heading for the library. Delia and the major mounted the stairs. The major looked about the Drawing Room approvingly as he entered. "You have made Rupert's house a home, Miss Tyninghame." She looked enquiringly at him. His rugged face and gray eyes held only friendly interest and kind intentions. "The place was used to look as though he merely stopped here. It did not appear that he lived here. It was always impeccable. Torgreave too is much changed." "Happier I hope?" Delia sat down and waved the major to a substantial chair. "Oh yes." "Have you known him long?" They were interrupted as Bowland brought in a wide tray laden with tea and cakes. "Long enough, eh, Bowland?" Major Rhyle said. "Indeed, Major," Bowland responded. He bowed and departed. "I think I may say I know him better than any other. And you must not believe all you are told of him." "What can you mean?" Delia paused in the midst of pouring tea. The major selected a cake. "Only that there is more than meets the eye. And servants and society can exaggerate." "You know of his relations with his father?" "Oh yes." The major was grim. "There is more there than he has told me." Delia was unwilling to pry, but knowledge of Rupert was essential to her. "He will not thank me for telling you." "He does not need to know you have told me." She could scarcely believe she was encouraging deceit. "Very well." The major settled in his chair. The tea cup was incongruously dainty in his massive hand. "Rupert never could please the old earl, and I believe he was fourteen when he stopped trying. So then he got beatings, and if I'm not mistaken, he still has the scars. The earl wielded the rod himself, to ensure it was done right."

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Delia's hands were shaking, and she was forced to set her tea cup down. "No," she whispered, horrified. "Oh, yes," the major said. He drank his tea as if it were an unpleasant duty. His tone displayed the depth of his sympathy for Torgreave. "He has every reason to dislike his father. The expectations of him and the injustice done him were remarkable. To this day, he avoids physical violence, will not box or fence. He does not fear it, but he hates it. I think he is concerned he will injure his opponent with the rage he suppresses." "Do you think him a violent man?" she asked. She struggled to regain a little calm. "Not at all. I consider him my best friend. He is among other things, courageous, loyal and very, very intelligent. Never to be underestimated." "And do not forget charming," spoke a deep voice near the door. "I heard you come in," Major Rhyle said. He added with a chuckle, "And he detests to be spoken of in absentia." Delia had started in surprise. "As do we all," she said. She offered a hesitant apology to Torgreave. He crossed to sit beside her and accepted a cup of tea. "Where is Mrs. Lochmaddy?" the earl queried. Even as he spoke the door opened and the Scotswoman hurried in. "I was detained, my lord, Miss. I apologize." "Don't sit down, Morag. I think we shall leave the gentlemen." Delia seized the interruption as excuse to take her leave. She needed the sanctuary of her own chamber to ponder all that the major had revealed. The major and the earl rose and watched her depart, trailed by Mrs. Lochmaddy. They were momentarily speechless. Then, "What did you say to her?" Torgreave demanded. "Answered her questions," Rhyle said laconically. "Is she your sister?" The earl did not respond. To the major's surprise he took a cake from the plate and devoured it. "This accounts for your interest in the late earl's affairs, of which I caught a whisper in various circles?" "It does." Rupert straightened. "No more than a whisper?" "You have been very discreet," Rhyle assured him. "Have you thought of querying Augustus?" "I will as soon as may be possible, but I cannot at present locate him." "He might be closely involved," the major suggested. "He's an aging libertine, charming and remarkably irresponsible. I doubt he was ever in Scotland."

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"He's been your mentor and model. Don't dismiss his involvement." Rhyle leaned back in his chair. "Go to the devil," said his lordship.

"Dearest Aunt, We have enlarged our party as the Brother of the Earl has come to Town. There is a Frost Fair here upon the Thames and we have enjoyed some mild Entertainments..."

CHAPTER FOUR They skated the next day on a square of carefully cleared and smoothed ice in the middle of the Frost Fair. With her new stockings and furs, Delia was delightfully warm despite the continuing frigid spell of weather. She donned her blades eagerly and was on the ice before Torgreave had finished fastening his buckles. Delia took a turn or two revelling in the speed and freedom. Then she spun back to Torgreave's side. "You are expert!" he exclaimed. Delia glowed with pride but disclaimed the accolade. "Take my hand," she instructed Rupert, as he wavered on his blades at the edge of the slick surface. "Oh, no, not just your hand." He slid his arm about her shoulders rather than following her instructions. "I thank goodness for this veil," she muttered with some asperity. She shoved him upright. "I should be embarrassed to have anyone know me, even were I your sister, with your lack of propriety." "I shall fall down unless you support me," he retorted. He dropped his strong right arm from her shoulders and put it about her waist. "This was your idea." "I don't care. Release me!" She wriggled, then glided out of his reach. She was relieved to be free of his proximity for, involuntarily, she liked it too much. "Help!" he muttered. He balanced precariously for a moment, then slipped and crashed to the ice at her feet. His beaver hat rolled off, and he was motionless. She surveyed him anxiously. He made no move. "Rupert, have you injured yourself?" He peered up, mischief in his eyes, his dark hair in wild disarray. "Merely winded...though my dignity and pride are wounded. But now you must help me up." She shook her head at his rascality, but offered her gloved hands. He gripped them and stood. He settled his blades, adjusted his coat, and tested his balance.

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Releasing one of his hands, she retrieved his hat. He covered his head thankfully against the cold. With a wicked smile, he slid his arm about her waist once more. "Shall we try again?" he invited. He managed admirably after only a little time, and crossed the square at Delia's side with ease and grace. When he struck off on his own, she stroked in the opposite direction. It occurred to her that she was trying to skate from her own feelings. She paused and stared without seeing at the crowds passing and repassing the skating square. Her feelings caught her up. She had enjoyed the pressure of Rupert's arm about her waist. She had delighted in the strength and warmth of his hand enveloping hers. She was truly wicked, she thought, if he was indeed her brother. Anxiety lent wings to her blades and she skated away from her thoughts again. Torgreave gained her side with difficulty. "Slow down," he called. "You skate as if all the demons in hell are in pursuit." "Only one," she retorted, over her shoulder. Then she relented and slowed. "We should leave," he suggested. He appeared unmoved by her comment. "It is beginning to snow. And it is close on four o'clock. Cullen will be waiting." She agreed without argument. As eagerly as she had wished to skate, she now wished to be gone from the ice. They removed their blades in silence after Delia refused all Torgreave's offers of help. She took his arm reluctantly, as they began their frosty walk back to London Bridge. The fair had lost its excitement for her, in the turmoil of her own feelings. She looked on the drink tents with disgust, the dirty ice with distaste, and the gaiety with dissatisfaction. "Someone fell through the ice yesterday," Rupert said. "It's a danger to consider well. And look there, some fool is roasting a sheep. That will weaken the ice more." "Foolish indeed," Delia responded. Whether she said of it Rupert's words or her own thoughts, was not clear even to her. *** "Your library is remarkably to my taste," commented Delia that evening after supper. They had chosen, as they often did, to remove from the dining room to Torgreave's fine bookroom. "Homer, Lord Byron, Mr. Shelley and Mr. Wordsworth, Shakespeare, Adam Smith and David Hume." Rupert was relieved to think that she had regained some degree of equilibrium. Something had disturbed her sorely during their skating expedition. He would have given gold to know what it was, but was not foolish enough to question her about it. He suspected it had something to do with feelings that they both experienced, holding each other's hands, supporting each other on the ice. They could neither of them speak of those feelings. He sprawled in his chair by the fire, and watched her perambulations about the room. Idly, he thumbed over the stack of books beside him.

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"Do you know, the nephew of Mr. Hume, also David, is a friend of my Aunt Barbara? He frequently attends at her drawing rooms," she said. "Does he indeed?" That caught Rupert's interest, though it occurred to him that she was trying too hard to initiate conversation. "I should like to meet him. There is much of merit in Mr. Hume's work." "I think so too. Walter Scott also is a friend of my aunt. We admire his work, and laugh at his desire to keep his authorship of his new novels secret." "Novels? I have not heard of them. He should manage those well. Much of his work I cannot appreciate though his Lay of the Last Minstrel is very fine. Generally narrative poetry is not my favourite form of literature. Byron is on the shelves here because he is a friend of mine. Both authors are before you. On the top shelf." If she wished inconsequential chatter, he would oblige her. Delia unfolded a library chair into its steps and mounted them as he watched. "I have them." She brought down Childe Harold and Marmion, and he saw her shiver. "I thought the cold had eased this last day or two, but tonight it seems more intense," she explained. He said nothing, preferring to appear engrossed in his reading. The shiver disturbed him; he wanted to warm her. He repressed the thought, and leaned forward to lift the poker and stir the fire. She settled into the winged chair near him. "Rupert, I have a desire to be inquisitive." He paid heed to her then, and leaned his black head back against the leather. He watched her lay her volume of Scott aside, and draw her shawl more closely about her. "I have little desire to satisfy curiosity," he stated. "Where is Mrs. Lochmaddy this evening?" "I have sent her to spend some time with Mrs. Inniskip. They are much in sympathy, and I cannot bear Morag's always watching." He wondered why she found her companion's scrutiny uncomfortable. What had she to hide? He had no leisure to consider the matter. She had not forgot her questions. She was blunt. "When we were in Bond Street you met a gentleman and gold changed hands. Why?" For a long moment, he regarded her. He ran his long fingers through his hair, as he weighed his response. Finally he was as blunt as she. "The gentleman is one of the Directors of a Foundling Hospital. He informed me the cold has brought severe hardship to children in the streets." He stopped, and looked away from her to a flickering candle flame. The firelight shimmered on his barbarically patterned banyan. He noted it absently. "I have long supported that Hospital," he cleared his throat. "I think it is not so, but I cannot rid myself of the fear that one of those wretched little children may be my son or daughter." Delia appeared to wish she had not asked. She was scarcely able to speak but said, "I had no notion of the sort of concerns dissolute behaviour could cause. You are to be commended for your conscience." "Am I?" he commented. His gaze revealed his bleak reflections. "Have you more questions?" She was silent, apparently gathering her thoughts. He hoped she would ask no more. Laying his misdeeds before her was deeply painful.

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There was a bustle in the passage. Mrs. Inniskip entered the library without even a knock. "My lord," her normally expressionless face was excited. "'Tis Mr. Charles come, sir." She ushered in the frost-rimed rector. Rupert leapt to his feet and hurried to his brother's side. "Good God, Charles, you look dangerously chilled. Come to the fire." "Would you care if I was frozen to death?" Charles snapped. Rupert's face congealed to a deep frown. Delia thought how alike they were in their anger. She rose deliberately and embraced Charles. "Of course he would care, Charles. How can you say so? It is good to see you. Is all well with you?" "Miss Tyninghame." The rector returned her hug clumsily, then managed a stiff bow. "Indeed, all is not well!" He turned on his older brother. "Rupert how could you? You know I love Susannah. Would you deny me the only contact with her that I can contrive?" Delia stared from one brother to the other, uncomprehendingly. Torgreave seemed unsurprised by the verbal attack, though he was obviously taken aback by Charles' vehemence. He had taken a wary step backward. "I do not understand," Delia interrupted. Charles' distress and anger was palpable. His fists knotted and unknotted and his usually mild blue eyes flashed. "I forgot earlier to tell you, Delia." Rupert's voice was cool and calm. "Mr. Dougherty came to advise me that he had executed my instructions to give Sir Thomas his notice to quit Manningford." "Thereby destroying my future. Sir Thomas has determined to depart immediately," Charles moaned, collapsing into the chair Delia had vacated. Rupert lifted a dark brow. "Surely this is rather melodramatic for a man of the cloth, Charles?" His brother leapt up again. "Is it? Well, tell me why you did it. I thought we had renewed our affection, apologized, made amends. This was a stab in the back." "There must be an explanation," Delia endeavoured to keep Charles calm. "Charles, you are allowing tattle to colour your view of your brother again. Rupert, please explain." He appeared to resent her peremptory request, but said, "I had merely a desire to live in my home again." He made no effort to mollify his brother. "Very nice," Charles managed a sneer. "And damn the consequences for others, as usual." He slammed a fisted hand into the opposite palm. "No! Though by God, I am regretting the desire now." Torgreave kicked aside a footstool that impeded his progress to the far end of the chamber. "Rupert! You cannot mean that," Delia declared to his back. "No, I don't." He whirled and stalked back to stare at Charles. "I want my home back. But also I had a

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thought that if Sir Thomas could witness my reformation, and Charles could meet Miss Slimbridge in a new circumstance, there might be some prospect for his attachment." Delia was overjoyed with the news that Rupert was to take over Manningford Tower, assume his rightful place, and his responsibilities. But he was continuing. "I have no wish to hurt you, Charles, ever." "Oh." Charles sagged, the anger seeping from him. "I have been quite wild since I heard of the Slimbridges' proposed withdrawal. A letter seemed an inadequate forum to discuss the matter with you." He managed a smile at Delia for the first time. "I regret you are become so entwined in our affairs." "I cannot regret it," Delia declared and admitted to herself that she could not now imagine life without the Manningford brothers. Happiness flooded her at the thought of Rupert, reformed. Charles seated himself again, close to the fire. Torgreave stalked to the frosted window, tension apparent in evey muscle. Delia, torn by their misery despite her happiness, stared from one to the other. Mrs. Inniskip returned with tea. Without speaking, Delia moved to pour out for the gentlemen. "You will sojourn here?" Rupert asked his brother. His voice was gruff, and Delia divined that he feared a rebuff. Charles hesitated. "I did not intend to." "Please." Torgreave was almost humble. "Very well." Delia expelled a breath she did not realize she had withheld. Mentally she urged Rupert to return to his brother's side. She was surprised when he did, and rested his hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "It is very good to have you under my roof," Torgreave said. "I did not think to be here. It was for a week too cold to travel. Then the frost alleviated and I undertook to ride." "Ride!" Delia exclaimed, horror replacing her pleasure at their reconciliation. "I would not wait for the stage," Charles frowned again. "It was not so very bad. Only today did it seem colder." "Anger kept you warm." Torgreave's laughter was sardonic. "Too well I know that feeling. But you risked your life." "Without Susannah, my life has no meaning." Charles spoke with simple sincerity. Torgreave was silent in the face of his brother's devotion. Delia smiled and took a sip of her tea. Then she set down her fragile cup with a sudden clatter. "I must go and see Morag, and ensure Inniskip has a chamber prepared for Charles," she exclaimed. She slipped

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away before Rupert could say a word to prevent her. "How do you go on together?" queried Charles. He picked up a cake and stared at it. Rupert was relieved to see him looking less frozen and emotional, and more normal. "Very well," he responded non-committally. He was unwilling to confide the contentment that was beginning to pervade his home, and to some extent his being. "And have you discovered anything which will solve this mystery of your resemblance?" "Nothing," Torgreave said. "I have spoken I think with everyone that ever knew my father. It appears from all I can discover that he was as moral as he portrayed himself. Which puts me atpoint non plus ." "I believe he was a moral man," said Charles. "Yet it seems to me that only with a parent in common could two people appear so similar." "So it seems to me also," Rupert said with a bleakness he knew Charles did not comprehend. "Have you thought of Uncle Augustus? He may know something of my father's activities," Charles ate his cake with sudden hunger and devoured two more in the aftermath of strong emotion. "Augustus is on the continent. When I can locate him, I will indeed question him." Rupert repeated what he had told Gideon Rhyle. "He travelled as soon as the peace made it possible." He would have said more but was interrupted by Delia's return. She had a plate full of biscuits in her hands, with which Charles rose to assist her. "Mrs. Inniskip has a chamber all prepared," she announced, looking from one to the other anxiously to determine their mood. "Thank you for the biscuits. I have not eaten well of late, but now find myself ravenous." Delia allowed herself a smile. "I am glad of it." "She makes a excellent sister," Charles approved of Delia, speaking around a mouthful. "She does," said Rupert, studying Delia and wishing with all his heart that she might not be his sister. She turned her back on his stare. *** "The rector makes a welcome addition to the household," Morag Lochmaddy affirmed one morning two days after Charles' arrival. She followed her mistress down the stairs, carrying a sapphire-blue kerseymere pelisse and the fur tippet and immense muff the earl had insisted Delia purchase. "We are certainly become a family gathering," Delia acknowledged. She could not admit to regretting lost privacy with the earl, but had to allow that Charles' presence was also a pleasure. "You will enjoy walking out with him," Morag insisted. She did not understand her mistress's mood of late.

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"I enjoy a walk out with anyone," Delia said pettishly. "I only wish it might be without this veil. I begin to feel like an odalisque!" The earl was in the hall considering a letter he held. From his amused look as Delia descended the last flight of stairs, he had obviously heard her words. "An odalisque is allowed, I believe, to reveal her eyes," he commented. Morag silently laid muff and tippet on the table and assisted Delia into her pelisse. "You would know of course," Delia retorted. He laughed at that, dissipating her irritation. Before she could respond, Charles clattered down the stairs. "What is your destination?" the earl queried. Charles shrugged into his greatcoat which was being held by Bowland. "We have none. We shall simply walk. I have not been in London for nearly four years, and would see it all again." "With fresh eyes," commented Torgreave. "As I did Manningford. I hope it gives you the pleasure that Manningford did me. For myself, I would not care if I never saw London again." "I believe he meant it," commented Charles, once the door had closed behind them. Delia put her hand on his arm, and they descended the steps to the pavement. "I think so too," she agreed. "I know he is very weary, and goes out little except to search for information." "I expected...I don't know what..." Charles confided. "To find the house full ofchéres amies , begging your pardon, or Greeks and ivory turners in the drawing room." "Your imagination does your brother little credit," Delia said. "If you desire the truth, Mrs. Inniskip might enlighten you." "I don't believe I wish to know. Perhaps it may all be in the past forever. I do hope so. Rupert and I were the best of friends as well as brothers you know, in our youth. He was very kind to me for all he was older. I quite worshipped him." "I think you still do," Delia observed. She waited as Charles pressed a coin into the hand of a small crossing sweeper with a red, frosted nose. There were a few hardy souls abroad, bundled in mufflers, greatcoats and cloaks. As they neared Bond Street, the carriage traffic grew heavier, but it was clear that the cold had deterred those without pressing errands. He flushed. "Perhaps you are right. Though I can hate what he has been and what he has done. I am thankful to be reconciled, I know that." They turned the corner from Grosvenor Street into New Bond Street. He halted without warning. "Good God," he exclaimed.

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"What is it?" queried Delia in some alarm. She could see nothing in the few fashionable folk they encountered to cause him such concern. "What is it?" she repeated, squeezing his arm to draw him from his reverie. It had begun to snow and she shivered a little. "Miss Slimbridge," he breathed. "With her sisters, and their governess." "Here in London? Where?" demanded Delia. She stared about them. "There! At the draper's window," he said impatiently. "I cannot see how they may have arrived so soon. Come, I shall make you acquainted." In vain Delia protested as they crossed the paving stones in the thickly gathering snow. Short of running away however, she could do nothing to prevent Charles from introducing her to his beloved. "Miss Slimbridge!" The young lady he addressed whirled at the first sound of his voice. Her sweet, rather sad, face was transformed by joy at the sight of him. Her sisters, one of them no more than a child, stared, then smiled in recognition. On an impulse, Delia put back her veil, and smiled at the young ladies. Charles performed the introductions. He characterized her as his cousin, and she could not, without creating concern, deny it. "How come you to be in London even now?" the rector queried, in perplexity. As Miss Slimbridge framed her answer, Delia surveyed her discreetly. She was of medium height, modishly but modestly dressed as befitted one not yet out. She was possessed of melting brown eyes and auburn ringlets peeping from the brim of her silk velvet bonnet. The young lovers were oblivious to the snow, and their attachment was plain to Delia. She smiled at the middle-aged governess who, apparently deeming Delia trustworthy to chaperon her eldest charge, ushered the younger ladies into the draper's. "Papa sent us ahead. He is still at Manningford ordering our packing. You must know he had intended the Season in London this year anyway. He had little difficulty in hiring a house in North Audley Street." "Was he very angry?" Charles asked. "In my hurry to confront Rupert, I did not wait upon Sir Thomas' reaction." "Oh no," denied Miss Slimbridge. "In fact, he said to Mama that it was no more than the earl should do, come home that is, and that he thought a little better of him for it." Hope dawned in Charles' face. "Is there a possibility...?" he breathed. "I do not know; I dare not hope." The young lady shook her head, and snow swirled from her bonnet. "Perhaps if you could call? Upon Mama of course. If Miss Tyninghame came?" Delia thought she could allow herself to be drawn into the affair. She was most willing to aid the young couple, and such assistance surely would not alter her intention to remainincognito in society. She had no opportunity to speak for Miss Slimbridge was continuing.

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"But you said nothing of coming to London, Charles." "I had no time to see you. You will remember that I told you my brother and I were reconciled. Well, I was angry with him, when I heard from Dougherty about Sir Thomas' lease. I determined to confront him. All is well though. He did end your father's lease with some consideration for me. For us. He thought it might help. And now that my cousin -- Miss Tyninghame -- has joined us, there may be hope." Delia started at a touch on her arm. She drew down her veil and turned as she was greeted by a familiar blithe voice. "Good day, Miss Tyninghame." It was Mr. Taunton who spoke. He continued gaily, observing snow gathering on the threesome. "You present an icy tableau standing here." Charles swung round, and Taunton's eyes widened at the sight of him. "I thought you Rupert," he said, "but it is Charles, is it not?" He extended his hand. "You do remember me?" Charles grasped the hand and assured its owner, with some reserve, "I do, Taunton, though I was the veriest stripling when we met." "But this lady I do not know." The honourable gentleman's gray gaze was resting enquiringly upon Miss Slimbridge's pretty face. Delia was amused to see Charles bristle protectively as he performed the introductions. He was obviously aware of Hugh Taunton's reputation as a womanizer. When Miss Slimbridge had curtsied shyly to Mr. Taunton, Charles abruptly added, "Susannah, we will wait upon Lady Slimbridge. You must go within. There is your governess." The older woman's face had appeared in the draper's window, incongruously surrounded by calicos of gorgeous pattern and bright hue. Miss Slimbridge gave him her hand, and he lifted it to his lips. Delia was touched by the misery of separation in both faces. They were kept apart solely because of Rupert's reputation. She could summon a little anger with Rupert for it. And she was annoyed with the pompous baronet who judged Torgreave on heresay without knowing him at all. Curiosity was writ large in Taunton's expression. "All will be well," Delia heard herself saying brightly. "We will call. Mr. Taunton, good day to you." Miss Slimbridge went within the shop, and Delia lingered with Charles at his insistence. He wished to ensure, he said, that Taunton went on his way, and did not seek to further his acquaintance with Susannah. *** Torgreave was blunt, when the next day Delia recounted the whole to him in his library. "You cannot call upon the Slimbridges."

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"They will not know my face," she pointed out. "They do not know yours. We would present a respectable family facade to them. It may make a great difference to Charles' future happiness." His grim visage softened, surveying her hopeful expression. "Sir Thomas and I have not met, it is true. But you may encounter other members of the ton who do know me." "It is unlikely. The Slimbridges' acquaintance will differ greatly from yours. But there is a possibility, so I think we should put about our relationship. We shall say we are cousins. Charles has already claimed it, before Miss Slimbridge. It will cause a little wonder perhaps, but it may be we will never have to tell of closer connection." "You will not be distressed by gossip?" he asked. "I do not mean to go into society. I mean only to entertain Miss Slimbridge, and perhaps Mr. Taunton's sister. You will remember she is to have a Season. It would aid Susannah to have a worldly friend." "You display a sisterly concern for Charles' welfare," he observed. He idly turned his orrery, but with a tense hand. "I feel a sisterly concern for him. I have not felt such an emotion since Julian died," she said in a low voice. He said nothing, but spun the earth about the sun with his long fingers. She had recovered her composure. The orrery brought something else to mind. "I was mortified to discover that I had accused you of raking about town, when in fact you were in attendance at a Royal Institution meeting." He moved away from the model of the solar system as if to disclaim any interest, and shrugged his wide shoulders. "My friends talk too much. I have an interest in astronomy. It is not wonderful but to them." "I think it intriguing that you have a scientific bent." "I could as easily have been occupied as you thought," he snarled. She took a step away from his anger. The polished door opened to admit Charles. "A messenger has come for you Rupert, from Major Rhyle." Charles told his brother. "He wishes you would attend him at the Foreign Office, at your earliest convenience." The earl's head snapped up. A preoccupied, concerned expression replaced the self-directed anger in his face. "You will excuse me," he said absently and stalked from the room. His brother remained to stare at Delia. "What can this be about?" Charles said. "I remember Rhyle. He has long been a friend of my brother's. I believe he thought me a poor thing for not supporting Rupert against my father." Delia was regarding the orrery thoughtfully. "The Major's loyalty to Rupert is remarkable. But he cannot

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fault you for honouring your father, even at Rupert's expense. He would not dislike you for it. He has been Rupert's best friend, and for that I am grateful to him." "This is a worry," Charles continued, going to the window. There was naught but a frosty fog visible, but still he stared. "Why should a message from Rhyle be a worry?" Her curiosity was aroused. She considered Charles' back, her head tilted, her brows lifted. "It has to do with the war. More to Rupert's discredit," the young man warned. He swung round to display a worried frown. "Tell me," Delia demanded. "I mentioned it previously. There have been stories for years -- all through the hostilities -- that he was a spy for the French. I cannot credit it, but it is true that he was much abroad even during the conflict. Few others were. He speaks French as a native. Rumours of his involvement traveled even to me in Leicestershire." "Rumours! Are there no facts?" Delia paced the room in agitation. "None. But if he is summoned to the Foreign Office, his involvement may be revealed," Charles' tone was worried. "It may be that he will be badgered or even prosecuted now that the war is settled." "I will not believe it! Indeed I cannot imagine that Major Rhyle and his other friends would stand by him while he carried out such activities." She paused her prowling and rested her trembling hands on Rupert's wide desk. "Unless they were watching him, gathering information." Charles would not be reassured. "Would he go to the Foreign Office so readily then? If he feared exposure?" Her eyes widened in anxiety. Charles shrugged, with a gesture peculiarly like his brother's. "Torgreave is not a man whom one asks for explanations. He will inform us about the encounter if and when he wishes." As they spoke, the earl was meeting with Major Rhyle and a minister of the Prince Regent's Council. He had done it often enough before. He accepted a glass of wine from his friend, and when no one spoke he said, "What is the nature of my summons? I understood my usefulness was at an end." "It is, except that, unexpectedly, your connection may be revealed." The minister spoke in measured tones, as though addressing the House of Lords. "It was not to be," exclaimed the earl. The gentleman shrugged. "With Louis Philippe and the other crowned heads congregating here over the next months, Prinny has decided otherwise." "He wants heroes to present, models to display so that he may bask in reflected glory. You must know his popular appeal is low." The major regarded his friend sympathetically.

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"Knowledge of your assistance will only enhance your otherwise dubious reputation." The minister seemed to feel he had offered a valuable incentive. "I will not have it," the earl stated, disabusing the minister of that particular notion. He stared grimly at the other men. Major Rhyle, at least, it appeared, correctly assessed the anger he was withholding. "I shall not be in town in any event. I shall have to journey soon to Edinburgh, on private business." The minister shook his head. "You must not leave London. Your involvement will be revealed and the Prince Regent wishes you here," he said. The earl rose and strode up and down the room. "The Prince Regent may go to the devil." The Councilor stared at him, obviously affronted. Then he transferred his cold gaze pointedly to the major for a long minute, and abruptly left the room. "You are left to talk me 'round." Torgreave laughed, without mirth. "Well you will not. I want to speak with Prinny about this, Gideon." "Lady Henry's rout is two days hence. You should be able to..." "A private audience, Gideon! Don't be obtuse." "You cannot go to Edinburgh, not now," his friend warned. "I understand Charles is with you," he added, in a transparent attempt to distract the earl. "He is," Torgreave confirmed. "You heard it from Hugh no doubt. We had a comfortable visit the other day, the four of us, with Hugh staring at our three similar faces. You would have laughed at the scene. Hugh thought, for some reason, that he had still to protect me from Charles' rejection. Charles was intent on preserving me from Taunton's loose morals." "Sounds unpleasant." Rupert turned away from the major's examination. "It was ridiculous. Delia was amused." He paused, then continued, more briskly, "In any event, regardless of Charles' presence as a guest in my home, I will go to Edinburgh when I wish. And I want that appointment with the Regent, Gideon. I want you to arrange it." The two men assessed each other. Then swinging about, the earl strode out of the room, closing the door with unnecessary emphasis in his wake. *** Rupert found his brother and Delia in the drawing room on his return. He had no intention of satisfying the curiosity he saw writ on their faces. "It is snowing very heavily without," he commented, crossing to the fire to warm himself. He was not surprised when Delia ventured, "Your summons from Major Rhyle was urgent?"

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Rupert turned in time to see Charles cast a worried look at her, apparently questioning her daring. "A matter of little moment," he snapped. He offered no further explanation but said, "This snowfall concerns me. I've not seen it this heavy that I recall. Inniskip must lay in supplies. The markets may run low." "Surely it cannot be so bad." Charles crossed to stare from the window. His statement was refuted by a glance. A cold, white curtain concealed the square without. "It is, and it is damnably inconvenient too. Delia, I have been considering that we must travel to Edinburgh. There seems no information to be got here, and information we must have." "Can you leave London at this time?" Charles looked surprised at his own audacity. "Not with this snow." "That was not what I meant. After your meeting this day, can you leave town?" "Why should I not?" Rupert asked. "I...I thought your visit today might have precluded it," Charles stammered. "I took a glass of wine with Rhyle," the earl said blandly. "I will go to Edinburgh if I wish." His voice and gaze gentled as he spoke to Delia. "Will you reflect on it and tell me what you think?" "And what of Charles if we go?" she murmured. She returned his scrutiny. "Charles may reside here as long as he wishes. He must regard this as his home. He desires to further his romance. He may do it...without your support." "I must return to Manningford presently." Charles worried about his living, apparently diverted from other concerns. "My curate must not be depended upon forever." "We shall none of us go anywhere very soon, if this snow continues," the earl predicted. *** The snow did continue. Over the following days, it proved to be an historic fall. The streets became nearly impassable. Food and coal were, in some quarters, in short supply. Torgreave's prognostication was correct. Journeys beyond the confines of Mayfair were difficult. It became unthinkable to leave London. Rupert chafed at the necessity to remain in London when he wished to travel to Edinburgh. But he could not deny he was content and comfortable in Grosvenor Street, with Charles and Delia's company. He did not fully realize how accustomed he had become to their presence until one morning when he entered the breakfast parlour to find it unoccupied. As Charles was generally arose before him, and Delia not long after him, he wondered at their absence. He missed their exchange of observations. After half of an hour, when they still had not appeared, he pulled the bell. There was no immediate response. Even servants, it appeared, were in short supply. The housemaid who eventually answered his summons had

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no knowledge of the whereabouts of Delia or Charles. As well, he was informed that Bowland had gone to the mews, and Mrs. Inniskip was unavailable. He instructed that whoever first returned was to come to him. He endeavoured to concentrate upon a baked egg and some gammon, but soon gave up the attempt and went to search the house. A tour of the library, drawing room and morning room revealed no one. He strode up another flight of stairs. His sudden appearance and his black frown startling another housemaid who carried a scuttle. He looked into Charles' room. It was empty and remarkable for its tidiness. Then he tapped on the door of Delia's bedchamber. When there was no response to his second knock, he turned the handle and stepped in. She was not there, but the chamber whispered with the elusive scent of tuberose. He stalked to the window to drag open the damask curtains. The dim light without did little to illuminate the room. He could just see a pair of silk slippers resting near the curtained bed, which was unmade. He breathed a sharp sigh of relief on seeing the press still filled with neatly folded garments. She had not departed then, had not disappeared as he sometimes feared she would. He was a man not given to fancy. But, he was all too aware that as his life had changed for the better, it could yet again alter for the worse. It had become a matter of importance to him to prevent that from happening. He wandered the chamber, then sat down on a nearby chaise to think about the disappearances. Where had everyone gone? Was there some crisis of which Bowland neglected to advise him? It was unlikely, but so too was making calls in the infernal snow. His darkened gaze searched the room. The marquetry dressing table held Delia's brushes, the pillows of the sleigh bed displayed the indentation of her head. His hand clenched involuntarily, and he discovered under his fingers her silken nightdress. He removed his hand as though scalded, but regarded the lace and blue ribands with curious longing. The silk was as white as her skin. He lifted the gown in his hands and crushed it against him. Then he cast it across the chamber...for she might be his sister. The thoughts that occurred to him were surely more wicked than anything he had previously experienced in his life. He leapt to his feet and strode from the room without a backward glance. He descended three flights of stairs and terrified the kitchen maid. He determined that Delia had called for hot water early, and that Morag Lochmaddy and Mrs. Inniskip were also gone out. Deep in thought, he wandered back up the stairs. He was standing in the front passage when simultaneously the door from the servants' hall and the street door opened. Relief and anger warred in the earl as his guests and his servants entered. He allowed the expression on his face to silence Delia's happy greeting and Charles' attempt at a pleasantry. They divested themselves of their outer wear in silence. Mrs. Inniskip and Morag Lochmaddy bore the snowy clothes away, exchanging an expressive look. Wordlessly, Torgreave offered Delia his arm and without speaking, she accepted it. They mounted the staircase to the drawing room in silence with Charles close on their heels. "Where were you?" the earl ground out after ushering Delia into the chamber. He impaled his brother with a stare. "At divine services," Delia replied. She removed her bonnet with a return to composure. "It is Sunday." She exchanged a smile with Charles who was apparently aware that his brother's manner had been

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caused by anxiety. Rupert swung away from them. Embarrassment now warred with his fading concern. "I had forgot," he muttered. "You cannot have been in the habit of remembering," Charles commented charitably, moving near the fire. "If you wish I will remind you next week." "I should not object to accompany you," Torgreave managed. "We should be pleased to have your company," Delia added, with a gentle smile. "Though your presence might upset the parishioners," she teased. "We might be constrained to attend Inniskip's chapel. She and Morag attended there today." She sat down near the fire. He smiled, but not without effort. "My brother's is perhaps the only church I may attend without causing concern," he said. "Did I tell you, Charles, that it was a pleasure to hear your preaching?" "I did hope you had enjoyed it," his brother murmured. His pleasant face reddened. He excused himself and withdrew. Torgreave watched him go. "I think I have understood that in England many younger sons take Holy Orders but care nothing for the Church. I do not have that impression of Charles." Rupert was aware that she was striving for impartial conversation. Lounging in a crimson damask cover chair, he answered her gambit in a manner that prohibited disinterest. "He chose Holy Orders about the time I came to London, and very wisely. He was never pious, but always simply good, charitable, and deeply concerned for others. All the things I was not." He added the last without bitterness. "My father was very pleased, for the living at Manningford is a good one and he wished for Charles to be well provided. I believe he felt he could not rely on me to do so." "Then he wronged you." Delia leaned forward and placed her hand on his dark blue sleeve. "I have a sense that you feel the late earl believed you beyond redemption." Rupert said nothing, but stared woodenly across the room. He could feel the imprint of Delia's fingers on the long, rigid muscles in his arm. Outside it had begun to snow more heavily, and the room grew dim despite the candles already lit. She continued, "Would not...could not...the late earl have disinherited you if he truly felt you were without courage, honour, and morals?" "He could. He might have stripped me of all but the title. I confess I have wondered why he did not, given what he believed of me." "It can only be that whatever he thought and said, he did not believe you unfit to inherit. Not in his heart." Rupert met her eyes then. She had given him pause. Indeed, her words had rendered him speechless. It seemed she intended to say no more about the matter though. "This morning -- did you fear that I had gone?" she returned to a teasing tone.

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He answered her with sincerity in his voice. "I did." "I will not go suddenly. Not without explanation and farewell," she said, the teasing gone as suddenly as it had come. "I promise it." He lifted her hand to his lips, and let her see what was in his eyes. *** It was only a few days after their attendance at services, that Charles said suddenly one snowy morning, "Delia, I must see Miss Slimbridge." "Well, it was difficult to contend with the snow on Sunday. It must be worse now," she offered absently, studying the Edinburgh Review before her. The earl had left it for her upon his early departure to his club. "I care nothing for that." "In that event, you might call upon Lady Slimbridge, and hope to see Susannah." She lifted her gaze. "Yes, but I wish you will come," he said. His youthful face was hopeful. "Rupert said I should not." A frown creased her smooth brow. "Please, you cannot be so unkind. It will make the world of difference for Slimbridge to know we are not a debauched and wicked family." Delia hesitated to oppose Rupert's wishes, but could see no harm in the visit. Indeed much benefit might be derived. "But if I am presented as your cousin, and all goes well, what will happen if I am in fact your sister? If that later becomes generally known, how will it affect your plans?" Charles hesitated only briefly. "We will appear at best to be foolish and at worst to be tricksters." He had apparently given the matter thought. "I cannot care about that, but I must do something. I must see her." "Very well," she decided. She understood his feelings very well. "Have you their direction?" He did, and it was only half of an hour later that they set out to pay the morning call. They walked, for though that exercise was difficult, driving was yet more so. Charles had to shake mounds of snowflakes from his beaver hat as they stood on the doorstep in North Audley Street. They had not long to wait, but were quickly admitted to a sparsely decorated passage. From there they were led to an equally bland drawing room on the first floor. Lady Slimbridge greeted them from near the window. She was a small woman with a bright, inquisitive look. She greeted the rector with the ease of long acquaintance, and accepted his introduction of Delia without a blink. She sent the footman for Miss Slimbridge, and drew Delia to a sopha. She wished, as she phrased it, a 'comfortable cose'. Delia was agreeably surprised. The tyrannical disposition of Sir Thomas had led her to suppose Lady Slimbridge would be a faded cypher. On the contrary, she seemed an intelligent lady of uncommon good

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sense. "My dear Susannah and the rector have a strong attachment." Her ladyship's tone seemed to question whether Delia knew of it. Charles had picked up a newspaper and was waiting for his beloved with ill-concealed impatience. "My cousin has admitted me to his confidence," Delia confirmed. "And has told me Sir Thomas is sadly opposed." "Not on Charles' own account," Lady Slimbridge disclaimed. "Well, he does think Susannah might do better than a second son, but he agrees that Charles is a fine young man. No it is his brother, the earl, to whom Sir Thomas objects." Miss Susannah Slimbridge entered the room quietly, and the rector's face glowed, as she welcomed him. He drew her to the window that her mother had abandoned. "The earl?" queried Delia, after greeting Miss Slimbridge. "He is even now my host. I may be accused of cousinly bias, but he is ever all that is proper and decorous." "Indeed?" The other lady shifted her intent gaze from Delia's face. She regarded her daughter and the young man, near the window, eagerly speaking together. "But he has a terrible reputation for drink, dissipation and..." "Much of it undeserved," Delia found herself angry over the ton's judgment of Torgreave. "His conduct is irreproachable, his affairs in good order, and his London house impeccable." "You feel him wronged by gossip then?" Lady Slimbridge's astute gaze returned to Delia's face. "I only know what I have observed," Delia said. "And have your families always been close?" Delia hesitated over her reply. She was relieved by the opening of the door. Her relief fled however, when the attitudes of her companions told her that the gentleman who entered was Sir Thomas Slimbridge. He was of middle height only, a narrow- visaged man with an aggressive manner. He smiled unexpectedly sweetly at his wife, but paused at the sight of the rector. He scowled and muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath. Charles stood abruptly and reluctantly left Miss Slimbridge to attend upon Delia. "Well, my dear, there you are, " said Lady Slimbridge brightly, disregarding her husband's rudeness. "And here is the rector come to call, and his cousin Miss Tyninghame." "Ha!" exclaimed Sir Thomas, as he extended two fingers to Charles. He bowed to Delia. "I can see the family resemblance." Delia stiffened and she sensed uneasiness in Charles. "Do you mind that portrait in the Hall at Manningford, my lady?" Sir Thomas questioned his wife. "Miss Tyninghame has the look of the third earl."

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Delia relaxed. Charles sighed audibly, and rushed into speech. "I had thought you still at Manningford, sir." "I daresay that's why you're here," Sir Thomas returned unkindly. "As you see I finished our withdrawal from that house. Your brother is welcome to it. Perhaps it will keep him out of mischief, for it needs considerable work. If he has the brass to do it." Charles flushed at the insult to his brother. Delia surged to her feet on a wave of anger. Her instincts were to protect and defend Torgreave even in conversation. "We must be going," she said to Charles. "The earl expects our return." He looked bewildered for his brother knew nothing of their excursion. She shot him a severe look and he managed a nod. Lady Slimbridge seemed aware that her husband had given offense. Though she did not try to detain her guests, she said hurriedly, "Miss Tyninghame, we are to hold a small party in three weeks. A preliminary, so you might say, for dear Susannah's come out this Season. Would you honour us with your presence?" Delia relented of her glacial manner, at least to the ladies. "I should be delighted, but I will be from town. I shall be returning to Edinburgh." With that, they made their farewells, and with icy bows to Sir Thomas, they quit the room. "You now have met my opposition," Charles said despondently as they retraced their steps through the snow to Grosvenor Street. "Lady Slimbridge is in no way opposed to your attachment," Delia pointed out. "With three daughters and a young son, she is too wise to object to such a suitable match. Sir Thomas wishes to be overly nice, and show himself a paragon. We shall have to change his mind about Rupert. We will." Charles would not be consoled. "Perhaps..."

"Dearest Aunt Barbara, You will be surprised to learn that I take Coach for Edinburgh tomorrow, and that the Earl accompanies me. You must not be Alarmed, but much has happened that I cannot explain by letter and I am in need of your Counsel."

CHAPTER FIVE The snow remained for another two weeks, replenished frequently by sudden substantial falls. Even Charles' enthusiasm for exploration was dimmed by the weather. He and the earl struggled out and about their affairs unenthusiastically and infrequently. Delia remained much at home in Grosvenor Street. She made the drawing room her own domain. She strewed it with her favourite books and her silks, and occupied the writing desk frequently to maintain her

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correspondence. Each day she practiced upon the pianoforte. When Major Rhyle brought her a present of music, her thanks were profuse. His visits, and those of Mr. Taunton and Captain Finglas, were always welcome diversions. Delia was occupied with her sketchpad one day when the earl returned home. He entered hastily, and thrust a careless hand through his snow-wet hair. He visibly relaxed on encountering her presence and Mrs. Lochmaddy's absence. Morag had made no secret of her disapproval that they lingered on in London. She was deeply disappointed that they had delayed their return to Scotland. Delia surveyed Rupert affectionately, for she would deny to no one that she had conceived a great tenderness for both brothers. They were already an essential part of her life and their care for her touched her heart. She would admit no other emotions, even to herself. He returned her inspection, but she could not endure the intensity of his regard. She looked down at the sketch in her hands, a quivering anxiety replacing her content. Clearing his throat, he said, "We must journey to Edinburgh, as soon as the weather ameliorates. I find the ambiguity of our situation -- the uncertainty of our relationship -- unbearable." His voice was hoarse, quite unlike his usual rich tone. "Intolerable," she reiterated softly. "But I think answers will elude us there also. My parents spent their marriage at Carvosway and to canvass the people who knew them will be next to impossible. My aunt is possibly our best hope. Perhaps the only hope." He acquiesced curtly and stripped off his dark blue merino coat. She now recognized that this was a characteristic gesture. It seemed he could not bear to be constrained by the close fit of fashion's dictates. She had never questioned him on the matter. She doubted that he was aware of the habit. She made a determined effort to lighten the atmosphere in the drawing room. "Now tell me what you think of this," she said. She offered her sketch, a simple rendering of a graceful bridge over a peaceful water with a spire in the distance, and a tree before. "It is very pleasant." Torgreave cast his coat aside and took the book. He responded to her diversion equably. "This is a new departure is it not? Have I seen you sketch before?" "Perhaps not." She was careful not to touch his hand as she regained her work. She could not with composure entertain contact with his taut skin and hard muscle. "It is my preparation for needlework, you see. I sketch what I wish to stitch, and apply watercolours to guide my choice of silks, before I begin to translate it to fabric." "That is most ambitious." His sincerity was obvious. "And the results are always very beautiful. You are talented." He bent and picked up her reticule from a chair he wished to occupy. "Where shall I put this?" he queried. He paused, weighing the embroidered trifle in his hand. "Surely it is very heavy, for a lady's bag?" Delia hesitated in putting away her charcoal. She was surprised at his comment. "I cannot think why you say so, there is nothing...ah," she remembered. With a sly smile, she took the silk purse from him. "Should you like to see why?" she teased.

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He seated himself. "I would," he admitted. She emptied its contents, one by one. "There is my handkerchief, my vinaigrette, my locket...ah that's where it was hidden..." He smiled at her interjection. She hesitated before withdrawing her hand a last time. "and myskean dhu ." "Good God," he muttered. He stared at the small dagger in its leather sheath as she laid it on the table before him. "You have been carrying a dagger in your reticule for this month and more of our acquaintance? Did you think yourself in so much danger from the rake Torgreave then?" Annoyed, Delia thrust her possessions back in the embroidered silk. "Must you regard everything so personally?" she demanded. "It has naught to do with you. Theskean dhu was given me by my aunt's friend, Scott. He said every Scotswoman should have one on such a journey, for protection. He showed me how to use it to advantage too. I have given it no thought since arriving in London." "My commonsense deserts me where you are concerned." Rupert seized her agitated hands, and stilled them against his hard chest. She could feel the steady beat of his heart under her fingers. She shivered with an emotion she only half-understood, but greatly feared. Her wide eyes searched his bleak face, until he released her abruptly. He strode the length of the room away from her and then returned. His mood was altered. "Charles tells me you did wait upon Lady Slimbridge recently," he said. He reseated himself in the same chair. Delia was still shaken from their contact. She forced herself to meet his indigo gaze calmly. "We did," she murmured. "I judged that it would do no harm, and might do some good." "Sir Thomas was less than flattering in his opinion of me, I understand?" Rupert drew a long idle finger through the silks tumbled on the table between them. "He was. Your past exploits weigh heavily with him. He seems to have little faith in your reformation." He laughed shortly. "Perhaps the man is more wise than I credited," he drawled. The door opened abruptly. Instantly the earl stood and stepped to the fire. When Morag entered, Delia was again putting away her charcoal. "Mr. Hugh Taunton, and his sister are come," the Scotswoman announced. "How delightful!" Delia responded without consulting Torgreave. Mrs. Lochmaddy ushered in the guests. Miss Aurora Taunton was a slight, fair, delicate creature, introduced laconically by her brother. She was possessed, Delia soon discovered, of an iron will at variance with her appearance. As well, she had a busy tongue, and she burst into speech.

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"Oh you are very alike. Do not glare at me, Hugh, I mind you told me not to stare. Surely it is not unknown for such similarity between cousins though." She surveyed Torgreave until he lifted his black brows repressively. Then she clapped her hands. "I recall you doing that very thing, the first time we met. I would not expect you to remember. You visited us in the country. You and Hugh were sent down from Oxford. I was a scrubby schoolroom child, and you the most handsome young man I had ever seen. I followed you around 'til you put up your brows, and told me to take myself off." They all laughed but for Morag Lochmaddy. She had settled in a corner chair with her knitting. The gentlemen prepared to depart to the library. Miss Taunton chattered on as the ladies were seated. "You do look much older now though, Torgreave. Your wicked life, I expect, has marked you. It has not taken Hugh quite the same way." "Aurora!" said her brother in threatening tones. "Oh go away," she responded. "I shan't be indiscreet, or impolite. Miss Tyninghame and I will deal famously." With a smile turning her lips, Delia agreed, and it did prove to be so. Miss Taunton had an interest in needlework and music, though she confessed to a disinterest in literature. She possessed a substantial fascination with society. She chattered happily, and Delia listened, occasionally interpolating a gay word or quiet idea. Their guests stayed for more than an hour that afternoon. Delia was in high good humour that evening at supper and after. She and Morag left the gentlemen to their port following the meal. It was not long before the earl and his brother joined them in the drawing room. "You missed the visit of Miss Aurora Taunton this afternoon," Delia informed Charles. "She is most delightful. We have agreed that we must enjoy further engagements. I realize how I have missed congenial female company. Had you a pleasant call upon Miss Slimbridge?" "I did. Though she is much taken up with the approaching Season. But what was Miss Taunton like? Can she be as rattle-pated as her brother? I often thought Mr. Hugh Taunton a bad influence on Rupert." "Good God, are you ambitious for a bishopric, Charles?" exclaimed the earl. "You sound fifty years old and priggish to boot." Delia frowned at him and answered the rector. "I found her quite charming. She is full of liveliness and wit, not unmixed with wisdom. Strangely enough her mama's opinion is quite the opposite of yours. She fears Rupert a bad influence on Hugh." "Hugh has no need of a bad influence. He has enough natural wickedness," Torgreave offered over his shoulder. He was staring out into the darkened street." Did it seem to either of you that the weather changed this afternoon?" His companions blinked at the sudden turn of the subject.

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"Possibly. It was warmer, of that I am certain," Charles volunteered. "Now that I think on it, I can hear a dripping." Delia held up a slim hand for silence. Beyond the crackling of the fire could be heard the small steady sound. "If the thaw has begun, I would suggest we take the road for Edinburgh soon. I agree with you that answers which are not to be found here may come to us there." Mrs. Lochmaddy was heard to mutter, "We have delayed our return long enough." "I think it a wise decision. Especially as Aurora Taunton will be spreading word of our likeness around the ton." The earl ignored the companion's interpolation. "Charles, you will of course be welcome to remain here." "I had forgot your intention," said his brother. "Can you wish to travel to Edinburgh, now that Manningford is returned to your possession?" "I consider that the solution of this mystery is of greater moment than my return home. Delia and I must regain some peace of mind." He directed a slow intimate smile at Delia. She returned it, loath to end or analyze it. "Besides," Torgreave continued without turning his dark head away from Delia. "When you return to Manningford I have instructed that Mrs. Inniskip and such of the staff here as she wishes, are to travel with you. They will begin to set the house in order for me. This house will be closed. I shall return from Edinburgh to Manningford, not London. Have you seen Prym in the recent past?" He referred to his elderly butler who had remained at the Tower. "I have. He attends at services regularly. He served Sir Thomas well, but will, I know, be glad of your return." "Good! He and Mrs. Inniskip may work together again. A formidable team," Rupert said to Delia with another of those intimate smiles. Charles appeared to be deep in reflection. "I think," he announced, "that when you depart for Edinburgh, I shall return to Manningford. Susannah -Miss Slimbridge -- shall have her Season. I would not begrudge it her. But my curate must not be left indefinitely to shift for himself." Accordingly three days later, in the midst of a tremendous thaw, the Mayfair house was shuttered. The furniture was placed in holland covers as its occupants prepared to depart. Major Rhyle arrived in Grosvenor Street to protest their removal even as they were on the doorstep. "Rupert, you must not leave London at this present. Louis Philippe is due any day -- ." "I must go," contradicted the earl. "I have now a family which requires my attentions, more than Prinny. I thought he understood that." Delia and Charles watched this altercation with undisguised curiosity. Bowland and Morag Lochmaddy retired to the coach with hot bricks and fur rugs.

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"He might well understand, but his own security means more to him." "He may go to the devil!" Rupert strode to the waiting coach. "I will tell him that, shall I?" queried the major. "Did he promise not to reveal your part in our efforts?" "No." The earl paused in his consideration of the interior of the coach. He broke off directing Bowland, to regard Rhyle. "Then you may expect that if you will not support him with your presence, he will use your reputation to bolster his." "If I had my way, I'd never return to London, so it would not matter. Be damned to it all!" Rupert challenged his friend with a cold stare. "Don't glare at me," the major said. "That icy gaze may intimidate most men, but I remain your friend. And in your position I would do the same. But if Prinny does reveal your involvement, it will be no more than you deserve. You have earned recognition and gratitude." Rupert relented, and unexpectedly grinned. "You are most assuredly my friend. You are welcome at Manningford anytime, and I thank you. And I wish you will be silent on my dubious virtues." The major barked a laugh. He stood aside for Bowland to swing up beside the coachman. Then he returned to the steps and offered Delia his massive arm. "Miss Tyninghame, I hope we may see you again in London?" He seemed to dismiss his mission from his mind, and transferred his attentions. "I hardly know. It will depend upon what we discover." "Your return will be anticipated," he said. He bowed over her slim, gloved fingers, before handing her into the coach. The two tall men shook hands. The earl mounted into the coach also and Charles mounted his horse. The Scots coachman, Cullen, gave the eager horses the office to start. Major Rhyle lifted a large hand in farewell as Delia waved from the window. "The roads are bound to be difficult," the earl commented. He settled next to Delia with Morag Lochmaddy facing them, her back to the horses. "Charles shall do better mounted, than shall we." The young rector was visible in the crowded street outside, as they threaded their way out of London. "You will wish for your horse," Delia commented. She drew the fur robe over her knees. "I shall be content in your company," he said. There was no flattery about his statement, but honesty in his direct gaze. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks and avoided Mrs. Lochmaddy's eyes. "Why was the major so concerned with your departure?" Her curiosity required that the question be

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asked. He was silent for several moments. "I suppose I am the Prince Regent's friend. He is not presently popular. He wishes to have all the support he can find during the next months as the Allied monarchs gather here." Delia was not convinced that the matter was explained. "And what of the talk of your reputation and the gratitude you deserve." "Gideon was babbling nonsense," he snapped. "You know my reputation. Do you think anyone owes me gratitude?" She was confused by his evasiveness, but felt it best to let the matter alone. "It is a long journey," she commented in her confusion. "I have taken precautions," he said with a laugh. "The box by your feet is filled with books. That," he pointed to a small mahogany box on the seat beside Mrs. Lochmaddy, "is a traveling chess board. And this," he drew a handsomely inlaid case from beneath the chess set, "is for you." The contretemps was quickly forgotten. "I should not..." Delia hesitated over the gift, uncomfortably aware of Morag's presence. The earl seemed indifferent to it. "Come, I am certainly family of some degree. It cannot be thought improper, though I should be the last to care if it was," he added with wry humour. "You are a devoted correspondent of many. You have Miss Taunton and Lady Slimbridge to add to your list. I noted you had no writing case. I thought you must have that deficiency remedied." Delia lifted the lid to discover the lack well satisfied. The case was fitted with everything she could require to fulfill her correspondence -- inkpots and quills, wafers and sand, even the finest of papers, in two sizes. The whole was crafted with taste and elegance, and lined with silk the colour of her wide eyes. "From Mr. Asprey's?" she hazarded, meeting his gaze. "You remember we saw them there in the window. It was the day we purchased your furs." "I do," she confirmed. She realized with a pang that there was nothing of their days together that she had forgot. "Thank you," she whispered. "I shall treasure it." Something fragile shimmered in the air between them. A sudden lurch of the coach destroyed the moment. "The roads are terrible," Mrs. Lochmady confirmed, as they gained the open countryside. Itwas a long journey. The first two days were pleasurably broken up by Charles' presence. But when he left them at Stamford, Delia could not find herself sorry. Indeed, she once found herself wishing he had taken Morag Lochmaddy with him. She quickly squelched the immodest desire. The time passed more quickly than on her journey south. The earl was an amusing, erudite companion. As she watched his finely modeled, mobile face while he read to her one day, she recognized that he had changed since she had come to know him. He appeared less weary, and he ate well. Many of the deep lines that had seemed carved in his face, had smoothed. A few had disappeared. He laughed more often, and seemed less burdened. He spoke more freely of the past, and with anticipation of seeing Edinburgh.

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He also appeared undisturbed by their destination growing ever closer. Delia found herself increasingly torn between apprehension, expectation and anxiety. There was little snow remaining, though it had apparently been widespread. The roads had been left in a fearfully muddy state, which slowed their journey abominably. Lady Barbara's fine coach was sadly dirtied. "What have you told your lady aunt of me?" Torgreave asked the last day but one before they reached Edinburgh. Morag Lochmaddy, who seemed to have dozed for most of the five days, straightened. "Little enough," Delia admitted. He shifted in his seat, she thought to better survey her face. His knee pressed hers. She did not withdraw, but found she welcomed the reassuring contact. "I could find no words to explain our similarity. I felt she must see it to understand. I warned her that there were extraordinary reasons for my early return, and that you would be with me. That is all." "I see," he mused. "You seem...you are less worried than when we were in London," she ventured. "Am I? Yes, perhaps you are right." The earl shrugged. "No one will know me in Edinburgh. I find anonymity a delightful prospect. I may walk abroad unknown and explore your fine city. If a gentleman or lady on the street thinks my face familiar in passing, he or she will be hard put to think why. If they, having remembered whom I resemble, question you, you may disclaim all knowledge. Like you in London, I will not enter society. But if absolutely necessary, I will be introduced as your cousin, Rupert Manning." He took her hand. "You are beset with worry. Will you tell me why?" She was not proof to the intimacy of his tone, but she was uncomfortably aware of Morag's presence. "I...oh I cannot say. I just fear what we may eventually discover. I have already learned my dear father was probably not my own. I wonder what I shall hear about my mother. I wonder what my aunt will think, and what she will disclose." "I could wish this had not occurred. I deeply regret that you are caused pain. But I cannot wish that we should not have met." Delia found that she was gripping his gloved hand. She met Mrs. Lochmaddy's disapproving gaze. She stared back defiantly, and left her slim fingers in his reassuring hold. *** A day later they arrived in Edinburgh. Torgreave was immediately fascinated by the city. He did not conceal his interest, but questioned Delia relentlessly. Those questions that she could not answer were addressed to the guidebook of Edinburgh that he had included in his box of books. His interest was unfeigned, but he hoped also to distract Delia from her apprehension. He was certain she felt a different person than the carefree young woman who had departed two months before. As they rounded Calton Hill, she stated that her anxiety outweighed her pleasure in arriving at home.

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"Home is no longer a welcome sight," she mourned. Rupert could do little to comfort her under the stern gaze of Mrs. Lochmaddy. He tensed as the carriage rolled down Princes Street, negotiated two turns and entered Charlotte Square. It drew to a stop. His relief at the completion of the journey was tempered with uneasiness about the introductions to take place. Rupert swung out of the coach, surveying the Castle looming on the rock above. Bowland jumped down from the coachman's seat. "'Tis a fine city, my lord," the valet exclaimed. He gestured at the ridge in the south rising to the east and west. "I can scarce credit it." "Did you think them all 'devils in skirts', man, living in blackhouses?" Torgreave queried. "I've a notion they are more civilized than we in London." The valet looked shocked as well as disbelieving. He said nothing, but hurried to help the footman who trod across the paving to take down the trunks. Torgreave turned back to hand Delia down the carriage step. She lifted worried sapphirine eyes to his face. He could only smile. Their arrival was anti-climatic. Lady Barbara Lochearn was from home. As she could not know the exact day of their arrival, she had gone to dine with friends. Confronted by Lady Barbara's butler and housekeeper, Rupert stood close by Delia in support. He felt her tension ease as she received the news of her aunt's absence. She was warmly welcomed by her aunt's staff. They showed a little shock at the sight of his face's similarity to Delia's, and he sensed their uncertain reserve. Morag Lochmaddy hurried away, bearing Bowland with her. The housekeeper took efficient charge of their trunks and wraps. The butler -- Delia introduced him as Kilsyth -- was waiting to guide them upstairs to the drawing room. As they followed him Rupert twined Delia's arm with his. He clasped her hand where it rested on his superfine sleeve. Kilsyth opened a door and when they had passed through, he closed it after them. "This is a strange homecoming for you," Rupert bent his head to murmur. Delia shook her head wordlessly and stepped away from him, gazing eagerly about her. He did likewise. It was a handsome, comfortable room. A tambour frame stood in the corner, a sketchbook lay on the centre table, and a well-polished pianoforte stood open. He looked back to Delia in time to see her composure abruptly crumble. Tears streamed down her face. Rupert's response was spontaneous. He drew her into his arms. He enfolded her tenderly, and his right hand stroked her silky black curls. She sobbed on his chest soaking the fine silk damask of his waistcoat until at last her tears were used up. Only then did she seem to realize her position. She withdrew from his embrace, her cheeks flaming. He did not readily release her. "I cannot think what possessed me!" she exclaimed in mortification. He offered his snowy handkerchief and she dried her tear-wet face. "I can," he assured her. "You have been on a fine edge of tension for weeks. You are now at home. It is not surprising that emotion should overwhelm you. And it is not unlawful for even a brother and sister to embrace," he stated. He was intensely aware of unbrotherly sensations surging through him.

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"I did not mean...I mean I am not usually a wateringpot. It is just...just..." "Seeing me here in your home, makes it seem less a dream and more a nightmare?" he suggested. "Something of the sort," she admitted with a hiccough. He smiled with tenderness at the homely sound. "I shall retire," he announced. He strode to the window, and surveyed the quiet square as dusk settled. "Will you ring for a footman to guide me? I will take a tray in my chamber for supper. You will wish to reacquaint yourself with your home, and you may find it more comfortable to greet your aunt alone." "It is not necessary," she protested, holding out her hand to him. He did not see it as he continued to stare out the window. "I think it is. You are weary," he insisted. "If you have need of me, you have only to request my attendance." He did not leave the window until the footman came. Then he bowed formally over her hand, and did not meet her eyes as he wished her goodnight. *** In the end, Delia retired also before her aunt returned home. Weary, and distressed over her collapse into Rupert's arms, she sought solace in her own dear, familiar chamber. It was comforting to be at home, surrounded by familiar faces and well-loved possessions. Nevertheless Torgreave's presence overshadowed every other thought and emotion. She worried herself into sleep, and if her dreams were inappropriate, she did not remember them the next morning. It was only then that greetings took place. Delia requested Morag to ascertain when her aunt was awake. As soon as she was, Delia took herself to that lady's chamber, and tapped quietly. Lady Barbara herself opened the door and drew Delia into a warm embrace. Her aunt was tall and her face, while not pretty, was comely and mobile. Her hair was a deep auburn and her eyes clear hazel. "Dear child." She held her niece away from her. Delia submitted to close examination. "You have been missed. And you look a little drawn. Come," Delia was urged to a sopha near the tall window. "Tell me all. Why has the earl accompanied you, and what is this mystery? And why have your letters been stilted and less like you than I would expect?" Delia felt her eyes fill at the dear accents and kind queries. But she had done her weeping in Rupert's arms the night before, and now could answer with some composure. "Dearest of aunts, it is so good to be with you. I must tell you all. It is a strange tale." She met the hazel gaze directly. Twisting her slender hands in her lap, she began. "Torgreave is not the fourth earl but the fifth. He is without family but for his brother, and he was not the author of the letter I received in response to mine." Lady Barbara said nothing, but covered Delia's restless hands with her own. "We were the victims of a well intentioned trick by his housekeeper. For years, the earl has been

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following a disreputable path. Mrs. Inniskip, having known him since his infancy and desiring to turn him from his dissipation, thought a shock might help." Her aunt was listening attentively, and did not interrupt with useless exclamations or questions. Delia had never more appreciated her calm temperament. "However, we all were more astonished than might even have been expected, when I arrived. Rupert and I look remarkably alike." She took a deep breath and stated the core of the problem. "We think we must have a familial connection." The older woman frowned at that suggestion. "He is of course more youthful than we had supposed?" "No more than nine and twenty although you might think him older." "And how remarkable is this resemblance?" "I had as well look in the mirror," Delia stated. Her aunt was at last surprised. "Then I had best meet him, before we discuss anything further," said her ladyship. Rupert awaited both ladies in the drawing room, with a degree of trepidation unusual to him. He had breakfasted in his chamber while staring through the window at the green dome of St. George's Church across the Square. He had paced the drawing room for several minutes since his arrival there. Now, deep in thought, he flexed his shoulders in the uncomfortable restriction of his beautifully tailored coat of Bath superfine. His was now the disadvantage under which Delia had suffered for the past two months. He was the newcomer in a strange environment, the object of suspicion and disapprobation. He understood her sentiments better for being now in the same position. He again paced the cream and gold chamber restlessly, only pausing when the door opened. Upon her entry, Delia smiled at him, the same smile he had given her when she met Charles. It was one containing a mix of encouragement and support. Another lady entered quickly. Rupert bore her assessing gaze equably, and returned it curiously. After what seemed a very long time, she spoke. "Exceptional best describes your resemblance, I believe." Lady Barbara appeared calm and sensible, thought the earl with relief. "I do think however that it lies mostly in the colouring." She drew Delia forward and placed her at Torgreave's side. "Those blue eyes and the hair resembling black silk. They cannot be denied. But the noses and chins are dissimilar," she pointed out the differences with satisfaction. She walked away from them, and then turned to consider again. Delia's hand sought Rupert's arm for support. He offered it readily. "The disparity between dissipation and innocence is the most remarkable divergence," Lady Barbara concluded.

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Torgreave flushed uncomfortably, like a schoolboy. Delia hurried into introductions. "Aunt, this is Rupert Manningford, fifth Earl of Torgreave. My lord, my aunt, Lady Barbara Lochearn." Lady Barbara waved the earl to a chair, and drew Delia to sit beside her. Rupert watched them narrowly, and found a family resemblance in the ladies' faces. "And so, dear child, you arrived in London, discovered the trick, and the problem. What then?" "We have spent two months trying to determine the cause of it," Delia sighed. Rupert spoke for the first time, laying the bare facts before Lady Barbara. He was very aware of his own very English, accent against the slight Scots burr of the ladies. "We know only that our fathers were friends in their youth. We think we must share a parent, and we think it must be my father. It seems likely that the fourth earl and Lady Tyninghame encountered each other at some point in 1794. But we have been unable to ascertain if our parents visited each other. And we have been unable to confirm our suppositions." He suffered Lady Barbara to survey his elegance and sophistication. He was not disconcerted. "And you hope Edinburgh may hold some answers?" she asked. "I thought perhaps..." Delia began, "Oh, I cannot see that it will, now that I am returned. Few people here knew my father...Lord Tyninghame..." she corrected herself with an anxious sigh. "Mama is gone..." Her agitation was evident, and Rupert stirred in his chair. He wished to comfort her, but caught Lady Barbara's eye. He forced himself to calm inaction. He said, "Delia desired to be home. She had a need to show you her problem. Me. The situation could not be described by letter. There is little chance that anyone here will have information, for I understand Lord Tyninghame was a country man. But we undertook the journey anyway." "I may be of help...a little help," said Lady Barbara slowly. "I find I am overwhelmed by the discovery that my sister might have been unfaithful to her husband. In all appearances in later years she was devoted to him. Yet, I can recall a time early in their marriage when they were not happy." Delia's eyes widened. Her aunt patted her hand comfortingly. "There were two or three most difficult years. Indeed I remember my sister begging my father to allow her to return to our home. It was not that Lord Tyninghame was brutally unkind or difficult. He simply had no care for her, and no interest in their marriage. He enjoyed his estate, his horses and hunting, his friends and hospitality. He seemed to have no inkling that his wife could demand a modicum of his attention." Torgreave found himself tense in his seat, hoping for a revelation. He was to be disappointed. "That is all that I know however. I have no knowledge of their visitors during that period. Tyninghame was not a stupid man, and seemed to grow to appreciate his wife and to recognize her needs. My sister was happier in expectation of your birth. When later your brother and sister were born and tragedy

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followed, your parents grew closer. I would not have suspected that of which I see evidence before me." Delia caught her breath on a broken sob. Rupert rose, withholding the frustration and irritation he experienced. "It seems that knowledge of what went on in those years has died with them," he said. "You must wish to converse privately on this matter. If you will excuse me, ladies, I believe I will explore your library if I may?" Lady Barbara did not argue with his words. She rang for a footman to conduct the earl. When he had departed, she turned to Delia and said, "My dear child, you have suffered much and had no support but Morag Lochmaddy." She held out her arms, and Delia retreated into her embrace wearily, but without tears. "You have done your weeping," Lady Barbara stated. "I have," Delia could not admit that it was done in Rupert's arms. Where once she had shared everything with her aunt, there were now things too private for discussion. She murmured only, "It has been so difficult. To believe that Papa was not in fact my father would have been enough, but to think that Mama hid such a secret for so many years was insupportable. I do think that Rupert is right. To her must be ascribed the weakness. It is impossible to see how his mother and my father could have been involved." "I do agree. The added complication is that the fourth earl and Tyninghame were friends. It is not common to cuckold one's closest friends, even in the highest circles." Her aunt's dry humour helped Delia to recover her composure. "You must remember also that you may be wrong, and that you do not share a parent. If however you do, Margaret must have believed you would never discover it, for she would not have wished you to be hurt." Lady Barbara tapped her niece's silken cheek gently. "Tyninghame loved you as a daughter, whether or no he was related by blood." Delia was faintly frowning. "There is another peculiarity. By Charles' and Rupert's account, the fourth earl was a man of rigid morals and high principles. Such entanglements would have been out of character -- remarkable -- for him." Her aunt's face was thoughtful. "You are very familiar with the gentlemen," she reproved, referring to Delia's free use of Christian names. Delia coloured. "They seem already like the brothers they appear to be, especially Charles. You must think I should immediately have returned to Edinburgh, upon our discovery. But indeed it seemed necessary to remain to uncover the answer. It cannot be thought improper to visit in the home of one's relative. Few people were aware of my sojourn. I was always veiled when I went abroad." She preferred to leave explanation of the Slimbridges' until another time. Lady Barbara queried, "So what you told in your letters of the earl's brother is true, of course. He must also be younger that I would have expected?" "Five and twenty," Delia explained, but her aunt seemed to have little interest in Charles. Lady Barbara spoke of the earl instead. "Torgreave looks a difficult man. Strong, passionate, dissolute and unhappy."

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Delia was accustomed to her aunt's swift, incisive and accurate judgments of character. She answered the query in Lady Barbara's voice. "The earl has been kindness itself. He has dealt with the matter with utmost delicacy. As his relations with his father were difficult, it has not been easy for him. Rupert has an unpleasant reputation but I have seen naught to disgust me, and much to admire in his actions." Lady Barbara did not comment on Delia's enthusiastic defense of the earl, but said, "And if nothing further can be learned here, what will he do?" Delia studied the thick carpet beneath her pale slippers. "Return to London, I suppose," her voice sounded oddly constrained, even to her own ears. " We shall have to assume we are siblings. We may forget that each other exists...that our meeting even took place." "And while he stays with us?" Lady Barbara was watching Delia's face closely. "He will wish to explore the city, for he has not been north previously. We may call him cousin, if need be, as he so called me, in London. He will not wish to be introduced to society. In fact, he is anticipating being an anonymous citizen." Unconsciously her expression softened recalling Rupert's words. "And I have no desire for it to be generally known that I am returned. I have no wish to rejoin the social round presently." Delia looked up to discover concern writ large in her aunt's face. "You must not worry, dearest of aunts," she strove for a light note. "I must simply become comfortable with myself again." *** It took no more than a week for it to become clear that nothing of import was to be discovered in Edinburgh. There were no intimate friends to question. The remaining family, according to Lady Barbara, might be presumed to have no knowledge of the matter. The past had, as Rupert said, died with Lord and Lady Tyninghame. "I had as well return to London, or rather Manningford, for information may still be found there," the earl announced one evening as they left the dining room table. Though Delia had tried to prepare herself for just such a moment, she was bereft of speech at the thought of his departure. "Naturally, you must do as you think best," Lady Barbara said after a moment's silence. "For myself I can think of only one more course of action. I shall invite myself to Carvosway and see if there is aught to discover there. There may yet be one or two old servants with long memories." "Carvosway? Delia's old home?" the earl frowned in quick concentration. "Carvosway House, near Biggar," confirmed Lady Barbara. She surveyed the two handsome faces so alike. "I could accompany..." Delia began. "No you could not." Lady Barbara interrupted. "If either or both of you descend upon the district, gossip will be rife. You must remember that young Lord Tyninghame's wife is a tattlemonger. You must leave it to me, but I cannot know when I shall be able to invite myself without arousing suspicion." She moved to mount the stairs to her chamber, and looked back over her shoulder. "Now I must prepare for Lady

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Dunkeith's rout. You will of course do as you wish, my lord. You are welcome to remain here. Or if you choose to return to your home, I...we...shall certainly advise you of anything we discover." Delia was so busy considering her aunt's words that she scarcely noticed that Torgreave had drawn her hand within his arm. He led her into the library. "Do you think that my aunt may discover something at Carvosway?" she queried when he had shut the door behind them. He was sombre, and retained hold of her slender arm. Her gown of Sardinian blue lustre left her arms bare but for her slender gold bracelets. His fingers were cool and strong on her skin. "It is always possible, but when? I must return to Manningford within the week. I wish you will come with me." Delia's eyes widened on his fine features. She withdrew from him, moving a little away. "No, I will not. I will stay here, in Edinburgh," she stated. A needle-sharp pain pierced her breast at the thought of separation from him. "You cannot! Do you not see? We must know the truth!" he snapped. He crossed to the opposite side of the room. She was glad of it, for he had looked as if he might take her in his arms. She did not think she could place any dependence on her own restraint. "I agree," the cry came from her heart. "But you cannot need my assistance at Manningford. We are better apart." "Better?" he snarled the question. "Or safer?" She inhaled a shivering breath. "We may never know how your father and my mother came together, but we are the proof of its happening." "Not necessarily. Your aunt has told you of knowing cousins so similar as we are. She has told you of your mother's early unhappiness in her marriage. Manningford may hold answers for us. And there is still my uncle. Augustus could yet be the key." For the first time since she had met Rupert, he was vital and energetic. He looked only his nine and twenty years, not ten or more older. His vehemence swayed her, but still she protested. "If I stay here at home, we may put it behind us. It will not matter in a year or two. We shall not meet again. We may go about our lives as cousins or siblings, separated by the length of the country, uncaring." "Can you do that?" His voice was intimate, and magnetic. She could not avoid his intent and beautiful eyes. "Can you watch me walk away -- ride away -- forever?" he asked. Her own sapphirine eyes filled with tears. "Don't! Do not utilize your arts of seduction on me!" Her voice rose. "I would not," he swore. He crossed back to stand before her. "I would not demean you so; and I would not be other than honest with you. I must know the truth of this matter, for I cannot leave you, cannot be parted from you, unless I

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must." Delia's anger dissipated as quickly as it had risen. She stared at him, with her hands at her slim throat. She was horrified but not repelled by his words. She recognized with stunning immediacy that they echoed her own tangled emotions. Her hands went out to him, then dropped when he stepped back. She understood. They could not be apart, but they could not risk contact. "I will come to Manningford," she whispered."I...I will speak to my aunt," she said and hurried from the room without looking at him again.

"Dearest Aunt, We are returned to Manningford. Although you did not Concur with my reasons for yet another journey, I am glad to have seen this House. Rupert's homecoming has been Affecting, and Charles is so happy. I shall maintain a Sense of perspective and I depend upon your Support."

CHAPTER SIX The journey to Leicestershire was considerably more difficult, both physically and emotionally, than had been the expedition to Edinburgh. The occupants of the coach were, at the same time, both more and less comfortable. Although the weather had moderated and the bitter cold was gone, the coach lurched and lumbered over the perilous roads. The trio was as well more silent and more thoughtful than on the journey north. Disappointment and devotion seemed to haunt Torgreave, and Morag Lochmaddy's disapproval was palpable. The memory of her last conversation with her aunt lingered in Delia's mind. Lady Barbara had been dissatisfied with her niece's decision to return to Manningford with the earl. "There can be no future in it," she had said firmly and calmly. "I cannot imagine that you will discover anything at Manningford to assure you that you and Torgreave are not siblings." Delia's heart had ached. Never before had her aunt's opinion disagreed so markedly from her own. "We may find something," she had protested. Her aunt only echoed her own words to Rupert of a day early. "Any affection, or attraction, between you might be of a narcissistic nature," her aunt stated. She ventured to speak of that which Delia could not bring herself to contemplate at length. "It is not a question of affection," she had denied vehemently, "but a question of truth. We would resolve the mystery of our resemblance." "Really? It does not require you both at Manningford, to pursue the truth," Lady Barbara had pointed out the obvious. "You may discover more here." "He needs me!" Delia had found herself exclaiming. "Ah -- " her aunt sighed. "Then you must do as you think best. But remember, think about what you need as well. And beware of the intimacy of proximity." Delia massaged her brow, trying to erase the memory of that conversation. It echoed in her brain.

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Proximity...she had only to turn her head to see the earl. She had been shiveringly conscious of his nearness for three days. She could not decide whether it was more disquieting to be seated beside him or to be seated across from him. In the one instance she was unavoidably aware of the warmth and strength of his lean body. In the other she was drawn inevitably to study his fine, familiar features. "Are you weary?" Rupert asked. Delia realized that he had noticed her gesture. He had appeared somnolent, but Delia had learned that where he was concerned, appearances were ever deceiving. "Coach travel has lost its charm," she said striving for a light note. "After Christmas I set out with an adventurous heart. I had previously made only one long journey in my life, from Biggar to Edinburgh. Three months and three trips later, I should be happy to be sedentary." "But you like the coach?" he queried. In Edinburgh he had made it his business to purchase a traveling chaise, with four sturdy matched greys. And he had engaged the services of a coachman. It was his second investment in a future vastly different from his past. Delia knew that he was inordinately pleased by it, and she was delighted for him. "The coach is very fine," she reassured him. She treasured the vulnerability that he revealed by his question. "And the coachman seems skilled, for the roads are not dry, and his job must be even more difficult with a new team to assess." "And with Bowland with whom to contend," Rupert offered. He seemed to attempt to match her levity. "However we shall reach Manningford tonight, barring accident. I wish I might have advised Inniskip of our imminent arrival so that your comfort could be assured." Morag Lochmaddy snorted. The only time she had spoken on the journey was when she evidently deemed that the earl approached intimacy with her mistress. "Mrs. Inniskip will be prepared no matter when we arrive," she stated. "If you are weary of journeying, Miss, we had better remained in Edinburgh, at home." She emphasized the last word. Delia was annoyed by her forthright words. So, it seemed, was the earl. His glance was icy as it rested on Morag. "You and Mrs. Inniskip may join in maligning my character immediately on our arrival. Until then, kindly refrain from comment," he snapped. Delia closed her eyes on their disagreement. Torgreave had become steadily more discomposed during the trip. She was powerless to ease his anxiety. She could not even be certain of its cause. For herself, she remained torn between regret of her aunt's displeasure, anxiety over her decision to return to England, and a certain guilty delight in Rupert's company. The remainder of the journey was accomplished in silence. They reached Manningford at dusk, when only the last frosted rays of the sunset illuminated the classical frontage. The earl was sombre, his eyes on the great house, as the coach swung up the freshly graded drive. Delia, concerned for his taciturnity, laid a gloved hand on his tense arm. Staring from the coach window, she indulged her curiosity. The facade of Manningford was masterfully composed, carefully balanced, possessed of astonishing lightness and distinction. "There is no tower," she exclaimed in astonishment.

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He managed a laugh in the midst of his anxiety. "Did you not notice that when we stayed at the Rectory? I never thought to tell you. The Tower fell down a hundred or more years ago. Even the stone has been carried away...only the name remains." Delia said nothing for several moments. She had seen Manningford only distantly before, and had formed no opinion of it. This time she was moved by its beauty. "The earl, your father, was possessed of excellent taste," she murmured then. "It is true," he agreed, "but I never before realized it. It was previously somewhat dilapidated. This was all done with my mother's marriage settlement. I believed that my father did not consult her in the renovation. But in studying those papers a month ago I found one that was an instruction for a change desired by her. I wronged him." Delia tightened her hand on his strong arm as the coach halted. "As he did you," she reminded him. His guilt threatened to be as unrealistic as his hatred had been. He covered her hand with his own, as the coach door opened and the steps were let down. "Come," he said. The coach must have been sighted coming up the drive. They were greeted in the entry hall by as many servants as Mrs. Inniskip could muster. Within the ancestral home, Delia could not feel her family resemblance out of place, and she was able to smile unreservedly at the housekeeper. The elderly butler, Prym, moved forward to greet the earl. His bow was profound, and his voice broke, as he said, "Welcome home, my lord." "Thank you, Prym. It is not before time, is it?" The old man smiled tremulously in response to Rupert's easy greeting. The earl turned to his housekeeper. "Inniskip we are tired, and hungry. I know you have been very busy, but we shall expect all the comforts, despite we were not able to advise you of our imminent arrival." "Cook began adding dishes to the evening meal, my lord, as soon as we heard the coach. She will devise something tolerable. And the bedchambers are aired and ready for you, though we have been hard pressed for linens." "We shall set all that to rights," he commented absently, staring about the hall as he handed his greatcoat and hat to an eager footman. He smiled suddenly at Delia who was surveying him worriedly. She had relinquished her pelisse and bonnet to Morag. "Inniskip, take Mrs. Lochmaddy in charge. Send someone to advise my brother of our arrival. Just now I wish to walk about the house, with Miss Tyninghame. What chambers have you given us?" "The Grand Suite could not be made habitable, my lord," Mrs. Inniskip was apologetic, "so I have placed you in the chamber of your youth, and Miss Tyninghame in the large room opposite at the end of the corridor." The earl nodded dismissal to the servants. They dispersed quickly, though Prym cast many backward

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glances at his reinstated master. Mrs. Inniskip and Mrs. Lochmaddy hurried off together. "You belong here," Rupert commented to Delia with an intimate smile, when they were at last alone. "I do not feel it," she protested, turning away from the warmth of his glance. "Well, you look it," he insisted with a laugh. He indicated a nearby portrait of a 17th century ancestor, whose resemblance to them both was marked. Delia gave it a cursory glance. "This is very fine." She smoothed a marble column with her slender hand. "It is all very fine." She gestured at the gilt pier glasses and marble-topped tables, and the fine plaster work. "The work of Wyatt, in the style of Adam," Rupert divulged. "My father wished to display his worth to the neighbourhood. It was important to him. So the public rooms are all in the first stare of elegance and the rest falling to rack. Come, you will see." He offered his arm. When she accepted it, they mounted the handsome flight of stairs that led to the first floor. "The drawing room, the morning room, and the music room," Torgreave gestured comprehensively at the doors opening from the finely papered and furnished corridor. "But let us go up one more flight," he suggested. At the top of those stairs the passage was not so handsome. Rupert led Delia to a massive oak door and flung it open. "The West Wing," he announced. "Uninhabitable these many years." Delia recoiled from the dusty and dreary length of passage that unfolded before her. Rupert drew the door shut again. They retraced their steps to the opposite wing, where a similar massive door stood open. "The East Wing, in which a few chambers were half-heartedly, inexpensively refurbished by my father. No doubt they were recently occupied by the Slimbridges." They strolled the length of the corridor. "You were unkind to allow them no redecoration," Delia observed, as she peeped in open doors to survey faded hangings and worn carpets. "I was," he agreed. "I can offer only a weak defense of my actions. My feelings about Manningford were so confused that I could not bear to be here, but I could not bear it to be changed." She paused to consider him. She found his look direct, displaying that his confusion was gone. "I have not been without care for the place, you know," he stated. "The lands were always in my hands. With Dougherty's help they have been kept in good heart with good tenants. I undertake my inheritance with no shame. I possess a strong desire to set it all to rights, to make it my home." There was a note of confidence in his voice. "You are, in fact, happy." She smiled warmly. "But for one thing, I am," he agreed.

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She feared he would say more. To forestall him, she queried, "And where is my chamber? I wish to see more of the house -- to see it all -- but I must refresh myself before supper." He acquiesced to her unspoken avoidance of further intimacy. He led her to the end of the passage. A door there led to a comfortably shabby chamber, where Morag Lochmaddy was already unpacking Delia's trunk. "'Til supper," Torgreave saluted her hand casually and departed. In silence, Delia watched Morag bustle about the chamber. Then she crossed to the casemented window to examine the darkness without. A fat crescent moon was illuminating an old-fashioned knot garden below. Mrs. Lochmaddy uttered an exclamation of annoyance as the door of the massive walnut press squeaked on opening. Delia turned from the window. "Morag, you have been irritated out of all proportion since you discovered I would make this journey. You may as well say your piece. Perhaps it will improve your disposition." The tall Scotswoman finished laying gowns within the press. Then she folded her arms uncompromisingly, and said, "Ye helped me Miss, when I sorely needed it, after my Robert was killed on the Peninsula. I have taken some pride in your social success, and felt as protective as an elder sister in all these years. So I take leave to tell ye, you are making a great mistake with his lordship. Ye cannot reform a rake. No more can you fix this house. 'Tis all show...the drawing rooms and corridors up to scratch, and the kitchens and pantries -- the parts that are necessities -- falling to wrack." "His lordship means to improve all that now. We shall fix it." "My point being he should have been doing it these past ten years, rather than wasting himself and his ready in London!" the woman exclaimed. "Your coming here, our being here is the biggest mistake. Indeed it is improper no matter which end you ponder." "How do you see that?" Delia crossed to the dressing table, and fiddled with the brushes that had just been laid out. In the light of a single branch of candles, she could see Morag reflected in the oval glass set on the oak table. "If you are not his lordship's sister, it is improper for you to be a lone guest in his home. And if you are his sister, then the way you look at each other is improper." She primmed her mouth and stared at her mistress's back with a mixture of pity and irritation. Delia found her hands were shaking. She was as much moved by the older woman's declaration of affection and support, as she was angered by her strictures. "I do not suppose I have ever heard you speak so many words together before," she managed to say. "I will not justify my actions to you but hope that you will feel more the thing having expressed your opinions. If you do not, you are of course free to leave my service." "I wouldna," the woman returned to her customary taciturnity. "Ye'll have to turn me off."

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"I wouldna," Delia mocked. She dismissed the conversation saying, "I will change for dinner. Something simple, perhaps the green crape." Despite her appearance of calm, that exchange haunted Delia throughout dinner. Every time she looked at the earl, she wondered what it was that Morag interpreted in the glance. For his part, his tension seemed to have melted. He was at home, and obviously happy to be so. His conversation held a gaiety and spontaneity which she had not experienced from him before. She found herself laughing in spite of her thoughts. She satisfied her hunger before appraising her surroundings. Then she discovered that the dining room was as fine as the entry hall had been. The fact that the damask curtains had faded from their original beauty, and that there was carefully mended wear in the deep carpet, detracted little from its elegance. "How do you like it?" Rupert queried. "Manningford? Very much indeed. Or can you mean the supper? The cook has managed very well on short notice. The chicken is delightful." "I am happy that both please you, but it was the house that concerned me." His glance appreciated her levity. "I shall call in the builders as soon as may be. There is an excellent firm in Leicester as I recall. Dougherty will know." "You seem well pleased with your return," Delia commented. "I experienced such trepidation as I have not for ten years, on our journey here from Edinburgh," he admitted. "I am aware I was not good company. But now suddenly I feel reconciled with the past and eager for the future." He exhibited a boyish delight that gratified Delia. When they were finished, he did not wait upon port in the dining room, but escorted Delia to the drawing room. The beauty of its plastered ceiling and silk-hung walls drew a surprised exclamation from her. "You will be happy here." "I had forgot how beautiful it is," he mused. She watched him run a strong hand along the mantle. A large fire blazed brightly and candles gleamed on every table. Inniskip had even conjured flowers in the face of March chills. Delia heard sounds of an arrival in the hall. "Ah, Charles, if I do not mistake..." Torgreave strode to the door just as it opened and embraced his younger brother. Delia was delighted by their joy. "Rupert!" His brother seemed as eager for greeting as the earl. "It has seemed an age since we all left London. Indeed things appeared so much the same when I returned here, that I could scarcely believe all that had happened. But now to see you here, at home, at last...well, I thank God." "Spoken like a true clergyman," Rupert observed. Delia noted a touch of his old sharpness. Charles however had seen Delia and hurried to her. "You, ma'am! I did not expect your return with Rupert, but I am glad of it."

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"We are still in search of answers." She felt a need to excuse her presence. "I begged her to come," Rupert interpolated. "We are still seeking the reason for our resemblance, but I also have need of her here. I have not told her yet..." Puzzled, Delia flashed her gaze to him, from Charles' open youthful face. "I need your help to put Manningford in order," he murmured, isolating them in intimacy with his direct look. "Will you?" "I...I..." Delia could not be unaware of Charles' questioning survey. "We will discuss it," she finished inadequately. She found her workbag to hand and busied herself with laying out her stitchery. "And how did you find Edinburgh?" Charles asked. Delia left Rupert to answer. "I was most impressed. It is a handsome city. I walked about freely, satisfying my curiosity, and was able to see the Castle, Holyrood House and the Old Town without encountering anyone who might marvel at my resemblance to Delia. And I found that if I chose my time carefully, I could even explore their fine new Town wherein Delia's aunt, Lady Barbara and all the Fashionables reside, without jeopardizing Delia's reputation." "And Lady Barbara? Found you any information?" "We found little of worth. A hint of marital discord, which may or may not support a questioning of Delia's parentage. Lady Barbara is an intelligent, charming woman of great understanding." Rupert would have continued to discuss Scotland, but Charles seemed to have lost interest as he surveyed the chamber about them. "I say, Mrs. Inniskip has done well. The Slimbridges had removed their furniture, and the place appeared devilish empty when I looked it over with Prym. All this was stored in the West Wing. I understand Inniskip hired several young fellows from the village and moved it all to her satisfaction. She has had housemaids polishing for days." "She is a wonder...for all she nearly ruined our lives," the earl stated with another of those intimate smiles directed at Delia. She could only be glad Morag Lochmaddy was not present to observe it. She turned to Charles. "Have you word from Miss Slimbridge? How does she go on in London?" He flushed. "We...we are torn with our need to communicate and the fact that it is wrong to do so without Sir Thomas' permission. But Lady Slimbridge is sympathetic and so I have had three letters. Susannah is enjoying a gentle round of activities for of course the Season has not as yet begun in earnest. She does say they have seen the Grand Duchess Catherine in the park and look forward to the arrival of Louis Phillipe." "Well, as long as Lady Slimbridge condones your correspondence I think you need have no concerns about propriety, but may enjoy your letters." "Susannah's last letter was brief." His uncertain concern was touching.

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"She is busy, depend upon it," Delia said. " Society, London, all the sights. It is all of it new to her remember." "London is ever a jumble," Torgreave commented, "and with the peace it will be more so, until everyone rushes over to Paris." "Will they?" queried Delia. "You may be sure of it," the earl stated. "Our nation's dislike of things French will be easily overcome." "Some say you enjoyed all things French despite the war," Charles ventured. He met a steady stare from his brother. "Well, you may say that I did not admire the Corsican! However I did not regard his depredations as a reason to cast off my French friends, and deprive myself of the delights of French culture," Rupert said. Delia sensed a reserve about his words, despite his candid air. She wondered at it but could discern nothing from his still, aristocratic features. He turned to Delia apparently regaining his newfound cheer. "Come, let me show you the library, my dear. Charles, join us." The library opened from the great entry hall on the ground floor of Manningford. It was a vast, old-fashioned paneled room with bookcases filled to overflowing with volumes. There were numerous substantial tables surrounded by equally massive chairs, and broad windows that would, in daytime, flood the room with light. "Inniskip's polishers have been in here also," Charles exclaimed. "Sir Thomas is not of a bookish nature, and the room was little used during their tenancy." "I am glad to hear it," Rupert murmured crossing the room, "though it sounds small minded. Ah, my telescope," he seized the long instrument from a corner table. "So many times have I wished for it these ten years." Delia crossed to his side. "A celestial globe, and a terrestrial," she exclaimed, then added in surprise, "Your orrery!" "I had Inniskip bring it. And this is a lunar globe, a Selenographia." He indicated the model on yet another table. "I remember when Grandfather brought you that," Charles offered, strolling the room. He exuded contentment. "I could not imagine your excitement." "Father of my lady mother." Rupert explained to Delia. "He died three months after that visit." He strode to the open door, and said to a footman in the hall, "We require the fire to be built up. Advise Prym we will take tea in the library." Charles smiled beatifically at Delia and relaxed into a chair near the fireplace. "It is wonderful to be at home." ***

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Despite his joy at his brother's return to Manningford, Charles had his own home, and responsibilities. Delia and Rupert were soon left in company in the great house. At breakfast the next morning, Torgreave outlined his plans. "I think we must examine the house, room by room for any clue that my father traveled to Scotland. If we are fortunate we will discover something to confirm our suppositions. If we are not -- if we discover nothing -- it will have been cathartic, for me at least, to explore every room. As we do this survey, I wish to plan for the renovations so badly needed. If you will, I would like your help. You have a fine eye for design, decoration and colour. Will you apply it to Manningford?" Delia was silent in the face of his eager request, flattered by his compliment, drawn to the task, and unable to comply. "I think I must not. I would delight in it, I cannot deny, but were I to invest my energies and emotions in such a project I would be loath to leave it. And I must leave it eventually." "I hope not, most devoutly. I hope you may stay to enjoy it, even make your home here." "That will not happen. You must not say so." She strove to bring a lighter note to the exchange. "Besides you might dislike what I would do, and be left with unpleasant reminders of me." "That I will risk, for it is not possible." There were unspoken depths to that remark, and Delia chose to deny they existed. She could not deny her liking of the project. "Please," he persuaded gently. "Money will be no obstacle. For all I have been a drunkard and a wastrel, there are funds enough." She chuckled as he intended. "Very well," she said, at last. They found nothing in the chambers of Manningford Tower to answer their questions. As Torgreave planned, they visited every room in the great house. They turned over each apartment's contents, examined its appointments and looked for evidence of travel or indications of misconduct. But there were no hints and there was no proof. They overcame their disappointment in time. In each chamber, they decided upon repairs, refurbishments and renovations. Charles and Bowland both helped and hindered the work. Morag Lochmaddy had been seconded by Mrs. Inniskip to aid in turning out airing cupboards and china dressers, and Delia was much relieved to have her companion's disapproval removed from her presence. Weeks later, toward the end of March, Delia was prepared to admit it all had been an exercise in futility. She would acknowledge that the house had needed the attention that they had lavished upon it. She might admit that Rupert had become essential to her happiness. The improvement in Rupert's health and nature in the days they spent together had been little short of wonderful. But she could not concede that, as Rupert still insisted, there was a place for her in the future of Manningford Tower. She must soon leave. Delia could not but contrast this day with the bitterly cold, slate-grey occasion on which she had first seen Manningford. Now, in the countryside, the trees showed fat, sticky buds, and daffodils were blooming under a sun gleaming in an opalescent sky. Ironically as the weather had improved, her spirits had become depressed.

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With a deep sigh, she took her notes regarding decorations in hand and withdrew to the morning room. She had arrived at the point of planning colours and choosing fabrics for draperies and upholstery for the Tower. She would be aided by the silks from her workbag and samples of textiles that Dougherty fetched for her from Leicester. Rupert was abroad with Charles, as he often was these days, meeting tenants, planning estate work, discussing projects and schemes with his steward. Delia was not to be left alone with her thoughts however. Morag Lochmaddy joined her in the drawing room and took up her ever-present knitting. She seemed disposed to talk. "Half the servants regard ye as the new mistress." Delia ignored the statement, as she weighed the merits of brocade as opposed to damask. Mrs. Lochmaddy continued, "Mrs. Inniskip marvels at your grasp of the needs of the kitchen and airing cupboards. Prym will undertake nothing without your approval and they say they have never known the earl so happy." Delia said nothing, apparently engrossed in her lists. "The builders are to arrive tomorrow, and the rector, according to servants' hall gossip, has announced to the gentry that his brother is returned for good and all. The neighbourhood is reserving judgment, and wondering about the cousin said to have such a strong family resemblance." "Our situation prompts extended comment from you once more." Delia half-turned in her chair to survey her companion, abandoning all pretense of concentration on her task. "Shall we be staying on then?" queried Mrs. Lochmaddy. Delia breathed a deep sigh, but she had quite determined her course, and the time had come to make it public. "No. There is no reason for us to delay our return to Edinburgh. I have already sent a letter to Lady Barbara." "'Tis not before time," her companion stated. Delia turned back to her employment abruptly, unwilling to witness the satisfaction on Morag's face. She announced the news of her departure to Rupert and Charles at supper that same evening. The earl said nothing, but put down his wineglass very carefully, and stared into its ruby depths. Charles burst into speech. "Oh I say you must not. I had settled it that you would return to London with us...help Miss Slimbridge and I win Sir Thomas around. Please say you will, cousin." He addressed her more and more easily as cousin, it apparently suiting his mind and morals to regard her so. She shook her dark head at him now, her smile a little forced. "You will do very well without me. Sir Thomas is bound to be impressed by Rupert's industry, and I have been long enough from my home. We will, I believe, now find nothing to satisfy our curiosity, and so I will go." "Before even we have spoken to Augustus?" Rupert spoke quietly, his deep voice calm.

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"Yes," she responded simply, not venturing to meet his unwavering gaze. "If Mr. Manningford has any information, which I doubt he will, you may write of it to me." "We do still need your assistance, both my brother and I." He was persuasive. "You must manage without me. Do not," she choked out, "Do not, I beg of you, cajole me." She surveyed both men through stricken eyes, unable to halt the tears that coursed relentlessly down her cheeks. Rupert made a convulsive gesture with his left hand, his right knuckles white on the fragile stem of his goblet. Charles stared gloomily at his plate. "Please, you must excuse me." Delia disregarded her unfinished meal and thrust back her chair. She rose and precipitately withdrew from the dining room. *** In the moonlit depths of that same night, Delia took her candle, and quietly trod the corridors and the staircases to the library. She could not sleep and when pacing her bedchamber became unbearable, she thought to find a book to occupy her mind and divert her emotions. An hour later, she was perched on a set of steps, contemplating the moonlit park clearly visible through the wide windows. Her candle guttered near the orrery on a distant table. She heard a small sound, and then a second, and without turning her head, she knew Torgreave had joined her. "Look," she whispered. With a small gesture, she indicated the roe deer confidently grazing beyond the ha-ha. He was at the foot of the steps, robed in his banyan, the moonlight silvering his dark head. "I know. I was used as a child, to rise with nightmares. I would watch them then...free...wild...content..." He turned and held his hand out to her, to aid her in dismounting the steps. She rose and obediently descended, then halted at the sound of his harshly in- drawn breath. She was uncomfortably aware of her loosed hair, streaming darkly to her waist, her slender form clothed in a soft cerulean robe. Her face was level with his when his hands touched her shoulders, and then stroked back clinging tendrils of silken hair from her forehead. "I could not sleep," she said, breaking the taut silence. He dropped his hands, stepped back from her. "Nor I." He swung away to stare at the moonlight. "You cannot leave me...cannot leave Manningford." "I can and I must." He appeared to struggle in the grip of powerful emotion, and at last, said in a strangled voice, "You cannot be my sister. You must not. I love you; your wit, your kindness, your care for my brother, my staff, everyone in your sphere. Your mind, your heart are mine, I know it."

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She struggled into speech, torn between delight and horror. "Rupert,you must not. What if...what if you are my brother?" Her candle flickered out. "This is the greatest sin we can commit short of murder." The moonlight bathed them in intimacy. His anguish was as evident as hers was as he strove to regain control of his emotions. "Can you say you do not love me?" "Surely my love for you is that for a brother, the same as I feel for Charles." "Do you hunger for Charles' embrace, for his presence at your side for the rest of your life, for his children?" "Stop! I will not think of that, any of it, unless I know our relationship is innocent, beyond the shadow of incest. I would never risk such a sin." "I cannot think we are brother and sister," he whispered brokenly. "Surely there would be some apprehension of the senses, some revulsion of the blood in contemplating kisses and caresses with a sibling. I feel nothing of that. I want you." Delia shuddered, tears threatening to drown her restraint. "Would you marry me if you knew with certainty that we were but cousins?" he queried, reaching to smooth again her tumbled hair. Delia found herself incapable of moving, thrilling at his touch, fearing to meet his anguished gaze. "I would," she said on a sob. "Do not cry," he begged. "Dear God, do not weep. I will find out. If it takes forever, I will prove that we are naught but cousins and that we are free to express our love." "I pray you will. But I dare not stay." Whether she meant she must not stay in the room with him, in the house, or in England, she did not know. On a sob, she fled in tears out the door, and up the worn stairs, in darkness, to her chamber. Torgreave dropped into a chair with a groan, and surveyed his shaking hands ruefully before covering his face with them, in anguish. Delia could not bear to remain above stairs the next morning. Morag was packing their trunks, with a degree of pleasure she did not care to observe. But neither did she wish to descend the stairs, for below were Charles and Rupert, and explanations and confrontations. When she reached the breakfast room however, she found it empty but for Prym. Her relief was destroyed by his words; they brought her a new worry. "Major Rhyle is come," he informed her, dismissing the maid and serving her breakfast himself. The old man seemed to wish to be of service, or at least he wished to discuss his anxieties. "He confided that he stayed the night in Leicester. He has been closeted with his lordship this half hour. Voices have been raised." Delia understood then. He feared their newfound content was to be disturbed.

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"Major Rhyle is a good friend. I am convinced their disagreement will be of short duration." She could see the old butler gained peace from her words, but cold fear clutched her own heart. What if Major Rhyle had come to denounce Rupert as a spy? The revelations of the previous night were as nothing compared to the thought of Rupert in desperate trouble. She ate toasted bread, and eggs, and even a slice of gammon without notice. She drank coffee rather than chocolate, though she detested it. When Prym showed Charles into the room, she greeted him with relief. The butler had already informed him of the new arrival. "Rhyle is here?" he demanded, revealing that the same fears gripped him. She nodded. "They have argued," she added. A frown creased her smooth brow. His open face darkened. Before he could speak, Prym returned. "His lordship wishes you both will attend him in the library," he announced, and led the way. Within the library, the two tall men did not appear to be at odds. They sat comfortably at the table which bore Torgreave's orrery. A stack of papers loosely bound with dark ribbon lay before Rhyle. Both men rose on Delia's entrance, and in turn bowed over her hand. It was the earl however who retained it, as Charles hurried in. Rhyle said, "I am delighted to encounter you again, Miss Tyninghame." He shot an astute look at Rupert. "I did not expect it." Delia withdrew her trembling fingers from Rupert's and would not meet his eyes. "I am even now preparing to return to Edinburgh." "Gideon has brought news," Rupert spoke for the first time. "I am to go to London -- tomorrow -- at Prinny's behest." Delia and Charles looked to Major Rhyle for clarification, for the earl had turned to the window. "Torgreave provided a great service to the Prince, and our country during the recent war. He carried false information to the French on numerous occasions. He endangered his personal safety, by being available in French society, when the English were hated. These reports detail his activities." The big man gestured at the stack of paper. "He was a spy," Charles whispered. Rhyle nodded. "But not as society thought, not a spy for the French, but for England. He allowed his reputation to be tarnished by suspicion, and his character to be reviled. The Prince Regent wishes to thank him publicly for his work. I am having the devil's own time convincing him to allow it." Delia crossed to Torgreave and faced him squarely. "Why did you not tell us? We did not believe the gossip, the tales, but you might have relieved us." A twisted smile pulled his lips. "My behaviour was distinctly unheroic. My reputation was already badly tarnished, that was why the French let me run tame in their salons. They thought I was a worthless rake, a drunken scientific sophiste babbling useful secrets. Well, I was on the go, but not so much that I could

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not distinguish which information I would reveal and which I would not." "And why do you not wish to attend the Prince in London?" It might have been only the two of them in the room. "Because the ton will choose to lionize me, and I have no wish for it. They will ignore my excesses, for which they have despised me, and decide to fawn on me. My dissipations, my debauchery of the past ten years was real. I only put my worst habits to work a little in the last two years." "You were of immense service," Rhyle reasserted. Torgreave thanked him with a tense, unsmiling bow. "I have agreed to accept gratitude. But I will not go to London alone. Charles, I shall want your company, and Delia I would be grateful for yours." "I will gladly come," Charles said immediately. Rhyle and Charles poured themselves wine from a decanter on the table, and Charles plied the Major with questions. "I am going home," Delia stated in an undertone to Rupert. "Please! I will beg, cajole, you...stay! You could finish the work you have begun on Manningford. You might assist Charles with his romance. You would support me." Her hand went out to him and he seized it eagerly. "It is madness to remain in close proximity," she murmured. "I will be the image of rectitude," Torgreave assured her. "And I will find Augustus and see what he knows of the past." Still she hesitated. Looking away from his magnetic blue eyes, she encountered the gazes of the other men, both hopeful of her aid as well. "Very well," she spoke to them all. "I will come but I can imagine what Morag Lochmaddy will say." In fact Morag had little to say. Her mouth tightened as she briefly considered her mistress, but she did not pause in her packing. "We should return to Edinburgh," she muttered. "We should," Delia agreed. "But I cannot. I cannot leave. They have need of me." She pleaded for understanding, though she scarcely understood her own weakness. "And what have you need of?" the Scotswoman queried, folding the last gown into the broad trunk. Delia had wished not to think of that. Her anguished gaze dropped to her hands. She wandered the chamber, restlessly plaiting the fringe of her shawl. She need not have answered her maid, but she did. "What I cannot have," she admitted sadly. "Only what I cannot have."

"Dear Aunt, I write in haste. We travel on the morrow to London. Our direction will be Grillon's Hotel. You must not think me Mad. There are many reasons for the journey, and I have been

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Convinced of their Importance. I will write again from Town."

CHAPTER SEVEN "That was a mad scramble," Charles pronounced, as they departed Manningford the next morning. They all three were installed in the coach by ten of the clock. "I sent a message to my curate. I hope to heaven it reaches him," he added. "And I hope Jane packed my razor." The coachman that the earl had hired in Edinburgh gave his horses the office to start. Torgreave paid little heed to Charles' worries, but said, "You shall not object to staying at an hotel in London, I hope? I wish the staff to remain here at the Tower. I find it difficult to leave what I have just regained. But at least if I do not open the town house, it will seem more credible to me that I will return shortly to Manningford." The rector stretched out his long legs and yawned widely behind his gloved hand. "We will all return," he commented. "And no, I shall not object to an hotel." Delia was engaged in waving to Major Rhyle from the window of the coach. He had elected to return to London on horseback, as he had come. The weather was warm, redolent of the impending spring. "I trust Grillon's will suit you?" Rupert found himself putting the query again in an effort to turn Delia's attention from his friend Rhyle. He succeeded. She leaned back against the plum velvet squabs, and turned wide blue eyes on him. "You must know I have no knowledge of London hotels, but rely upon your judgment," she said. "A sad commentary," Charles snorted from across the coach. "She may rely on my judgment of hotels, halfling." Rupert reproved his younger brother. "If little else." Delia did not appear amused by their repartee. "I am relieved that you hired a chaise for Bowland and Morag," she confessed to Rupert. "Morag's disapproval is become quite fatiguing." "I could not reconcile myself to spending two more days cooped in a coach with her," Rupert said. Charles looked enquiringly from Rupert to Delia. "She believes I should have returned to Edinburgh today," Delia explained. "Indeed, she thinks I should never have left it." "Ah," he nodded. He was apparently unconscious of any uncomfortable undercurrents between his brother and Delia, whom he regarded as his cousin. His thoughts obviously turned on his own problems for he said, "You will attend upon Miss Slimbridge, immediately we reach London, Delia?" She disclaimed any such intention. "It is surely your place to do so. You must leave cards and announce our return and our whereabouts." "Indeed, you must undertake that duty, Charles," Rupert confirmed. He flung out his great-coated arm to

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steady Delia as the coach lurched through a particularly poor section of road. She visibly recoiled from the sensations caused by his touch, and her expression, though fleeting, was one of anguish. Charles, observing her face, mistook the reason for her emotions. "Roads are dreadful," he said. He was cheerful, intent upon rallying her supposed weakness. "Bound to be after the frost and snow this winter. You have been jaunting the countryside on the worst of 'em. I suppose you will call a halt when they are dry." She summoned a weak smile for his gentle humour. The earl's disturbing blue gaze she avoided. Charles returned to his previous point. "It may be my place to announce our return but I depend upon Delia to further my cause." He challenged Torgreave with a sharp look. "She wishes not to become involved with the ton," Rupert retorted. "Doing the pretty to the Slimbridges does not entail presentation at Court." Charles was uncharacteristically sarcastic. "That is enough," Delia interrupted them. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. "I have no objection to assisting Charles in any small way, of course. But I have lived much in society and I know its ways. I have a horror of becoming grist for the gossip mill because of my resemblance to Rupert. I will no longer remain veiled, and I shall make the best I can of this unexpected return to London. But I will live retired." "I shall be the grist for the gossips," Rupert stated. He affected a falsetto voice with difficulty. "'Who would have thought Torgreave was so high-minded? He is a hero, and so romantic. All of his wicked ways must have been a ruse.'" Charles shook with laughter. Delia was obviously amused. "It is true," she agreed, "They will fawn on you. But Rupert, you do deserve the recognition and their gratitude." "Bah! I did it because people I knew were daily being killed." "You would also have been, had your mission been discovered," Charles reminded him. "I would not have cared, at the time. I felt my life valueless." His companions were briefly silent. Delia rubbed her brow again. Torgreave wondered if she had the headache. "The people have need of heroes," she commented. "There are others more worthy of the position than I." Delia cast an imploring look at Charles, who offered, "You do not have a choice, Rupert, according to Rhyle. For once, you ain't in charge. You help the Regent, Delia can help me, and we shall all be back at Manningford before you can blink." The simplicity of his views struck Torgreave and Delia to silence. The atmosphere of tension within the carriage lessened. But Rupert could only wish that matters were so uncomplicated.

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*** If the management of Grillon's establishment in Albemarle Street was surprised by the arrival of the dissolute Earl of Torgreave and his party, they did not indicate it by so much as a flicker of an eyelash. The chambers the party required were numerous, and Grillon's responded with its best and most private suite. When they dined, following their arrival, Torgreave said, "I suspect Gideon must have alerted them to the possibility of my custom. He probably imparted subtle hints on my supposed honours. The management is ardent in its pursuit of my satisfaction. Have you everything you wish, Delia?" His choice of words was unfortunate. "I do," she confirmed, with subtle, unintended emphasis. She coloured when his gaze flickered. "The accommodation is most comfortable," she added, knowing the comment to be inadequate. "I shall leave cards tomorrow," Charles announced, apparently following his own train of thought. His companions at table smiled at his single-mindedness. Intent upon distraction, they also considered the morrow. "I shall visit at Gillows' establishment, for furnishings," Delia said. She strove to be cheerful. And she was mindful of the lists of Manningford's requirements residing in her reticule. "I must attend upon Prinny," Rupert said. "The thought of dancing attendance upon him and Louis Philippe gives me no pleasure at all. Had I known my fate, I might have spied for the Corsican." Delia and Charles only laughed. As he trod up the steps of Carlton House together with Gideon Rhyle the next day, Torgreave knew that he had more than half meant his statement of the previous evening. Association with two fat self-serving monarchs was not what he sought, though some might think it an honour. It was the beginning of a fiendish week for Torgreave. Reports of his 'service to the nation' -- the word 'spy' was never used -- filled the news journals. Invitations poured into the suite at Grillon's. Delia appointed herself his secretary, and sorted the billets for his perusal. He was tossing them over impatiently on Thursday, in her company, when Rhyle and Captain Finglas were announced. "I will go to Holland House. I will not attend on the Devonshires," he stated even as the gentlemen bowed to Delia. "I refuse to be seen at Almack's. Those hypocritical cats have been shredding my character, and envying my exploits, for years. And I categorically reject coming-out balls and masquerades." He dumped a handful of thick parchment on a silver tray for removal by the hotel footman. The Major and Finglas roared with laughter, and Delia smothered a nascent chuckle. Rupert conjured a ferocious frown. "I bring good news," Rhyle began when he could speak. "Prinny has found another poor soul to lionize. Younger son of Viscount Penton and much more malleable than you. He is to be brought to town next week. So while the Regent expects to continue to bask reflected in your glory, the focus of attention will be elsewhere."

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"This is good news indeed," Rupert threw his long length into a chair, and allowed a flood of relief to wash over him. "If I needed to have the hypocrisy of theton born in upon me, I have had it this week." He had found the adulation more difficult to bear than even he had expected, and the thought of respite was sweet. "You have," Rhyle confirmed. "And an ugly sight it has been." He bent over the center table admiring Delia's needlework that reposed thereon. Upon straightening, he queried, "Where is Charles today?" "Out reveling in my newfound respectability, accepting congratulations on my behalf, and feeling himself like the prodigal son," Torgreave responded with a satiric grin. "Pompous young fool," Rhyle muttered. He was rebuked by Delia's sudden frown. "Not at all," Rupert corrected. "Your assessments are usually frighteningly accurate, Gideon, but you must be addled by loyalty to me when it comes to Charles. My brother is not pompous, and he deserves to experience normality. I have caused him enough anguish." "No more than your father caused you." "But why should Charles pay for that?" Rupert shook his dark head. "He's a good man. My father would be proud of him. I am proud of him." Delia seemed pleased by Torgreave's words. "I am happy to see you, Miss Tyninghame." Captain Finglas finally chose to speak. "It is a great pleasure to me to renew our acquaintance," she said with sincerity. The inarticulate Irishman had become a favourite of hers on her previous visit to London. He blushed, and stammered, "I...I have need of your excellent advice, Miss." "What can you mean?" she asked with a smile. Rupert and Rhyle fell into conversation about the visiting European nobility. "I have had the opportunity to become acquainted with M-Miss Aurora Taunton. I never before met her. She is quite p-perfect." He paused, apparently dwelling upon the characteristics of the lady that led him to make his extravagant statement. He returned to speech abruptly. "But Lady T-Taunton apparently holds no great opinion of Irish titles." "Oh, dear." "I have a hope that Aurora -- Miss T-Taunton -- returns my p-partiality. But I can not be at all certain of her feelings. She blows hot and cold, 'til I am half d-distracted. She says if I am a friend of Hugh's I must be as wicked as he. Then she turns about and says Rhyle and I are the only honourable p-pair of her brother's friends." "She is very young," Delia offered carefully. "And full of fun, experiencing the excitement of her first Season."

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"You think her f-flighty?" "No, oh no. I have seen a serious, determined side to her. And I think her mother will not be allowed to dictate Aurora's future." "So you give me hope?" "I would not be so presumptuous." "Will you speak with her?" "Lady Taunton? But I am not acquainted!" Delia pointed out with alarm. "No! Not with Lady Taunton," he said. "With Miss Taunton. Discover her feelings for me -- if she holds any -- whatever they may be." Delia gazed at him in dismay. The other gentlemen had stopped speaking. She said hurriedly, "I shall. I can promise nothing, but I will try." Charles' abrupt entrance captured everyone's attention. The earl hailed his younger brother. "I am to be removed from the limelight. Congratulate me!" "What?" the rector seemed preoccupied. "Oh, very well done. I suppose you will return to Manningford just when I have need of you." "What has happened?" Rupert straightened in his chair, all his attention focused upon Charles. "Little of consequence..." his brother mumbled. "I encountered Sir Thomas in North Audley Street. He informed me that your commendations from Prinny did nothing to recommend you in his mind, for a spy has little moral fibre, no matter what side he upholds. He all but ordered me from the house." Goaded Torgreave snapped, "I pity you for desiring the daughter so much you are prepared to take that man on as father-in-law." "Well I shall not offer hercarte blanche , which is no doubt what you would do!" "I never took advantage of innocent young..." Unnoticed by the combatants, Major Rhyle and Captain Finglas rose to depart. Delia accompanied them to the door. "Will you drive out with me tomorrow?" the Major enquired. "The primroses have blossomed in the Green Park, and make a brave show." The argument behind Delia seemed to swell. "I should be delighted," she thanked him. "But now you must excuse me. Emotions run strong these days. I am needed often as peacemaker." Rhyle kissed her hand, and departed on a rumbling chuckle. Finglas followed him closely. Delia pressed her index fingers to her temples and whirled on the two brothers behind her. They still

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argued. "Enough! Rupert, if you will set aside those invitations you wish accepted I will answer them for you. And despite the decrease in your consequence, I believe you are to attend upon the Grand Duchess this afternoon." The earl grinned unrepentantly at her. "You put me in mind of our old nurse," he said. "Charles, did Delia not sound like Rimman of nursery days?" "Our quarrel was of nursery nature," his brother admitted guiltily. Delia seated herself of the sopha and patted the place beside her on the striped silk. "Charles, come and tell me what has put you all on end." He joined her obediently. In response to her question he said, "Taunton!" "Hugh?" Rupert queried, pausing in his sorting of invitations. Delia cast him a minatory look and he was silenced. "What has Mr. Taunton done?" she asked. "He has made himself dashed agreeable to Susannah. Her conversation was all of him. He takes her out to drive, dances with her, anticipates her slightest whim. And his sister Aurora has become Susannah's greatest friend." "Devil a bit," the earl sounded unsurprised. Delia glared at him again. "Charles, you must remember that this is Susannah's first visit to London." She chose her words of comfort with care, as she had with Captain Finglas. "She is doubtless overwhelmed by the addresses of town beaux, and she will attract their attention for she is lovely. However, her affection for you is deep. Allow Susannah her innocent fun, and be always prepared to assure her of your unchanging attachment." Charles seemed much struck by her words, and patted her hand absently. "You must be right, but you will visit her?" He still was anxious. "I will," she assured him. He rose, and wandered off to his chamber, deep in thought. She looked to Rupert to find him smiling at her in a disturbing, intimate manner. It brought back all her unease and constraint, but he seemed unaware of it. "What have you determined upon doing this afternoon? You have promised Egon you will visit Miss Taunton, and Charles that you will visit Miss Slimbridge." "Despite my promises, I have formed the intention of attending upon Mr. Wedgewood's Showroom in York Street, with Mrs. Lochmaddy." Striving for composure, she rose and took the invitations he had selected. She laid them on the escritoire, for later response. "And we shall visit also a new establishment of Mr. George Bullock, said to be an excellent designer and cabinetmaker." "Bullock?" His query was absent-minded. His survey of her and his admiration were obvious.

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"Please...you must not look at me so," she requested. She wrapped her arms about her slim waist self-consciously. Rupert's drawn face suffused with colour. She continued nervously, "When I visited the Egyptian Hall I fell into conversation with Mr. William Bullock, the proprietor. He divulged that his brother was on the point of opening a shop catering to the decoration of interiors. Well," she corrected herself, "it cannot be solely a shop for it is in Tenterden Street. He must reside there also. I have sent word that I wish to examine his goods, and am invited." Torgreave had with difficulty regained hissang-froid . "If you are impressed you must order as you wish, to my account. Manningford shall be just as you like it." "It little matters how I like it," she said, with sad, quiet emphasis. "I doubt I shall see it finished." "Do not say so," he bit out, his self-possession abandoning him. He took a step towards her. She recoiled and he swung about and departed the room. They did not meet again that day until supper was served in their private parlour late in the evening. "And where is Charles?" the earl asked. He endeavoured to strike a note of normalcy, after their fraught separation earlier in the day. Mrs. Lochmaddy dined with them, and they were waited upon by the hotel's servants. Nothing, he thought gloomily, could be more proper. "He informs me he has met with a number of old friends. He is now embarked on a social whirl of his own, invited to all manner of routs and theatre parties even though the season has not begun," Delia responded. "I believe he hopes he may encounter Miss Slimbridge." She shook her head, then brightened. "Rupert, is it not Charles' birthday, in a sen'night or so?" Torgreave was caught unawares, and searched his memory. "I cannot think how you knew, but I believe you are right. Yes, I am certain of it. Ten days hence. He will be five or six and twenty." "Six and twenty," Delia confirmed. "I had it from Inniskip." "I should have known it." "I think we should celebrate his birthday," Delia announced. Morag directed a frowning look at her. Delia ignored it. Torgreave transferred his consideration from a dish of plaice on the table before him to her face. "Now why should we do that?" he asked. "It will be an opportunity for you both to establish your reconciliation," she suggested. "And for you to confirm your...your..." "Newfound respectability?" He provided words for her hesitation. "As you say," she agreed. Mrs. Lochmaddy snorted.

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"Perhaps you are right," he said. "Have you more thoughts on the sort of celebration we should undertake?" "I am thinking of a dinner, with conversation and music to follow. I daresay Mr. Grillon can provide us with a pianoforte. No cards or dancing. And we shall invite the Slimbridges." Torgreave was temporarily speechless. But he managed after a moment to say, "And we shall impress Sir Thomas with respectable domesticity? Well, I can see no objection, except possibly from Mrs. Lochmaddy." He turned his head to regard the Scotswoman. "Will you share your reservations with us, ma'am?" "Miss Delia would be better having no acquaintance at all, my lord, than entertaining all and sundry." Rupert was pleased to be sardonic. "All and sundry? Good God Delia, who would be your other guests?" Delia glared at her companion. Rupert was rebuked with a glance. But she responded evenly to his inquiry. "Major Rhyle, of course, and Mr. Taunton, who would perhaps escort his mother and sister. Oh, the numbers are uneven! Well Maria, the younger sister of Susannah might join us. It is not a formal affair. If you agree, I shall visit Lady Slimbridge tomorrow and beg their company most prettily." "As you wish," Rupert said. "It may aid Charles greatly. You are kind to trouble yourself, given your dislike of the ton." "I have no dislike of the ton," she denied. "I merely thought to avoid the Season. However, I am here, and I am drawn into society. I had as well make the best of it. And it is no trouble to aid Charles," Delia said. "I regard him a brother." The earl's mood was transformed. His blue eyes darkened to indigo. "I shall be at Carlton House this evening," he informed her. An uncomfortable silence fell. Delia did not immediately respond to the challenge he instilled in his words. As the port was brought to the table, Mrs. Lochmaddy excused herself. Before following her companion from the chamber, Delia queried, "Must you go out?" He stared at her. With scarcely concealed anguish, he replied, "Yes. Even did the Regent not command it, I could not spend the evening in quiet company with you." She blushed deeply and he knew that she was aware that such an evening, which they had spent happily in previous days, was no longer possible. And that it was because of the love that was now declared between them. "I have had word of Augustus," Rupert regained his composure with effort. "He is on the continent. He has left Brussels and I shall be apprized shortly of his destination." "His information is all I wait upon," Delia said. She turned to follow Morag to the small withdrawing room.

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"I know it," retorted Torgreave. *** "Miss Tyninghame, we are delighted to have you returned." There was no doubting Lady Slimbridge's sincerity, Delia thought. She seated herself on a comfortable sopha in the impeccable drawing room of the Slimbridges' rented townhouse. Her hostess turned aside for a moment, to request of the butler that her two eldest daughters be informed of her guest. "Thank you for your welcome," Delia responded with equal sincerity. She had grown to like the brisk, sensible lady. "I know my appearance is unexpected. I had the intention of returning to Edinburgh, but Manningford requires much refurbishment. The earl asked me to undertake it. And then of course the Prince Regent required his presence, so I have put off my departure." "We were all much impressed by news of the earl's activities during the recent hostilities." Lady Slimbridge seated herself and took up her needlework. "All?" Delia queried. A mischievous sparkle brightened her eyes. Her ladyship laughed ruefully. "Not all," she admitted. "Quite honestly, Sir Thomas is as stubborn as...as I know not what. He will not accept that the earl might have changed, might have learned from past indiscretions." "Well, I can understand that living at Manningford will not have endeared him, or any of you, to my cousin. I feel I must apologize for the state of the house. It was quite shocking, and I can only beg for your indulgent forgiveness. I know more of the earl now, than when first I made his acquaintance." She chose her words with care. "In his defense I can say only that his youth was difficult. His feelings towards his inheritance were in such disarray that he was not entirely just in his dealings with Sir Thomas. He should have allowed you to do as you would in the house." "As to that my dear, Sir Thomas' stubbornness would not have permitted him to do anything in any event. It was only my desire to dwell in that neighbourhood that led to our leasing the property. All has ended well by the by, for Sir Thomas has chosen to purchase a property, in Warwickshire." "That is good news," Delia exclaimed with genuine pleasure. "You will be pleased to be at home." "I shall," Lady Slimbridge confirmed with a quiet smile. The two eldest Slimbridge daughters entered the chamber. Delia greeted them affectionately, and knew immediately that despite Charles' fears, Susannah's affections had undergone no change. Her smile was as sunny and her manners as unaffected as ever. "How do you go on? Are you enjoying town?" Delia asked. She was inundated with animated response. When eventually the young ladies' chatter diminished, she said, "I have come to extend an invitation." She had all the attention she could wish from Susannah and Maria. "It is for you all. Yes Maria, even you! Charles' birthday is next week, and I thought to hold a little gathering in his honour. Only ten or a dozen friends for dinner, and a conversable evening."

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"I am working him a pair of slippers," Susannah cried, then blushed becomingly. "I...I was aware of his birthday," she faltered, under her mama's reproving gaze. But that lady did not reprimand her. "This is very kind," Lady Slimbridge said. Her response came slowly, and Delia could divine that she was considering her options. "I wonder if I can convince Sir Thomas...?" "I hope you can, for the earl is set upon reform. He wishes his brother's happiness. And he tells me, that for himself, he desires only to retire to Manningford when the Prince Regent has done with him. He does most sincerely dislike the bustle being made at the moment about his exploits." Lady Slimbridge sighed. "Sir Thomas has also taken it in dislike, and may be difficult to convince." "Well I shall leave you with that problem. I am arranging with Mr. Grillon for Wednesday week if you can join us." Delia rose to take her leave. A determined light appeared in Lady Slimbridge's grey eyes as she surveyed her daughters' hopeful faces. "You may depend upon us," she stated. *** On a cloudy Tuesday afternoon, Delia regarded the list in her hand with a sigh. She had sent out the invitations for her dinner party, and her preparations were nearly complete. She pulled nearer the writing desk that Rupert had given her, and stroked her hand thoughtfully over its smooth surface. It had been a mistake to return to London. Every day she spent in Rupert's company made it more difficult to think of separation. The strain was telling on them both. He was kindness itself, when he appeared, but his tension was palpable and the carved lines that bracketed his beautiful mouth had deepened. For herself, her appetite was nonexistent, and her rest disturbed. The work she was doing for Manningford she regarded as an expression of her love for Torgreave, the only expression of it she would allow herself. Her choices would surround him at Manningford when she had returned to Edinburgh; her favourite forms, colours and decorations would remind him of her love. A tear streaked the mahogany of the writing box, and puckered the paper she withdrew from it, but her melancholy was interrupted by the opening of the door. It was Bowland. "Major Rhyle, Miss Delia," he announced with a cheerful nod. The tensions of the household had not gone unnoticed by its retainers. Bowland and Morag Lochmaddy had held several fruitless discussions on the matter. "Show the Major in," she said blinking back her tears, and responding to Bowland's subtle encouragement. The big man entered, and Bowland closed the door quietly. Delia suspected the major's keen eyes detected her distress. He said nothing of it, only remarking, "So now Bowland is butler. He'll enjoy that. He's been all things to Rupert, from tiger to nursemaid." "He is a fine valet too." "And loyal," Rhyle agreed. "I tried to hire him away from Rupert more than once. He said I'm too big to

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do his efforts justice." Delia laughed, her melancholy fading. "The sun has come out. Will you drive out with me?" "I should be glad to," she responded. "I shall fetch my bonnet, if you will wait." He bowed politely, as she hurried off, and he was placidly regarding the street below from the window when she returned. He turned and because he was after all a very presentable gentleman, she was glad that her gypsy bonnet framed her face becomingly and her pelisse was freshly trimmed. "You look charmingly," he said. She hurried into speech fearing that he would enlarge on his feelings. "I brought only a few seasonal garments with me from Edinburgh, so I have had to make several purchases to aid me for the change of seasons." He made no response but offered her his arm as they descended to the entry of the hotel. In the street, he assisted her into his carriage, a simple elegant phaeton suited to his size, drawn by fine chestnuts. "You need have no worry that I shall declare sentiments you do not wish to hear," he said. He nodded to his groom in dismissal and gave the horses the office to start. "I understand your position, and your...attachments...very well. Under different circumstances, who can tell?" He shrugged his massive shoulders. "But I regard you simply as a friend...which Rupert most certainly does not." She blushed deeply. "Is it so obvious?" He considered seriously. "No it is not. But I have an extra regard for Rupert, and I have come to care about you. This is not easy for either of you, and though I am pleased to enjoy your company, I am not certain you have chosen wisely in returning from Edinburgh." "You sound like my aunt," Delia ventured a shaky laugh. "Good God," he exclaimed. "Don't tell them that at the Depot." She chuckled once more, but sobering admitted, "I have thought myself I should not have come. But let us not talk of that. Tell me, how can you and the Captain be so little occupied?" "We have in fact a great deal of work, but it is irregular. I was at Prinny's beck and call until four o'clock this morning." "But 'tis only eleven now," she exclaimed. She gestured about them at the near- deserted Park. "Soldiers do not sleep," he jested, then sobered. "In fact, I had rather be on the march than doing the pretty. I was seconded to the Office and have applied for a return to the field." "The army is your career then?" "It is," he confirmed. "And it was I who involved Rupert in the war effort. When I returned from Spain and discovered him still drinking himself to death, I was concerned. I mentioned the possibility of

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espionage work, in the nature of a distraction for him. We were in need of someone the French did not fear. I blamed myself many times afterward for he put himself in great danger, but it has turned out well enough, for which I thank God." "Though he blames you for this lionizing." "He deserves it. And I think he enjoys it a little at least." Delia's attention was distracted, and she queried, "Major, there is a lady in that carriage. She has been staring at me these several minutes. Do you know why?" Rhyle turned his head and stared quellingly at the woman Delia discreetly indicated. He drove on before speaking. "Well?" Delia demanded. "That was no lady," he said. "A demi-mondaine, one of the few who knew Rupert well. She will be astonished at your resemblance." Delia was silenced by shame for Rupert, then said, "I could never live in London." "Because of such happenings? As I have told you previously, rumour has exaggerated his peccadilloes. His greatest fault was drink, and that he did to forget." A uniformed rider appeared very suddenly, beside the carriage, and Rhyle pulled up his horses. The message was urgent, from the Foreign Office. "I am sorry but I shall have to go," the Major said to Delia. "I will see you home." "It is unfortunate," she said with genuine regret. "Ah look! Perhaps I can save you the trip. There is Miss Taunton, and presumably that is Lady Taunton. I shall beg a seat in their carriage." "Has Egon been pestering you?" Rhyle queried. He maneuvered his phaeton to intercept Lady Taunton's barouche. "He has. I am become sister to you all and matchmaker extraordinary. I will be pleased to make Lady Taunton's acquaintance, previous to Charles' birthday party. We shall see you at our supper?" He drew up his horses and prepared to assist her conversation with the occupants of the other carriage. "Nothing will prevent it," he assured her. *** Delia hurried through her dressing, despite Morag Lochmaddy's grumbles, on the evening of the party. Her nerves were fine drawn, and she wished to consider her arrangements once more before the guests arrived. "Mr. Grillon will leave nothing undone," Morag assured her brusquely. She coaxed a curl from Delia's luxuriant knot of hair.

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"I wish to examine the dining table. You know I always do so at home." "Well, I have done." Morag stood back to scrutinize her work. From the top of Delia's black curls threaded with silver cord, to her narrow blue silk slippers, she was perfection. A lacy necklace of fine sapphires accentuated the smooth swell of bosom revealed by her celestial blue silk gown and a cloud of silver gauze concealed her slender figure. "And I have left you no more than enough time to get into your own gown," Delia said. "Time enough," the Scotswoman said. "You do not object to playing duenna so often?" Delia sought reassurance. Morag met her gaze squarely. "The first time I saw the earl's wicked blue eyes, I vowed to protect your good name. And so I shall." Delia did not know whether to laugh or weep at that abrupt response. She hurried off to the dining room. The sight of Torgreave, already considering the table shimmering with crystal and silver, brought her to a sudden, silent halt. He was unaware of her arrival, and she took the opportunity to absorb his image within her memory yet again. His evening dress molded his slim, strong frame, the deep blue coat echoing the vivid blue of his eyes, and the dark, tight pantaloons accentuating his long legs. The lack of effete ruffling on his shirt emphasized the hard, masculine planes of his face, and the subtle canescent embroidery on his white waistcoat could not conceal the sleek muscularity of his chest and shoulders. Delia collected herself, and moving to his side, made her presence known. He turned his dark head and smiled lovingly at her. The wicked blue eyes that Mrs. Lochmaddy descried dwelled upon her. Where his eyes lingered, Delia quivered with a rush of confused warmth. "You are beautiful," he said. She drew a shaky breath, and strove for a light tone, saying, "I wonder what stratagems Lady Slimbridge has had to employ to convince Sir Thomas to come to us?" Rupert took a step towards her. She could only guess his intent, but voices sounded in the entry and he merely offered his arm. "We shall soon know," he said. She laid her gloved hand on his sleeve, and they entered the small drawing room. Charles strode in from his chamber, a look of painful eagerness on his face. A footman announced Major Rhyle. As he entered he swept a look around the room, and rumbled a laugh. "If I did not know that I had certainly been invited, your looks of disappointment would make me wonder." Overwhelmingly fine in his dress uniform, he bent over Delia's hand. She hurried to dissuade him of the idea that he was not welcome. "We are in anticipation of the Slimbridges," she informed him. "Charles for obvious reasons, and Rupert and I in awe of Lady Slimbridge's stratagems." "You always look like an entire regiment when you get into full dress," the earl mocked his friend by way

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of greeting. "You envy the height and breadth of shoulder, do you?" Rhyle countered. He exchanged nods with Charles who grinned at the patent foolishness. The earl did not appear a small man even beside his immense friend. They were all laughing when Mr. Taunton with his mother and his sister were announced. On their first meeting, Lady Taunton had been astonished by Delia's resemblance to the earl. On this occasion, she was visibly curious but made no comment. Charles' slight reserve on greeting the Honourable Hugh went unnoticed by all except Delia. More apparent was Aurora Taunton's delight at being in the company of the earl and the major. Her artless conversation held the company's attention for several minutes before she found excuse to draw Delia aside. "Is Captain Finglas invited tonight?" she queried. "He is," Delia responded. "Does it matter very much?" "Indeed it does. I...He...I like him exceedingly, his stories of Ireland, even his stammer!" Miss Taunton seemed a little defensive. "He is a dear, kind man," Delia commented. "But sensitive I think. He should not be trifled with. I believe his emotions to run deep." "I would not...well, some people think me flighty and inconstant but indeed, I do not believe it of myself." "I am pleased to hear it," Delia said. "Ah here are the Slimbridges." The new arrivals became the focus of attention, for there were introductions to be made and greetings exchanged. Lady Slimbridge was all confident sociability, and Susannah was charming in pale jonquil silk. Maria was awed into unaccustomed silence. Sir Thomas was as jumpy, thought Delia, as a fox scenting the hounds. His pale eyes surveyed the company, and seemed to approve. When he was introduced to the earl however his gaze sharpened. Delia hurried to support Rupert. "Humph, remarkable resemblance," he muttered surveying them. "Miss Tyninghame your servant." He bowed her hand. "It is a pleasure to see you again Sir Thomas, and to have you join us." From the corner of her eye, Delia saw Charles draw Susannah to one side, and thanked heaven for Lady Taunton who joined them with Aurora in tow. "You've been paraded all over town," Sir Thomas snapped at the earl. "Not by my wish," the earl responded equably. "Don't like spies, but I understand your work was important," the older man continued. His tone was grudging.

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"It seemed so to me, but was little effort compared to that of the men in the field." Torgreave met the smaller man's gaze directly. "Do you know Major Gideon Rhyle?" Delia asked Sir Thomas. She beckoned to Rupert's friend. When the big man strode up, the earl made the necessary introduction and then stepped aside. A little ripple of relief went about the company, as the major drew Sir Thomas into conversation. Torgreave winked at Delia. She coloured delicately before hurrying off to their other guests. "That went uncommonly well," commented Rupert hours later, when he was alone with Delia in the drawing room. He handed her a glass of wine, and took a very little himself. Delia slipped off her slippers and tucked her feet beneath her on the sopha. Torgreave poked up the fire, then flung himself into a nearby chair. "You," she reminded him, "nearly snapped Sir Thomas' head off once. Charles tended to moon over Susannah. Our guests made the evening a success." He only grinned at her strictures. "I make no excuses for Charles, but for myself, well, Slimbridge stated the French had no chance of success ever in the war." "At least Major Rhyle stepped in before you could say too much." "I am surprised Gideon did not berate him. He knows better than anyone that we nearly lost the damned affair several times." "Your average Englishman wishes to believe in the invincibility of his nation. And if your brother wishes to marry the average Englishman's daughter, you had best agree that your nation is invincible." "You will not have it as your nation?" he queried, drinking a very little of his wine. "I am Scottish," she said. Her manner was prim, but her eyes twinkled over the rim of her glass. "Gideon Rhyle thinks you splendid." He was serious. "Splendidly Scottish?" she teased, but he did not respond. She sobered and said, "He is a very fine man, and I have given him no reason to believe that I consider him more than a friend." "He has said nothing?" "We have spoken of...attachments. I believe he knows that I will love only you." They were staring at each other, separated by the room, when Charles reentered. "Thank you," he burst into speech. "I do thank you both. I believe Sir Thomas has changed in his opinion mightily because of this night's work, and my suit may succeed. Was not Susannah in looks? And see she has worked me slippers. I do think you were correct Delia. She sees Taunton only as a friend, for Aurora is her boon companion. Lady Taunton is something of a tartar, is she not? I cannot wonder that the viscount remains at home in the country." "Mr. Taunton confided that his father heartily dislikes the social round," Delia said. She allowed her attention to be diverted from Rupert.

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Charles, euphoric and garrulous, continued, "Mr. Grillon excelled himself, did he not? The meal was very fine, and the pianoforte provided was superior. The young ladies played very well, would you not agree Delia? I fancy though that Susannah's performance was the finest. I cannot but think that since Sir Thomas accepted our invitation all will be well. Rupert, will you try to make excuse to see Slimbridge at least once more in the next week or two?" The earl was staring at Delia who was regarding the fire with inordinate concentration. Finally he nodded abstractedly. "Thank you," Charles pounded his brother's shoulder in gratitude. He crossed the room to kiss Delia's cheek. "And thank you, how splendid to have such a sister." Delia smiled at him then watched him depart the room. When she turned away, she met Torgreave's gaze and recoiled from the intensity of emotion contained there. "Do you wish to retire, Miss Delia?" Morag Lochmaddy spoke from the doorway. She seemed unaware of the emotional undercurrents churning within the parlour. Delia stole another look at the earl's passionate face. She rose and slipped on her silk shoes. "I do," she whispered. "Good night my lord." He made a convulsive gesture, quickly controlled it, and said nothing. He stared at the fragile glass in his hand as the ladies withdrew.

"Dearest Aunt, Charles thinks soon to place his suit before Sir Thomas, and we are hopeful of his success. We grow weary of Hotel life and feel cramped after the freedom of Manningford. We shall have to remove within days, for most of Grillon's has been appropriated by the Royals arriving to celebrate the Peace."

CHAPTER EIGHT Despite the success of her dinner party, Delia found it increasingly difficult to sustain her spirits in the days that followed. Time passed in Rupert's company was commingled delight and anguish. She avoided him when she could, and kept Morag Lochmaddy at her side. The distress he could not conceal haunted her. She prayed for peace of mind. She could not attain it. Were Rupert and Charles her half-brothers? The question was always with her. There remained few avenues for discovery of the truth left to them. Delia retained little hope that her aunt would obtain any information. That left only the Honourable Augustus Manningford, Rupert's uncle. She placed no dependence upon his information. He was by all accounts a sad rattle. Rupert, she thought, placed entirely too much hope in their remaining sources. Delia could no longer deny to herself that there remained little reason for her to linger in Rupert's company, or in England. She had all in train for the refurbishment of Manningford; its completion waited only on the delivery of materials. Charles' affairs were soon to be settled. He was on the point of offering for Miss Slimbridge. She would have to admit that her questions and Rupert's concerns were without answer or solution. She began to make plans for her departure.

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To counter the gathering lowness of her mood, Delia developed a new desire for company. Despite Morag Lochmaddy's disapproving grumbles, she indulged herself in visits with the Misses Slimbridge and shopping expeditions with Miss Taunton. She fortified her wardrobe for the changing season. Frequently she drove out, in company with Major Rhyle or Mr. Taunton. Charles reported that her appearance had caused a ripple of gossip within theton gathering for the Season. But he noted that the talk was somewhat allayed by news of her cousinly relationship. Delia carried constantly with her a deep concern for Rupert's well-being. As she withdrew from his company, it was clear that his newfound felicity was in jeopardy. His energy was dissipating. His finely modeled face resettled into lines of discontent. She concealed her concerns however, whenever one of her new friends called. She was outwardly cheerful when Bowland announced Miss Taunton on a bright spring afternoon. It was immediately apparent that that young lady was not in spirits. She greeted Delia affectionately, but with scarcely a smile. She removed her gloves and pulled at them. "Whatever shall I do, Delia? I do beg your pardon but I am quite put about. I am daily discovering the depth of my feelings for Captain Finglas, and my family will not credit it. I meet him everywhere, balls, routs, even at Almack's. He is accepted by theton , but not by my Mama," she announced. "Even Hugh will not support me, but to say that though Egon is a good man, Mama knows best. Mama thinks only of her hidebound opinion of what is suitable, and will not budge. Must her notions colour -even destroy -- my future?" Delia rang for tea and greeted, with a forced smile, Morag Lochmaddy who brought it. Her guest's emotions and questions too closely resembled her own turmoil. She could not be easy. Her response to Miss Taunton's query was careful. "Well, I cannot think her objections valid. The Captain's Irish heritage should not be held against him, as my Scottish heritage should alter no one's view of me. Were there any other impediment to a happy match, I should think again," she admitted, "but you are so well suited in all else. However, you are just eighteen. Your Mama and Papa have the right to make this decision for you, as Mr. Taunton says." "I may take the power of the decision from them," said Aurora. "They had best have a care." "Nonsense," Delia said. "Lady Taunton seemed to me a woman of sense, if a little overprotective of your future. Rebellion will accomplish nothing. Your acquiescence is more like to bring a change of her opinion and your papa's. Responsible behaviour -- proof of your maturity -- is what will move them. Meanwhile I think I shall arrange an outing before I make my return to Edinburgh." "You are to leave us?" Miss Taunton cried, momentarily diverted from her own concerns. "Very soon, I believe I must." From the corner of her eye, Delia saw Morag's dour face lighten. "But you may spend the entire day on Wednesday next in the Captain's company, Aurora, for I have a desire to see Mr. Walpole's Strawberry Hill. Will you help me plan the excursion?" "I will indeed," exclaimed the younger lady brightening. Morag Lochmaddy spoke up. "Should ye think of such a thing, Miss Delia? You've scarcely time to gallivant."

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"If I am to leave soon, Morag, I shall have a last outing with my English friends. You will not begrudge me that, I am sure." Miss Taunton ignored the interchange between Delia and her attendant. "I daresay we should have Susannah here as well to help us lay plans. She has always such good ideas." "Then let us go to her, and we shall discuss the scheme with Lady Slimbridge as well!" Delia laughed at the younger girl's enthusiasm. Mrs. Lochmaddy, her lips compressed, went to fetch Delia's bonnet. The rose and gold of sunset gleamed in the north window as the Manningford party dined that evening in their private suite. The days were warming and lengthening as the month passed, ushering in the height of the London Season. Charles and Rupert received Delia's plans for the excursion to Strawberry Hill without criticism, and with considerable pleasure. "The entire day in Susannah's company. You have arranged it just as I will like, Delia," Charles exclaimed. "I am glad," she responded. Watching her, Rupert perceived more than a hint of strain in Delia's face and manner. She continued, "I have reason to think that Lady Slimbridge, and Lady Taunton, will regard me as adequate chaperone for the young ladies. Miss Taunton's brother and Major Rhyle are to be of the company. And Mrs. Lochmaddy need not attend me." "Then you have arranged things just as I will like," Rupert commented adroitly, but received no smiling response. He was more than pleased when Charles excused himself to attend a rout immediately following their meal. Rupert saw him to the door of the suite, chatting lightheartedly. Then he rejoined Delia in the parlor. She had moved to her needlework, at the drawing room table, where her silks were spread like a rainbow. They had avoided solitary communication for some days, but this evening he was determined upon conversation. Before he chose a seat, he absently stripped off his brass-buttoned coat, and dropped it on a chair near the door. His first words were innocuous by design. His manner, by dint of no small effort, was casual. "Delia, shall we have some new paintings for Manningford? There is an exhibition at a display room in Bond Street. We might attend it." "If you wish," she said. She did not look up from her silks. Her satinet gown of sea green, made high to the throat and long-sleeved, was modest and becoming. Her black curls brushed the pale curve of her cheek, and tangled with her earrings of jade. Torgreave could not look enough on her. As the glow of sunset faded, Bowland entered, soft-footed. He gathered up the discarded coat before lighting the candles Rupert waited impatiently for his departure, then continued, "I have been considering your decoration for the west passage. Are you certain you will like the gold damask wallpaper? If you had rather have the chinoiserie, or the lattice, I should be happy with your choice." She did not immediately respond.

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Rupert stilled, a slight concern suddenly magnified by his thoughts. "Where is Mrs. Lochmaddy?" he asked, with a belated concern for propriety. Delia said, "She dined with Bowland, and now is at work with my wardrobe. The weather grows more pleasant daily and my gowns are warm and unsuitable." "I have grown accustomed to her at your elbow these last weeks." Rupert needed her to look at him, needed to see her eyes to know what she was thinking. "You should. I have asked for her constant attendance. Have you had no word of your uncle?" Delia did look up then. He could see the trouble in the translucent depths of her eyes. He was startled by her urgency, but said, "I have not, though I have pressed my inquiries. Is it so important?" He knew the answer to his question. "It is become imperative," she confirmed. "Your London Season is about to begin in earnest. In the ordinary course of things, I should enjoy it immensely. I shall be drawn in if I stay on, but I must not. As well, I no longer can find excuse to remain, and I cannot bear to be so much in your company." Rupert took no trouble to conceal the hurt and despair he felt at her words. "You are little enough in my company," he retorted out of his distress. He relented as her face paled. "I will not tell you your presence is not precious to me," he said. "And that I do not also suffer." "Tell me nothing, but that you have heard news," she implored. "Rhyle expects information from Paris this week. The city is secured, and even now the first visitors are arriving. I am confidant Augustus will be there, for he must always be at the front of fashion. I stay my departure only upon confirmation." It appeared to him that her tension eased a little. He came to stand before her. "You are wise to guard yourself with Mrs. Lochmaddy. I would that your scruples were less firm, your moral character more pliant," he said. His words were almost whimsical, although sadness etched his face. "You had as easily desire that your own character were weak," she reminded him. "We shall not risk dishonour or sin. We must assume we are siblings until we have factual proof to the contrary." He knelt before her abruptly, bending his dark head against the skirt of her rose muslin gown. He concealed his face and said, "I pray, daily, that we will discover that we are no more than cousins. I sometimes feel I would risk any disgrace, any sin, if I could just express my love for you. Am I evil?" Intensity shook his deep voice. He felt her recoil, even as her touch warmed his coatless shoulder. Whether the hand was to push him away or draw him nearer, he could not have said. It merely lingered. "No. For I know that you could not in truth contemplate such sin. But it is because of this very sort of drama that I must return to Edinburgh. I cannot bear it any longer. I simply cannot." Her lowered voice broke. He rose and swung away. "I am sorry to give you pain," he said.

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"You do not. You give me great joy," she said, her voice tear-choked. "It is our circumstance that gives me, and you, pain." Morag Lochmaddy entered and stared from the earl's ravaged face to that of her mistress. Rupert was scarcely aware of her arrival, so intent was he on Delia's words. "I would spare you pain always, give anything to bring you joy forever," he stated. Delia broke down and frankly sobbed, covering her face with her slim hands. Mrs. Lochmaddy drew an outraged breath. "My lord!" She placed a supportive arm about her mistress' shoulders. Stung by her rebuke, Rupert impaled the companion with a ferocious glance. Rising abruptly, he turned on his heel and departed the chamber without greeting to her or farewell to Delia. He crossed the passage to his bedchamber quickly. Within he paced its length, his strong shoulders sagging wearily, his vision impaired by grief. Delia was right of course. She must return to Edinburgh. The strain of their proximity, the burden of his love, were too much for her. He should never have importuned her to return to London with him. His reasons had been selfish. He paused his frenzied pace and recalled her final words. To know that she would remember him with some joy, not simply regret, was a balm to his wounded spirit. He stared in the mirror and could see her face, as he had moments before, with tears streaming down it. "Thank God I found her." He was unaware that he spoke aloud, his voice hoarse. "But now I must lose her." He swung away from the mirror, raking both hands through his hair. "I must be damned, that fate should be so cruel." Bowland entered silently. "Miss Tyninghame has retired, my lord," he announced. Torgreave straightened with an effort. He saw from Bowland's expression that his own face must show his anguish. "There appears no solution to our problems, my friend," he managed to say. "Delia will in all likelihood soon return to Edinburgh. Perhaps you should take up Rhyle's offer of employment. I shall be the devil to live with." "I think not, my lord. I prefer the devil I know," was his valet's response. *** The next morning Delia, pale and drawn, informed the gentlemen that she would depart for Edinburgh within a fortnight. She had made the decision the previous evening in concert with Morag Lochmaddy. It had not been an easy determination, but she had no doubt of its wisdom. And she had no intention of being swayed from her resolution. To her relief, they accepted the news with expressions of regret but without surprise. She could bear no

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more than a brief look at Rupert's despondent face. Instead she concentrated on Charles' heartfelt utterances. "I shall always be grateful for your arrival in our lives. You have brought Rupert and me together once more. That I can never forget. You have made possible my relationship with Miss Slimbridge. You have sponsored our future happiness." "If you can summon the courage to make an offer to her father." Rupert tormented his brother, apparently from the depths of his own melancholy. "I shall," the rector rose to his elder brother's bait. "I shall make an offer before Delia leaves." She interrupted their incipient argument with a lightening heart. "I plan to enjoy to the full the last days of my visit." She ventured a glance at Rupert. The warmth of his gaze interrupted her breathing momentarily. "I shall take a precious store of memories home to Edinburgh." The excursion to Strawberry Hill took place within the week. The chosen day was fine, for which Delia was thankful. Morag Lochmaddy was left at Grillon's, reconciled by the fact that she was to begin packing for departure. Their party was comprised only of young people, for Lady Taunton and Lady Slimbridge had deemed that Delia was chaperone enough. Everyone was in spirits. Delia, with Charles and Rupert in a hired barouche, collected the Misses Slimbridge from North Audley Street. Maria sat bodkin between Susannah and Charles but she did nothing to inhibit their gentle flirtation. Beside Torgreave, facing the horses, Delia observed the flirtation with satisfaction. From North Audley Street they went on to the Tauntons' Mayfair residence. Rhyle and Captain Finglas in Finglas's curricle and Hugh Taunton in his phaeton awaited Aurora's descent from the house. Finally she was deposited, in a flurry of muslin, beside her brother. All the ladies admired her band-box new Oldenburg bonnet. At last the cavalcade directed its movement to the western edge of the metropolis. Protected from intimacy by the presence of others, and armoured against her own emotions, Delia could jest with the earl about her unenviable task for the day. "I am regarded as chaperone," she complained in a laughing undertone. "A spinster. Responsible, sober, and genteel." The earl regarded the pretty, innocent faces of the young ladies opposite, and shook his head. His finely drawn features were lightened by humour. "Do you think yourself hardly done by?" He spoke close to Delia's ear. "Consider me. How can my life have changed so much? I have gone in two or three months, from debauched outcast to honoured hero. Now I attend at nursery parties on gentle outings." She smiled to hear his exaggeration. "You are not a hero. You only did your country a little service. You were not an outcast, but merely disapproved of. This is a pleasant outing and you are not so much older than anyone here. You only feel it to be so. I do also. We must be tempered by trouble." She grimaced. "Besides you put the wheels of your change in motion. One cannot always dictate what will occur once they begin to turn." "Your commonsense as always is impeccable," he said. Delia felt his gaze on her. She experienced again the pleasure and the pain of the knowledge that she had brought love into his life. He had had little enough experience of love. She had changed his life, but she could not know if it was for the better.

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To her relief, Torgreave redirected his attention. "My presence is not perhaps remarkable, but I find Egon's and Rhyle's laughable. Look at them back there." He gestured at the curricle following. "I confess I thought the Foreign Office would have need of them." Delia did not look back. "Perhaps the fine day lured them, as well as the company. Hugh and Aurora look to be arguing." She motioned at the phaeton ahead of them. Rupert laughed. "No doubt they are. For Egon came to be near Miss Taunton, and Hugh did not wish to come. As for Rhyle, he will do anything to be out of the city. And besides he enjoys your company." "And I his. He has divined a good deal...." "Yes, he does always," he said. He turned the subject. "Charles tells me he will see Sir Thomas tomorrow, to ask for Susannah's hand." "Does he feel confident of success? I should be glad if his future was settled before my departure." "I believe Sir Thomas is reconciled to the connection. Especially as I show no more predilection for his company, than he does for mine. And I have not disgraced my name for the past six months. You have added family respectability to us, so Charles has become an eligible parti." Delia permitted herself a tender smile at him then put up her sunshade. She directed her attention and her conversation across the carriage, to Charles and the young ladies. From the moment she set eyes on it, Delia found Strawberry Hill fascinating. Equally alluring were its Gothic pretensions and its eclectic collections. She toured it in company with Rupert and Gideon Rhyle. She marveled at the chimney-piece and the ceiling of the Holbein Chamber. But when they entered the Cabinet, she could not contain her astonishment. "This is beyond fantastic," she gasped, staring at the traceried arches of the ceiling. Artifacts crowded the walls and shelves. "Look at the miniatures, and those cameos." They had spent an hour in the chamber before Torgreave said, "We cannot consider it all. Come I think I know of something less extravagant." He led them to a chapel, beyond the asymmetrical pile of the house, in the picturesque wood. They sat in its peaceful silence for nearly a quarter of an hour. Afterward they strolled the wood, while the gentlemen entertained Delia with stories of their early adventures. "He was the only sober one in the whole chamber," Rupert described the scene at Watier's at which he had met Rhyle. "How could I not be drawn to him?" "How indeed?" Delia smiled, and shook her head. Rhyle was grinning in a rueful way. "Worst night of my life. I lost money and met Torgreave," he said. "I was more fortunate," Torgreave retorted. "I won and met you. We were very young then, and later the work you offered me saved my life." "Nearly ended it a couple of times," Rhyle said.

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"At least those ends would have been honourable. Nothing else in my life was." Delia stared from one to the other of the tall men. "It is all past," she said. "Let us enjoy this day." At the end of the afternoon, the party gathered near the garden gate that was supported by pinnacled pillars. Delia guiltily realized that while she had enjoyed Rupert and Major Rhyle's companionship she had quite neglected the younger members of the party. The Major strolled off, in search of Hugh Taunton. "You may be easy," Rupert reassured her in an undertone. "Charles and Susannah have wandered about supremely happy and irreproachably proper with Maria in tow. Miss Taunton and Finglas have alternately argued and reconciled. I wish him joy of her; he must be mad." "She is charming, and has a strong streak of common sense beneath the flighty exterior," Delia countered. Aurora stepped to her at that moment and drew her aside. The young lady's brown eyes were bright and sparkling. Delia sensed a puzzling determination about her. Her request however was prosaic. "Have you a scissors about you? I have the most appalling knot in the string of my slipper, and within the slipper the most appalling pebble." Delia was all sympathy. She opened her reticule, and withdrew her little knife. "This will help." She met Aurora's surprise with a laugh. "'Tis called askean dhu , a Highland dagger for men, but I find it most useful. Shall you need help?" "No." Delia thought Aurora's response over-vehement. "No I am certain I shall not." And she hurried off quite alone. The young lady was gone an unreasonable amount of time. Captain Finglas was particularly restless in her absence. Delia was on the point of searching her out, when breathless and pink-cheeked, Aurora returned. She slipped the little knife to Delia and announced, "The housekeeper wishes to supply us with tea and cakes, on the lawn. If Delia permits, I will show you where she suggests we be served." "It is growing late," protested Delia. "Oh but how lovely," Susannah said. "Please, Miss Tyninghame, do say we may stay." Chaffing in the role of chaperone, Delia allowed her judgment to be overruled. And in truth she enjoyed the impromptu pic-nic immensely. Rugs were spread in the early spring sun, and the ladies settled like flowers upon them, attended by a scattering of servants. Gideon Rhyle rested his massive shoulders against the equally massive trunk of an ancient oak. Hugh Taunton, who had been discovered by Rhyle in the kitchen garden, strolled up to advise the gentlemen that the housekeeper brewed a tolerable beer. Rhyle agreed to join him in a tankard, though none of the other gentlemen appeared interested. Charles hovered at his Susannah's side, and Finglas remained steadfast by Miss Taunton. The earl reclined, refusing food and drink, near Delia. Taunton eventually sought companionship of Miss Maria Slimbridge. She was giggling over something he had said, when she chanced to look up, and emitted a little shriek. "Gracious, look at the clouds. It will surely rain and we are in open carriages."

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Delia, in the act of offering the last sweetmeat to Rupert, surveyed the sky anxiously. All faces turned skyward. Certainly a bank of slowly advancing clouds threatened inclement weather. A stiff chill breeze reminded them all of the earliness of the season. The earl leapt up, and beckoned a hovering footman. He ordered the carriages, and then strode up to the great Gothic pile that was Strawberry Hill. The servants began to gather the detritus of the refreshment. "He will have gone to pay the housekeeper," Delia advised the company. She rose to her feet and gathered her sunshade and reticule. "Ladies, bestir yourselves. Ensure that you have your belongings." "I am ready," Aurora assured Delia. "There is Egon's curricle. I will go with him." He bowed, his delight unconcealed. They hurried off before Delia could speak. When she turned to Hugh for support he only shrugged laconically, and said, "Gideon, you will join me?" The Major nodded his agreement. It remained for Charles to assist Delia and the Misses Slimbridge into the barouche, while they waited for Torgreave's return. He was not detained long, and they set off on their hurried journey, harried by a rising wind. The curricle, barouche and phaeton became separated on the return to London. It concerned no one for the streets were crowded, and the sky threatening. The first fat drops of rain fell as Miss Slimbridge and Miss Maria Slimbridge were returned to their home. By the time the barouche reached Grillon's, Delia was decidedly damp. Charles fussed over her, but Rupert only smiled with disconcerting intimacy. He held her slender gloved hand, as he took her within. "Aurora and Finglas?" she asked as they mounted Grillon's fine staircase. "They left before us. Egon will have delivered Miss Taunton to her home by now. Hugh and Gideon will be tucked in some snug coffeehouse, and the Misses Slimbridge will be recounting the day to their Mama," he said with a laugh. When they entered their suite he gave Delia reluctantly into Morag Lochmaddy's care. Her damp hair curled luxuriantly as she removed her dripping hat. With a ferocious frown Rupert stepped away from her. She smiled sadly and understandingly at him. Charles strode into the parlour. "I am sharp set despite the pic-nic. Shall we order supper?" "I believe I will take mine in my chamber," Delia said. Accompanied by Mrs. Lochmaddy, she retired. The candles had been lit, and so too had the fires to counteract the damp chill of the fading day, when Delia returned to the parlour more than two hours later. The sound of voices raised in concern drew her. Clad in a pearl grey merino round gown, she entered to discover Hugh Taunton had joined Charles and Rupert. Trouble was writ on all their faces. "What is amiss?" she asked. Unconsciously she moved immediately to Rupert's side, and placed her hand on his coatless arm. "It is Aurora...and Egon," Hugh explained. His irritation was evident. "They've not returned." "Good gracious!" Her gaze went to the window, where rain streamed down over a deepening dusk. "Whatever can have happened?"

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"My mother will have it that they have suffered an accident, and are lying dead in a ditch," Aurora's brother said sourly. "My own opinion is that Aurora has run off with the poor beggar." Delia's gasped. Rupert choked on a laugh, but said nothing. "Well, Egon is too much the gentleman to instigate such a thing, but Aurora is hoyden enough to do so," Hugh said. Charles was frowning. "They must be found." "M'mother said the same. And I said, I'm damned if I know where to look, and there's no sense to it in the pouring rain." The gentlemen all nodded gloomy agreement. Delia was overwhelmed by guilt. She ought to have kept better account of the young ladies during the day. She ought never to have allowed Aurora to join Egon in the curricle. "Oh no," Rupert said suddenly. He had apparently caught sight of her stricken expression. "'Tis not your fault. You were not appointed duenna of the younger ladies. If anyone is at fault, which I doubt, it is Hugh. He is her brother." "I will accept no blame," Taunton snapped, "but certainly Miss Tyninghame bears none either." "Have you had supper, my dear?" Rupert asked of Delia in an undertone. "Morag brought a tray," she said. "My mother says if they are not dead, they will have to marry. Which, if I know my sister, is what she intended. I shall be curious to hear her story." Taunton's disinterest seemed to Delia heartless, and she opened her mouth to descry it. But Rupert said, "She will come to no harm in Egon's company. He is a disciplined man and a resourceful one, whatever happens." He directed a quick glance at Delia. "Hugh knows it, hence his unconcern. If the lady was in my company he would worry. For he knows me to be resourceful, but undisciplined." The raffish smile that accompanied his remark relaxed the company. Taunton departed to return to his worried parent. "You are not undisciplined." Charles countered his brother's statement once they were alone. Delia gathered up her needlework and a book that she had left in the parlour earlier in the day, and moved to retire once more. "You had to imbibe excessively to overcome your innate control," she said. She pauded to consider Torgreave from her chamber doorway across the hall. He lounged against the mantel, a wickedly attractive figure, with a satirical grin curving his beautifully shaped mouth. "You may both retire then, comfortable in your knowledge of my exemplary character and behaviour," Rupert said. He bowed with a flourish and they all laughed.

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*** Desirous of information, Charles and Delia called upon the Slimbridges' the next morning. It seemed inappropriate to descend upon the Taunton household. Lady Slimbridge appeared most likely to have news of the disappearance. Torgreave declined to accompany them. "I have no interest in what that silly chit might have done, though it does impinge on the future of my friend Finglas. I am off to see Rhyle for news of Augustus," he said as they all met in the entry hall of their suite. "I hope that success attends you," Delia said. She meant it, with all her heart. "And I," Charles echoed sensing something of her urgency. "Manningford awaits us all." "Ah, that reminds me." Delia said. "We must stop at Mr. Bullock's on our way to North Audley Street. There is some question of when the furnishings may be delivered." "You must take the carriage then. I shall be content to walk." The earl accepted his tall beaver from Bowland. With a smile and a brief salute he was gone. Charles and Delia prepared to depart in a more leisurely manner. Charles returned to his chamber for his walking stick. While she waited, Delia donned a spring green redingote, and a Huntley bonnet she had brought back from Edinburgh. "When will you press your suit?" she asked as they stepped into the dampness of an overcast morning. "I spoke to Rupert about it last night. I had thought to ask for an audience with Sir Thomas this morning, or at the least this week but with Miss Taunton and Finglas gone...I do not know," Charles said. "There will be news of them," Delia said. She did not herself quite believe the comfortable certainty she instilled in her words. "This elopement may alter my prospects." "Perhaps Sir Thomas may decide to see Susannah safely wed before such a silly start occurs to her," Delia said. Their carriage drew up before Bullock's. Charles brightened, and accompanied her within. Their business at the cabinet maker's took only minutes, and as traffic was light, they were shortly deposited in North Audley Street. They were ushered into the drawing room, and were welcomed by Lady Slimbridge and her second daughter. "Good morning," she said. Maria greeted them with her bright eyes full of mischief. "You are come hoping for news, I expect." She waved them to a seat. "The miscreants are home." Delia breathed a deep sigh of relief.

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"In fact, a simple accident kept them. A trace broke, and coupled with the storm, it led to their sheltering at a public house for some hours. They reached home only in the early hours of the morning," Lady Slimbridge said. Delia was silent, remembering Aurora's look of determination and her borrowing of theskean dhu . It occurred to her to wonder if the trace had been cut but she held her tongue. "Lady Taunton vows they will wed, though no one knows of the mishap save these few of us. She arrived here while I was still at breakfast to ask my advice, but I believe her mind was already decided. She has taken Susannah to bear Aurora company, and Viscount Taunton has been sent for. Until he arrives, Hugh is to be in discussions with Captain Finglas all the morning. Maria, please to see how things go on in the schoolroom, dear. I wish to be private with our visitors." The younger girl obediently trotted out. Charles held the paneled door for her, and closed it on her departure. "I could wish that Aurora Taunton had not chosen to involve all of you in her machinations." Lady Slimbridge's clever gaze examined Delia. "For I do believe that she must have engineered this accident. Or do you think I wrong her?" "You may well be right," Delia admitted with a sigh. "Mr. Manningford, am I correct in thinking you wish to address Sir Thomas on a delicate issue of some importance?" Lady Slimbridge said. Charles, who had been assimilating the possibility of Miss Taunton's deception with some dismay, nodded in startled surprise. "Then I think you should do it now...at this moment. Sir Thomas is at home. He knows nothing of the Tauntons' dilemma, and I believe him favourably disposed toward you. I should seize the moment if I were you." Charles flushed, then paled alarmingly. He swallowed hard, his throat working. Delia chuckled. "Off you go Charles," she urged him. "You will be the better for not having prepared a speech." Lady Slimbridge nodded and rang for a servant. "Hastings will show you to Sir Thomas," she said when the butler entered. Charles ran his finger about his collar, cleared his throat and followed the butler out. "Really, I could wring Aurora Taunton's neck," her ladyship said to Delia. "She has jeopardized Susannah's future with her recklessness, though I believe it may be kept from Sir Thomas' ears." "I feel in some degree responsible," Delia said. She explained about theskean dhu . "I shall feel most guilty if the episode does reflect on Charles' future." "Nonsense. You are no whit to blame. The frowardness of our English misses is likely outside your experience, being from Scotland."

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"In fact, our society is more relaxed than yours, and what is scandalous here would not be so at home. But still I feel myself at fault." A footman brought tea. The ladies had barely settled for a comfortable cose before Charles was returned. His face was as pale as when he had left the room. Both ladies regarded him anxiously for he seemed unable, or unwilling, to speak. Lady Slimbridge waved him again to a chair, and pressed a cup of tea into his hand. "Well?" she asked. He seemed to recover a little, of a sudden. "He said yes! He said I might pay my addresses to Susannah, and I was a welcome addition to the family, and that a very long betrothal was out of the question." He collapsed back in his chair. His colour gradually returned to normal, and an expression of beatific peace crept over his attractive features. "I will have my writing desk then." Lady Slimbridge set her teacup aside and rang for the footman. "We shall begin planning for the betrothal party." *** The Manningford party took dinner together in the suite at Grillon's. Delia spoke little but took delight in watching the faces of the gentlemen, as Charles recounted the day to his brother. Torgreave received news of the betrothal with every evidence of pleasure. "As Delia and I took our leave, Lady Slimbridge asked me to return at four o'clock to speak with Susannah, for you must know she had gone to sit with Aurora Taunton. Oh, and Finglas and Aurora are betrothed as well," Charles said. Rupert nodded his understanding of this extra piece of news. Charles continued, "When I returned to North Audley Street, Susannah had not yet come home. I waited what seemed an age before she was ushered in. Oh, she looked so lovely, and was so shy and yet composed. She hesitated but briefly when I presented my proposal, and accepted in the sweetest fashion I could have imagined." Rupert choked and put his napkin to his twitching mouth. His brother helpfully thumped him on the back. "The formal notice will appear tomorrow, and we are to celebrate with a betrothal party in North Audley Street, in a sen'night." Charles ignored the food before him, and could not apparently forbear to talk. "It is a dream come true. A miracle wrought by Delia's timely appearance." "Oh, surely not," she protested. She coloured with pleasure at the thought that she had assisted Charles' suit. "Had you not come to London, Rupert would not have come to Manningford, and Sir Thomas would not have believed in Rupert's reformation. He would never have permitted Susannah's betrothal to me," Charles explained. "I am reluctant to claim this honour." Delia protested with a laugh. "If you have a dismal marriage, am I

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to be blamed then?" Charles stared at her. "A dismal marriage? That would never be," he stated. "We are in fact all indebted to Inniskip, without whose lies none of this would have been possible." Rupert's words and his tone indicated he had not yet forgiven his housekeeper. "Indeed," Delia said. She could not argue with the truth of his statement. She stared at him, at the reflection of her own face, with a pain she thought she could not bear. *** Notice of the betrothal duly appeared in the newspapers. Plans for Charles and Susannah's betrothal party proceeded apace. Lady Slimbridge became Delia's frequent visitor. If she noticed her hostess' drawn face and increasingly quiet manner, she said nothing of it. Rather she requested Delia's advice and enlisted her assistance. "How does Sir Thomas' regard the necessity to meet Rupert again with compliance and the appearance of pleasure?" Delia asked Lady Slimbridge on a mild, cloudy Tuesday a week before the party. "With resignation. I have not teased him about it, for he has been busy attending the meetings of the Royal Institution." "The Institution!" said Delia. "Why, Rupert is a member. I wonder they have not met there. Has Sir Thomas an interest in natural philosophy?" "He has only lately developed it." "We have in our hands the very tool for Sir Thomas and the earl to be united. Or at least for Sir Thomas to be reconciled to the inclusion of Torgreave in his family. Rupert is an active member of the Institution and of the Astronomy Society. His membership will surely convince Sir Thomas of his serious nature." "You may well be right, my dear." Lady Slimbridge appeared much struck by the idea. "I shall see that he knows of it. But now I must be on my way. There are a hundred things to be done. Have you had an invitation to Aurora Taunton's ball? We shall not aspire to such heights of decoration or repast as the Tauntons may command, but I fancy our party will be pleasant." She approached the door, even as there came a tap upon it. It opened to admit the footman of the hotel who procured letters each day from the Receiving Office. He proferred a salver to Delia on which reposed one letter. From a quick glance, Delia saw it to be from Lady Barbara. Lady Slimbridge smiled. "I shall leave you to your correspondence my dear. Good- bye." Delia bade her a fond farewell abstractedly. When the door closed she balanced the letter in her hands. It was thick, and it was unlike Lady Barbara to pay for two sheets. Delia broke the seal, a little fear piercing her heart. She seated herself near the window of the parlour. Torgreave found her there, two hours after she had sat down. Her blue eyes were drowned in unshed tears when she realized his arrival and looked up. She gestured at the letter in her lap.

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"It is over," she said. "Aunt Barbara has confirmed our worst suspicions." Rupert knelt beside her chair with swift grace. He knocked the letter to the floor, as he seized her hands. "Tell me," he urged. "You may read...." "Later. Just now I wish only to hear it." "My aunt has been to Carvosway." Delia drew a deep shuddering breath. "She made discreet inquiries and found at first nothing of interest. Then she came upon a cottager, a Mrs. Nevis, who attended my mother's lying-in, and became my wet nurse." Her tears trickled down her face. "With my aunt's urging, Mrs. Nevis recalled that time very well. My mother had unburdened herself to Mrs. Nevis, had confided that all was not well between her husband and herself. She confessed that a friend of Lord Tyninghame's had visited some months before, and had been kind and attentive, at a time when she was feeling neglected and unloved. He was English, dark and bonny, and the name Manningford was familiar to Mrs. Nevis. Rupert, Rupert...you are my brother." She broke down, and wept unrestrainedly. Rupert took her in his arms, and then rising, carried her to the sopha. There he cradled her against his chest, his cheek against her satin hair, and his eyes full of grief. It was thus that Morag Lochmaddy found them, some little time later. She drew an outraged breath. The warning in Torgreave's pain-wracked face silenced her. "We have had, from Lady Barbara, proof that we are indeed brother and sister. We had wished for a more distant relationship, as you are probably aware." He rose and assisted Delia to rise, and gave her into Morag's capable hands. "I will put things in train for your return to Edinburgh. Have a care for your mistress, Mrs. Lochmaddy." Rupert waited hours for Charles' return. They were agonizing hours, spent in fruitless reflection. He drew Charles to his bedchamber to reveal the news. "It appears that we have a sister. Here is the letter. You may read it." He sat in silence, watching his younger brother. Charles' mobile face expressed all his emotions as he read. Torgreave's own face was drawn and deadly calm. "Well, this is not unexpected news," Charles said at last. "And I am not unhappy for it. But for you...you love her don't you?" Rupert betrayed his surprise by a gesture. "Oh, I have not been so bound up in my own affairs that I have not seen it. You love Delia, and not as a sister. And so your hopes of happiness are dashed. What now?" "I hardly know. She will return to Edinburgh," Rupert drew a shaking hand across his face with a weary gesture. "I have still to question Augustus. If that comes to naught I will retire to Manningford, which she has made into a home, and I will live an exemplary life. As I would if I could take her to wife." "And what do we tell the world?"

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"Naught but what it knows already. Delia remains our Scots cousin, who came for a visit, and will not come again."

"Dear Aunt, The News contained in your recent letter has Disordered us greatly. I am returning Home immediately, and shall hope to regain some Peace there."

CHAPTER NINE Delia had never been a believer in the romantic theory that hearts might break. In the following days, however, she became convinced that her life, if not her heart, was torn asunder. She subsisted prior to Charles' betrothal party through a daily suspension of emotion. She moved through the daylight hours with her eyes dry. In the darksome hours of the night, she wept, attended in silence by Morag Lochmaddy. Only eight days remained until her departure. It seemed an eternity. Rupert was rarely in her company. His presence and his absence were equally difficult to bear. When she saw him, the deepening lines in his expressive face told of his suffering. She knew it was for them both that he kept his distance. She had no knowledge of his activities or of the reasons for his frequent absences. Charles, ministering to them both in what he admitted was the most difficult situation he had ever encountered, conducted himself with brotherly affection. When she could steel herself, Delia entertained visitors. An astute observer might have found something wooden in her manner, and might occasionally surprise a curious anguish in her expression. Lady Slimbridge was the only acquaintance acute enough to notice and she, during her visits, said nothing. Miss Slimbridge, who had been entrusted by Charles with the entire tale, kept her knowledge to herself. She was sweetly and unobtrusively supportive. Aurora Taunton and Captain Finglas, beaming with happiness, called one warm morning a week before the festivities. They bore an invitation for the Manningford party to attend their betrothal ball in a month's time. Delia was spared the necessity to reply to the invitation as Aurora hurried to apologize for any distress she had caused by her escapade. It was prettily done but she spoiled her effect by saying, "It was all worthwhile!" And she tossed a saucy glance at the Captain. Before he stammered his thanks for Delia's kindness to them both, he frowned at his betrothed. Delia read both love and reproof in his expression. Delia could scarcely bear their happy presence. She was relieved when Morag Lochmaddy interrupted the visit to advise of the delivery of the silver gauze gown that Delia would wear to Charles and Susannah's party. Upon hearing of the delivery, the Captain bore Miss Taunton away. Delia said her farewells with relief. Later she examined the gown with an aching head and little interest. Five days prior to the celebrations, she sat through a morning visit from Hugh Taunton. He displayed a friendly interest in her future plans, and divulged that he would be pleased to visit her in Edinburgh. When she extended him a formal invitation, he seemed particularly gratified. Privately she considered that to see any of Rupert's friends in her Scottish home would compound her anguish. But she resolved to deal with

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that eventuality when it arose, and smiled at him. The gesture took all her fortitude. Late in that same afternoon she sat by the open window of the parlour. The trees in the square were in full leaf, and the breeze that lifted her curls was soft and warm. Entering quietly, Bowland announced Major Rhyle's arrival. She declined, without excuse, to entertain him. She could not know if he was aware of her discovery of relationship to Rupert, but she could not risk his sympathy. She was convinced that it would prove to be her undoing, and chose therefore to avoid his presence. She wondered where Rupert was, and how he fared. He had in fact been run to earth at White's by the major. He looked up from the brandy glass in his hand, to discover Rhyle standing before him...a formidable sight. "Sit down, damn you," he said. He surveyed his friend grimly, when the big man complied. "Why did Miss Tyninghame refuse to see me?" Rhyle asked. "How should I know?" The major did not respond. Torgreave shrugged. "She probably feared you would be sympathetic and she would weep. She likely thought you would gallantly offer her your hand in marriage, and worsen the coil." "What the devil are you talking about?" Rupert saw his friend's glance at his wine glass. "I am not on the go," he said. "I will not be taking to the bottle again. Lady Barbara, bless her heart, reports she has proof Delia and I are brother and sister. Delia wishes to return to Edinburgh, but has obliged Charles by staying her departure until after the betrothal party. She has no wish to see me, and I...I cannot be with Delia without straining my sanity." He halted, unable to continue. "What a devilish turn of events," the big man said. "Is there aught I can do to help?" "Nothing," Rupert said. "She leaves in five days. I shall depart shortly thereafter for Paris, but she will not wait for Augustus' information, if, damn him, he has any." "Revenge might improve your mood. Turn off the housekeeper," Rhyle suggested tongue-in-cheek. "Delia has required my promise that I will not." They both were silent considering the infuriating virtues of Miss Tyninghame. "Years ago, I would not have said that you could love anyone," the major said. "And I would have vowed that you had no heart to lose." "I would have agreed," Rupert said. "I had endured all sorts and degrees of misery, and supposed that I would never love. I also believed I was inured to hurt. I find I am not, and this is by far the worst I have ever experienced. And it will not disappear. I shall grow accustomed to the pain, but it will never leave me." Gideon did not seem to find his words unbelievable. He said, "In the ideal, love should not engender

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distress." "There is no ideal." Rupert advised. "Never seek to love." *** Two days before the evening party, Delia carefully packed her needlework into her work basket. Morag Lochmaddy entered the parlour carrying a laden tray. "Major Rhyle has called." "I will not see him." "Very well. But ye cannot attend this rout if you will not eat." Morag's words were blunt. "Ye will be ill." Delia knew that her companion was observing her pale face and the muslin gown that hung on her reduced figure. Delia could not bear the pity in the Scotswoman's eyes, but some part of her took comfort from it. She said, "I would welcome that. I should not have to attend." Morag shook her ginger-haired head. "Ye cannot leave if you are ill, and if you do not leave, you will prolong the agony." "I will not be ill, but I cannot eat," Delia protested. She sat, with a sigh. "Then drink at least this tea, and the toddy," the Scotswoman wheedled. "Very well," Delia agreed. She picked up the cup, and despite herself savoured the aroma of the fragrant tea. "You have everything packed? We are prepared to leave immediately the day after the party?" "Only three more days," Morag assured her once more. "We are ready. Will you not see the major? He has stood a good friend to you." "He will offer support and solutions. I shall weep and he will be distressed. I cannot see him." "You have no choice." The major's deep voice sounded at the door. He had apparently induced Bowland to show him in unannounced. Morag subsided into a chair near the fireplace, without speaking. Delia knew Rhyle observed the dark circles about her eyes and her increased fragility with his keen soldier's gaze. He did not remark upon it as he bowed over her hand. "My visit will be brief. I am mindful that you have not wished to see me," he said. He chose a substantial chair, when she indicated he should sit. "Not because of any distaste for your company," Delia said. "But because you are too kind, and too good a friend." He dismissed that with a gesture. "I dislike to see my friends unhappy. But I am well aware that there is nothing I can do to alter matters for you. For either of you. I have nothing to offer but sympathy, and I think, my farewell. I have not an invitation to the betrothal party. I did not expect it, for my acquaintance

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there is of the slightest. So I shall not see you again, and I must say good bye." "Will you take refreshment? Mrs. Lochmaddy just brought me some tea." Delia surveyed his pleasant face. She hoped that some day he would find a love as great as she now experienced, despite the pain it could cause. "No, I thank you. I wished you to know that I am ever at your service, if you have need of anything. I hope we shall meet again, that something may yet be resolved to settle your future as you desire it." He rose to his imposing full height. Her eyes, as she had predicted, did fill with anguished tears. "I cling to no false hopes," she said. "Do not dismiss the possibility of miracles," he said. "Can a soldier talk of miracles?" she asked. She strove to hold her voice steady, her tears from falling. "I have seen them happen," he said in all seriousness. He bowed over her hand. "Good bye." Delia responded, "God go with you." He cleared his throat as he released her slim fingers, but he said nothing. He only nodded pleasantly to Morag, as she rose to close the door behind his departure. "He is a good man," Mrs. Lochmaddy said. "He puts me in mind of my Robert." "He is very good," Delia said. She returned listlessly to her packing. Her head ached ceaselessly. "And as he is a soldier, I expect he would bring your husband to mind. I bade him a soldier's farewell. I do not think I have ever previously spoken those words. They seemed appropriate to be spoken to a man who has risked his life in foreign lands in the past, and may again." "'Tis a suitable farewell," Morag said. "Though the devil more often stalks the battlefield than does the Lord." *** In the end Delia did not attend the betrothal party. She had every intention of doing so. It was, after all, the reason she had delayed her departure. She knew, without discussing the matter with Charles, that he would be hurt if she did not attend. Both her half-brothers had sustained enough hurt in their lives. Mrs. Lochmaddy dressed her on the evening of the rout. Delia found herself with little strength or inclination to help. Her silver gown was more loose than when first fitted. Morag pinned it skillfully. Delia found strength to sweep a little rice powder about her eyes to conceal the dark smudges beneath them. Even her sapphire eardrops felt too heavy for her hand when she moved to lift them. She would not look in the glass as her attendant set the matching clasp in her black curls. She saw anxiety in Morag's face, and was powerless to assuage it. At length, all was in readiness. Delia nodded for Morag to open the door for her to enter the parlour. Lifting her chin, and summoning a smile, Delia took a deep breath and joined the two gentlemen standing within.

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Charles was beaming with happiness. His evening dress was impeccable, and probably chosen by Bowland. The earl was sombre, his fine-boned face ravaged as it had been when they first met. Delia swayed as she met his darkened blue eyes for the first time in days. He appeared shocked by her fragility, and moved to cross the room to her side. As he approached, Delia reached for the nearest chair to support her. But she failed to find it, and for the first time in her life, she fainted dead away. When Delia came to herself, Rupert was placing her gently on her bed. Charles, with anxiety in his face, was at his shoulder. Rupert straightened and stepped away, but Charles did not. Morag Lochmaddy drew a coverlet over her, regardless of the silver gauze gown. "You must not come. You cannot attend." Charles bent to kiss her cheek. "The strain has been too much. Forgive my selfishness...I should have known it, should have seen. I shall make your excuses." "You must," she said. "Present Lady Slimbridge my apologies. I will write to her. I wish you every joy, Charles." "I will not say goodbye. We are siblings. We must surely meet again. We will at least remain in correspondence. So it is only farewell." Charles was eloquent in his distress. Delia was aware that a great tear slipped down her cheek, and she closed her eyes. "Go to the carriage," Rupert said to his brother. "I shall be with you momentarily." With a last helpless look at Delia, Charles obeyed. Mrs. Lochmaddy left the room with him. Delia, aware in every fibre of the Rupert's presence, opened her eyes again. He knelt beside her bed. "I will always love you, Delia. I will not see you again before you leave tomorrow. I shall be fixed at Manningford if ever you change your mind, if ever you need me." He kissed her lips once very gently, with a powerful passion held in check. She could see it latent in his eyes, feel his great restraint in every muscle. He stroked her hair, and the silken curls clung to his fingers. Smothering a groan, he rose, and without a backward look went away. *** The ladies were gone, Bowland informed the earl when he returned to Grillon's late in the morning the next day. Rupert had spent the night after the rout in a leather chair at White's. He had not slept, nor had he touched the full decanter at his side. The party, he supposed, had gone very well -- the guests and the hosts the epitome of politeness, the betrothed couple the very picture of joy. There had been a few surprised queries from those who had expected to meet Delia at the party. Lady Slimbridge was particularly concerned. He had explained and prevaricated. Only with Charles, late in the evening, did he discuss his concerns for Delia's health. She must have slept and regained some strength. He knew that Morag Lochmaddy would not have allowed her mistress to travel if she thought her health endangered. Rupert shaved and changed his clothes, choosing buff pantaloons absently and declining to don the green superfine coat. Then he wandered to the tidy parlour.

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Bowland need not have reported the ladies' departure. Torgreave must have known it anyway for there was no half-complete needlework on the table and there were no books scattered about. There was only an elusive scent of tuberose in the air. His long hands clenched involuntarily. He dropped into a chair, his blank gaze on the carpet at his Hessian-booted feet. If only her blue eyes had not been so tragic, if only he did not see her expressive face when he looked in the glass, if only.... "My lord?" Rupert looked up to see his valet surveying him with some concern. "The rector is gone out," Bowland informed him. "He asked me to say he might be abroad for the day, and he hoped to dine with the Slimbridges. Can I be of service at all, my lord?" Rupert considered him blankly. "I think not," he muttered. "Life is going to be hell, Bowland, a solitary hell at Manningford." Then a wicked light dawned in his indigo eyes. "Get a footman up here. Send him to invite every loosefish, rake and opera dancer whose company we have ever enjoyed. Order food and wine from this hotel's service. Tonight before we depart London we shall have one last debauch." "'Tis not what you want, my lord," his man dared to remonstrate. "I cannot have what I want," Rupert snapped. "Do as I have said." Bowland bowed, disapproval writ large on his face, and departed. *** Rupert became aware of a disturbance outside the door of the suite some while past two in the morning. It could be heard even over the drunken, ribald laughter around him. Concentrating with an effort, he determined the disagreement to be the hotel's management, in argument with Bowland. As his man seemed to have the matter in hand, he disregarded the contretemps. More than an hour later voices again were raised in the corridor and attracted his attention. This time he recognized Charles' emphatic tones combined with those of Bowland. He wove his way between his roistering 'friends' to the door, and swung it open. His brother stood there with outrage and something like sorrow in his face. Rupert was suddenly conscious that he was unsteady, that his neckcloth and waistcoat were gone, and that even his fine linen shirt was disarranged. To conceal his shame, he bowed elaborately to Charles, and said, "I am hosting a party." "So I see." Charles was uncharacteristically grim. "You are disturbing the hotel's other guests. Bowland and I just sent the manager and two heavies to the rightabout, but this must end." "More the aristocrat than the churchman, Charles. Shouldn't you have placated the manager?" Rupert mocked. Deliberately he walked away, for he could not bear the reproach in his younger brother's face. A painted doxie draped herself about him. Rupert paid her no heed, but watched his brother surreptitiously. Charles had spotted Hugh Taunton who was, Rupert estimated, slightly more sober than some in the room, and certainly more composed than he himself was. His younger brother's voice echoed to him. "Hugh, take this gathering elsewhere," Charles begged. "Grillon's are about to throw us out. You know Rupert is not himself."

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"Do not deceive yourself, dear boy," Taunton said. "This is more in Rupert's nature than the past six months of rectitude have been." Rupert experienced a stab of mortification, and looked down at his shaking hands. He disengaged himself abruptly from the half-dressed Cyprian. "Perhaps, but I want these people out of here, now," Charles said. Rupert had never heard that note of grim authority in Charles' voice before. It must have convinced Taunton. He seemed to understand, and began to circulate the room with invitations to continue the orgy at the establishment of a notorious procuress. Rupert made no move to stop him. In a shorter time than it had seemed possible, the chambers were empty. The candle flames, which had flickered wildly in the draft from the open door, settled once more to steadiness. Bowland scurried about, setting the room to rights. "Leave it! Leave us," Rupert snapped at him. He lounged into a chair near the fire, a wine glass still in his long fingers. Charles stood before him, anger and sorrow in his face. "That is not the way to forget Delia," he stated. Rupert flinched, and pulled at his disordered shirt. "I thought you might lapse into past ways. I feared you would return to the bottle." "I shall not. This was by way of a farewell soiree...a wake for my former life," Torgreave said. He was surprised that his voice was clear, though he had consumed a quantity of wine. "And I thank you for ending it. It was a mistake. I was not enjoying it." "I should think not," Charles said. "Ah, there speaks my little brother -- the clergyman -- and my father's son." Bitterness suffused Rupert's voice. "I was used to enjoy it, very much indeed. It was a way of life. Now...bah, even the wine disgusts me." He looked at the glass in his hand. "I shall be as pure as you, dear boy, give me a year or so at Manningford." Charles slumped into a chair. He spoke with sad emphasis. "I spent a blissful day with Susannah. I dined at her home and then escorted her, in company with her parents, to the theatre. I wish you could know such ordinary pleasures, such happiness. Listen, Rupert, I deeply regret Delia's departure, but I cannot regret all that has happened. There has been much good come of Mrs. Inniskip's interference, even though you are left alone and unhappy now." Rupert understood very well, more even than his brother intended that he should. In face of Charles' joy, Delia's departure had little impact. "I have been alone and unhappy for a very long time," he said, without self-pity. He was suddenly deadly sober. "I had news about Augustus from Rhyle today. I travel to France tomorrow. When I return, I shall reside at Manningford. I thank God you and I are reconciled. I will be ever glad to see you there."

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There was a suspicious moisture in his brother's eyes. Rupert rose with dignity and gripped the younger man's shoulder briefly. He stepped to the fire and very deliberately let his wineglass slip from his shaking hand. It smashed to glittering fragments on the hearth in a pool of heart-red wine. Then, aware that Charles was watching him, Rupert crossed the disordered room to his bedchamber without a backward look. *** Rupert slept for five hours. Despite an aching head, he rose early and prepared to take horse for Dover. He looked devilish, he thought, as he shaved himself. Inevitably, as he looked in the mirror he thought of Delia, and wondered how she was and where. He was thankful that Bowland was uncommonly quiet as he moved about the chamber packing. He was not to be granted time for introspection, however. His thoughts were interrupted by his brother's entrance. "You look terrible." Charles made no mention of the previous evening. "Thank you," said Rupert not without humour. He rinsed and dried his face. He found that he could not meet his brother's eyes, and accepted a shirt from his valet. Unthinkingly, he turned his back on Charles "I spoke out of concern," Charles said. He gasped with horror, "My God, Rupert! Your back. Those scars! How came you by them?" Rupert spun around and dragged on his shirt. He emerged from its folds wearing a frown. "I did not intend you to see those! Ever!" "How came you by them?" Charles repeated. "A brawl? A duel?" A thought seemed to give him pause. "Not...not those beatings you suffered from my father? How could he have done such a thing?" "It was only once or twice his zeal overcame his good sense." Rupert fastened his buttons with unsteady fingers. "Do not defend him. To scar you for life is indefensible." Charles seemed dazed. "You should have told me. I am your brother." "My little brother. You were a child. Should I have showed you the blood and let you weep for me? I think not." "I understand you better now." "Really?" Torgreave lifted a black brow, sceptically. He deftly arranged the neckcloth Bowland brought to him. "Anyway, it is past, over...as are so many things." "It must affect my opinion of my father." "I suppose," Rupert said with indifference. "But my energies are on current matters." Charles composed himself with visible effort. "I hope you find Augustus quickly, though I cannot believe he will have information to aid you." "I hope you are wrong," Rupert said, shrugging into the waistcoat Bowland held.

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"I also hope that I am," his brother retorted. He was silent for long minutes. "I think I shall remove to Long's Hotel tomorrow." "Take my belongings, will you, and ask them to hold me a room against my return? By the by, you will be reassured. Bowland insists on accompanying me to France, though I am taking no more than a change of riding clothes." Rupert at last met his brother's gray-blue eyes. Charles waited until he had donned his dark riding coat, then crossed to Rupert's side and embraced him. "I am relieved you will be accompanied. I will see us both fixed at Long's, and I will eagerly await your return. Be careful. You will not be the most welcome of visitors in France, if word of your wartime activities has traveled ahead of you." *** Torgreave reached Paris in three days, though he nearly missed the tide at Dover, and had difficulty in hiring a horse at Calais. On the journey from the French coast to the city he took pains to avoid inns and posting houses where he was well known. He spoke to no one, but used Bowland to preserve his anonymity. On his arrival in Paris, he took rooms in a small inn that proved clean and accommodating. There he ordered supper, prepared a list of hotels to canvass, and declined Bowland's assistance in his search. Above all he waited for dusk. He had no desire to be accosted by fashionable English acquaintances or irate French ones. At nine in the evening, Rupert set out on foot, hatless and drab-coated. He carried no money but a few French coins. Secured in his deep right coat pocket he had a small pistol, defense against the footpads with which every city was infested. Paris had not yet recovered from the years of revolution and war. It was a dangerous place. By midnight he was footsore. Standing before the tenth and last hotel on his list, Rupert considered the possibilities. His uncle might be making a private visit in one of the great houses of the city, but it was unlikely so soon after the suspension of hostilities. Augustus might yet been route to Paris, in which case his search was wasted. Or Gideon Rhyle's informants might have been wrong. Perhaps Augustus Manningford had had no intentions of traveling to Paris. Rupert squared his shoulders and trod up the stairs of the final listed establishment. In his flawless French and with a humble demeanour, he requested information of the concierge. His relief was great when his conjecture was proved pointless. His uncle was in possession of a suite of rooms. The gentleman was out, however, and no one had knowledge of his whereabouts or his expected return. To the concern of the hotel's management and his uncle's valet, Rupert established himself in Augustus' private parlour. He slipped into a weary drowse. When at last Augustus Manningford entered his rooms at three o'clock in the morning, Rupert was jolted awake. He rose to light two branches of candles from the feeble light flaring beside his chair. His uncle's valet was trying to explain the earl's presence to his master. There was a family resemblance to be detected between them, in their slim height, straight black brows, and deep blue eyes. However the old man had his white hair carefully cropped, and his shoulders were weakening with accruing years. "Quiet! Out!" Augustus snapped at his servant. "Nephew? What are you doing here?" he asked. "What do you want, Torgreave? You look...well, you always look depraved...but now you look positively

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devilish." Rupert guessed his uncle had anticipated his bed, and was in consequence, peevish. "Thank you. I feel devilish." Rupert bowed. "And it is a pleasure to see you, Uncle. You have been out raking about the city? Have you still an acquaintance with that lovely woman in the Rue de Chappelle?" "None of your business. And you didn't seek me out to learn that. It's the middle of the night. I'm an old man. I need my sleep." "You might have come home earlier then." Torgreave was sardonic. "Could not. I was winning." Augustus grinned with youthful glee. "How are you, boy? Still carefree and wild?" "I am less carefree than ever in my life, no longer heartwhole, and considerably dependent upon your charity. Augustus, I need information." The older man stared at him. "You came to Paris from London forinformation ?" "I am in full control of my faculties," Rupert said with irritation. "Was my father ever in Scotland?" August backed away from him warily. "Can this not wait until morning?" he blustered. "I'm tired." "Answer the question, if you please." "A fine greeting this is! I wish you'd explain," his uncle said. He seated himself with a stiffness that revealed the ache in his back. "I must explain that I have spent more than two months tracking your wanderings over Belgium and France -- as well as Denmark -- with the help of the Foreign Office's spies and Wellington's recon officers," Rupert said. "You have gone to a deal of effort." "For naught it seems," Rupert said with an impatient snap. He felt he would never get at the truth. Augustus rose with a groan and hobbled to a side table. A tray reposed there bearing decanters and glasses. He poured himself a glass of wine with what Torgreave found to be aggravating torpidity. "Will you answer my question if I give you news?" His uncle did not respond. Torgreave sighed. "I can tell you that I love a good and beautiful woman, that Charles and I are reconciled and that Manningford is in my possession once more." He had captured his uncle's attention. "Indeed?" the old man asked. "Then why are you in search of me, instead of at home enjoying your reformation?" "To discover your response to my question!" Rupert retorted.

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Augustus stared at him with suspicion. Torgreave returned the stare for long minutes. "Will you take a glass of wine?" his uncle asked. Rupert sprang to his feet, and took a hasty stride towards Augustus. "Oh, very well," the older man said. "No, my brother was never in Scotland. He swore he'd never leave England, and he never did. A more boring, consequential, parochial dry stick, I never knew. I thought him tedious beyond bearing." A rusty laugh grated in the old man's throat. "He thought me mad." He eyed his nephew curiously. "Mayhap madness runs in the family." "Something does," Rupert muttered. Hope was stirring with his chaotic thoughts. He threw himself into his chair once more. He said aloud, "I have entertained a visitor from Scotland these past four months...a young woman, of whose family I had never heard. She however knew of us, or at least of my father. The astonishing thing about this is that she looks remarkably like me, or I like her. It has to be a family similarity; it is close enough a mirror image. And she and I both bear likeness to my father and to you." Augustus Manningford was silent as he seated himself in a wing chair across from Rupert. He set his glass on a convenient table, and seemed to retreat within himself. Rupert grew impatient, yet he knew he would obtain no answer from his uncle if he pressed the older man. Augustus was ever contumacious. The resemblance between them was indisputable; it lay in more than appearance. Indeed Rupert had always been likened more to his uncle than his father. Rupert sought confirmation of his long-held suspicions. "What colour was your hair in youth?" he asked. Augustus' hair was silver. It had been since he could remember. "Black as your own." The reply was absent. His uncle seemed to be peering into the distant past. "And you have visited in Scotland?" His uncle's face paled. His age suddenly became apparent to Rupert despite his fashionable dress and his still very presentable person. "I have, but only the once," Augustus admitted. His thin hands gripped the chair's arms, until his knuckles whitened. "Ahhh," Rupert expelled a great sigh. "I thought this must be the explanation. But I could not see how. I could obtain no proof of it." The old man seemed not to hear. He spoke as though to himself. "It was a long time ago I traveled to Edinburgh...made a two months' stay." He reached for the glass he had set aside, and lifting it, drank deeply. "I met a lovely woman there, fell in love -- oh, top over tail. Margaret was her name...she was Lady Tyninghame. Her husband was a friend of the fourth earl, your father." Rupert stirred in his chair, and then rose.

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"I saw her frequently. She was not happy. But she found some joy in my company. Once, just once, our desires overcame us." Augustus' clouded gaze raised to Rupert's face. Rupert must have made some sound although he was unaware of it. "After that night I saw her but once. She would not leave the Scotsman for me. She was honour bound, she said, to stay." His face was old and sad. Pity stirred in Rupert. He was torn between a dawning realization of joy for himself, and concern for his uncle's distress. "And now...are you telling me that I have a daughter?" The old man whispered the words. "I believe I am," Rupert choked out. Tears stood in both men's eyes, as their gazes locked. It was typical, Rupert thought, of his selfishness that he had not realized that confirmation of his conjecture would bring painful memories and difficult realities to his uncle. On the other hand, the story Augustus told fit with Lady Barbara's discoveries at Carvosway. A handsome, dark-haired young man named Manningford, but not the Earl of Torgreave. Rupert smothered a triumphant smile in the face of his uncle's distress. "What shall I do? Shall I meet her?" The old man was uncertain. "And what of my Margaret?" "Lady Margaret has been dead these three years," Torgreave said gently, with deep regret at being the bearer of such unwelcome news. The old man bowed his head. After a moment, Torgreave said, "And yes, you shall meet Delia. She would not have it otherwise. Augustus, I love your daughter." His uncle displayed astonishment but said nothing. "And I hope she will consent to wed me, now that the facts are clear. She is my cousin, not my sister. I believe she is as honourable a woman as her mother." "Virtuous women are the very devil," Augustus mourned. Rupert threw back his head and laughed, as he thought he never would again. "They make wonderful wives," he said. "And daughters," said his uncle. Rupert and his uncle spent the rest of that night in conversation. Augustus wished to hear everything about the daughter he had not known existed. As there was nothing in the world that Rupert enjoyed more to discuss than Delia, he told his uncle all that he knew. They slept most of the following day, Rupert on a dressing room chaise. He parted from his uncle at six o'clock in the evening to return to his inn to bathe and shave.

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He returned to his uncle's hotel the following morning to bid the old man farewell. Rupert had not slept that night any more than he had the night before Delia's departure. Instead he roamed Paris, conscious of a lightness of spirit he had never previously experienced in his life. He was well aware that all his dreams were within his grasp. The freedom that Europe had recently gained was nothing to the freedom he felt within himself. Wild with excitement, he walked for hours, then returned to the inn at dawn and slept. At ten of the clock he woke, roused Bowland, and prepared to depart. Rupert was entrusted by his uncle with messages to Delia of remorse and delight. Augustus stammered over tangled apologies. Rupert assured his uncle they were not needed. He said, with confidence, that he and Delia would welcome Augustus at Manningford whenever he chose to come. As he left the hotel, Torgreave wondered at his own confidence. Delia had said she would marry him. She loved him, that he knew. He believed she would not deny that love now that the truth was known. But a small, black fear clutched at him. She could not deny him her love, could she?

"Aunt Barbara, I have remarkable News..."

CHAPTER TEN Torgreave set a cruel pace for his hired mount on leaving Paris. Bowland followed at his back on a tough French pony. The first stages of the journey were accomplished without incident. The second night he chose a smallauberge in Abbeville at which to rest. After a short night, he prepared eagerly to depart the place. He descended to the entry, and crossed the courtyard to a morning full of sun. The air was strong with the scents of horses, of baking, of laundry, and of the fields beyond the walls. Bowland was paying the proprietor. Rupert grinned to himself, thinking of his man's views. He had made his opinion of France clear to Torgreave and was as eager to be in England as the earl. As Torgreave walked toward the stables, his arm was grasped ungently. Abruptly he was swung round to face a man he knew very well. The Vicomte de Charney. Despite their history of friendship, the short, angry gentleman appeared very much less than friendly. De Charney spoke swiftly, retaining his hold on Torgreave's arm. "France is now open to the English once more. But not to such as you...not to spies who masquerade as friends." His tone was rancorous. "The rumours are true?" Taken by surprise, Rupert drew a deep breath, as much to compose himself as to organize his defences against the unexpected encounter. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Bowland had crossed the courtyard and was supervising the saddling of their mounts, and the loading of their gear. "The rumours are true," he confirmed, in his idiomatic, Parisian-accented French. He stared into De Charney's proud, sharp-featured face. "I helped my country as I could, as would you have done, in my position." "Never! I might have fought in the army. I might have done reconnaisance. But I would never, ever have been a spy." He released Torgreave's arm.

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"It was all I was fitted for. My friends were being killed. I did what I could." "WE were your friends. Or so we thought. You used us." De Charney's face coloured deep red with anger. "My friendship was never a masquerade. Whether you wish it or no, you have it. I did use such information as I came upon. I admit it freely." Torgreave tensed preparing for the outcome, whatever it might be, of this unfortunate, lamentable encounter. "My youngest brother died at the hands of the English, six months ago," the other man choked out. "It could as easily have been my brother. It was war, despite how our countrymen overlook the past so easily now," Rupert responded. "I offer you my sympathies. I assure you they are genuine." "I want nothing from you...except perhaps your life." De Charney pulled a pistol from the deep pocket of his greatcoat. Torgreave was unarmed. He thought cynically that perhaps this was how his life was meant to end, within reach of happiness, in the mud of a stableyard. Deep regret tore at him. He thought of Delia but he experienced no fear. He stood very still, his gaze on De Charney's anguished countenance. The Frenchman dropped his pistol back in to his pocket. "I am not a murderer. If I am, I am no better than you. Perhaps I should call out, reveal your identity." De Charney gestured at the occupants of the bustling stableyard, who were apparently unaware of drama in their midst. "If I do, these good folk will beat you senseless!" Rupert was suddenly aware that Bowland had led their two horses to the arched entrance of the courtyard, and had mounted. His valet had one hand on the pistol in the leather holder on his saddle. He was evidently awaiting a signal from his master. "If you call out, they will indeed," Rupert agreed with De Charney. He warily removed his arm from his erstwhile friend's grip. He took one, then two, steps away and shook his head slightly at Bowland. The Vicomte made no move to stop him, but said, "I hope I never see you again." He spat on the ground. Rupert strode to his horse. Bowland tossed him the reins, and the earl mounted without speaking. He did not look back, as they entered the street, but he could feel De Charney's hostile stare follow him. Torgreave's journey to Calais was dogged by memories. English friends in army hospitals, grieving families, French friends at balls and salons, amused by his drunken wit, unsuspecting of his treachery. Guilt and regret haunted him. He argued with himself, mile after mile. He had had to do what he had done. He had experienced the news of the wounding or death of one friend after another. He had suffered a terrible sense of powerlessness, a desperate sense of waste, until Rhyle had offered employment. There had been no honour in the work he had done; he had taken no pride in being a spy. His life had been devoid of honour and pride for many years at that point. He had not cared if he lived or died, had not indeed expected to live. He had only hoped to save some valiant lives with his own poor sacrifice.

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English lives, and ultimately French lives. Torgreave changed horses mechanically at Crecy, then Montreuil. He was peripherally aware of Bowland's concerned presence, watching and guarding him. He rode on thinking of De Charney's dead young brother, and his own, thankfully alive. His choices, hisspying , played a part surely in their destinies. In the destinies of many young men. He was conscious of a cold rain, or was it tears, streaming down his face as he galloped into the wind. He had saved lives, French and English, if he had done anything to shorten the war. As he rode into Calais, he concluded that he had done the right thing. There had been no black and white in the world, no clear cut choices or decisions. He had betrayed his French friends to no one. He had used their information to help end the carnage. As he had told De Charney, he had done the only thing he could. As he boarded the sloop that would carry him to England, he knew that he would not set foot in France again. That part of his life was over, and could be stored with all the other regrets and hurts, in the past. England, Delia, and his future, lay ahead. *** The progress of Torgreave and Bowland, from Dover to London, was slow, for rain turned the road to a treacherous sea of mud. Torgreave arrived in London a day later than he had hoped and found his belongings, as he had requested, in a room at Long's Hotel. Wearied by the trip, and with his spirits still impaired, he ordered a meal. Then frowning at his grimy image in the mirror, he sent Bowland for hot water and a tub. He slid out of his near-ruined riding coat, and ripped off his neckcloth. He had bathed, but had only just pulled on fresh biscuit pantaloons when, after a brief knock, the door was thrust open. Charles stood in the opening, a haggard, dejected figure. Rupert crossed the room in three strides to seize his brother's shoulders. "What in God's name has happened?" he demanded. His younger brother pushed him away roughly and slammed the door. "You," he snapped. "You happened to my life. I thought our reunion wonderful, but you have ruined everything." "I can see our positions are reversed from where they stood on my departure," Rupert said. "I have good report. Augustus is, it appears, Delia's father. What is your news?" "Augustus, Delia's father?" The younger man was bewildered, but overcome by his own anguish. He achieved a sneer. "My news? Well, it will be public in a day or two. My betrothal is ended...ended because Sir Thomas heard of your debauch at Grillon's, and realized you had not changed. He will not allow his daughter to be allied with my family. So while your hopes are realized, mine are dashed. Because of your godforsaken whims and appetites. My father was right about you, every last word." He staggered to a chair and sat, burying his face in his hands. Rupert shuddered, remembering of De Charney and his brother. "Many would agree with you, and him," he said. He shrugged off his weariness. He crossed the room to his brother's side and laid his hand on a bowed shoulder. It was permitted to remain.

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"I will see Sir Thomas. I will make it right. I regret that night. It was, I think, an old reaction to trouble. I was used to defy my father with every revel I celebrated. They were a pathetic defiance of his rules and strictures. I now know debauchery no longer satisfies me. Your happiness means as much to me as my own. My father, I hope, was not correct, for he saw only the worst in me." "If you can make this right, it will be a miracle," the younger man said. "When shall you go?" "Now," Rupert responded, as Bowland entered with his shaving implements. "As soon as I am presentable." Bowland began to lather the shaving soap, and Rupert seized the razor. "Go lie on the bed, Charles," he said over his shoulder. "You look as though you haven't slept for days." "I have my own chamber," his brother protested. "Lie down!" His brother obeyed, and within minutes was asleep. Rupert exchanged a grim look with his valet, and applied himself to shaving. He condemned his father as he scraped his face, and he damned himself for his thoughtless response to his father's repression. It was all the old man's fault, and yet it was not, for he was himself responsible for his reaction to his father's actions. He had sworn six months ago to change, to make himself a good life, to live to the benefit of others, and challenge the assumptions that his now dead father had made of him. And he had changed, but one challenge from fate had sent him slipping back, into old ways and useless habits. Never again. It would not happen again, and Charles should never suffer again through him. He made the promise to himself, and to De Charney and De Charney's dead brother. He would see Charles happy. *** Determination fueled Torgreave when he trod up the steps of the Slimbridge house in North Audley Street. He pulled the bell and was admitted immediately. Thanks to Bowland's efforts, he was the epitome of sartorial perfection. His linen was impeccable, his corbeau coat sleekly brushed, even his over-long black hair was immaculately ordered. His intentions were no less orderly. He would see Charles' bethrothal restored, and with it, his happiness. He would accept nothing less. After presenting his request to see Sir Thomas, he was shown to the drawing room. Although justice motivated him, impatience was his chief emotion. His only real desire was to see Delia...to disclose his discovery to her, to see her beautiful face again. Selfishness again, he realized. The door opened, and he swung around to see Lady Slimbridge entering. "My lord." She offered her hand, and he saluted it gracefully. "You look better than the night of our ill fated rout." "I thought I concealed my emotion well," he frowned. "I am thought to be an acute observer."

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"Then you may wish to know that several difficult problems have been resolved, and I mean to wed Delia." "I am very happy to hear it. You will suit very well." She seated herself and waved him to a chair. "Sir Thomas will not see you," she said. "I believe I understand his concerns, but they are unfounded. I am here to convince him of it. No notice has been sent to the papers?" "No. My daughter is in great distress. We deemed it best to wait." "My brother is also overset. My thoughtless actions have caused many people distress for several years. That is ended, I assure you." She considered him thoughtfully in silence. "I believe you," she said then, "but will Sir Thomas?" "If you will permit me to go to him?" "He is in the library. William -- in the hall -- will guide you." *** Torgreave returned to Long's Hotel in the early evening. He ordered a supper to be brought to his chamber, and mounted the stairs noisily two at a time. He entered his chamber quietly however, and found his brother still asleep on the bed. Bowland had removed the rector's boots and drawn a coverlet over him. "Wake up, Charlie," Rupert prodded his brother. "Damn you, Rupert! What is it?" Charles sat up. Full consciousness came to him with its memories. "Aghhh," he groaned, thrusting back his dark hair. Rupert removed his coat and tossed it on the table. He threw himself into a chair. "Your wedding date is June 6, brother mine. Banns to be read beginning next Sunday, Sir Thomas holding to tradition." Charles showed a pardonable confusion, with joy just dawning. "You...Rupert...did you...you did." "You are incomprehensible, dear boy," Torgreave drawled. "Sir Thomas has withdrawn his objections, and you remain betrothed to Miss Slimbridge." "How?" His brother managed to get out only the single syllable. "Lady Slimbridge. He was hostile, refused at first to see me," Rupert sobered a little. "However when I appeared unannounced in his library, he had to talk to me. I apologized for the pain I caused. I grovelled a little. It seemed to please him. Then I explained my ill-judged debauch in light of Delia's rejection of me. And I told him I still had hopes of being respectably wed to her. After I informed him of my interest in sobriety and domesticity, he relented. He even mentioned a few, very few, wild exploits of his. Finally we discussed my plans for Manningford. He seemed to find them of considerable interest."

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"He was used to tell me what he would do for Manningford," Charles said. "I suspected it. In fact, he had some very worthy suggestions." Rupert lifted a repelling hand as he detected what was in his brother's face. "No don't thank me. You should not have had to suffer as you did. You will never suffer again at my hands." Bowland pushed open the door with his foot, as he was laden with a massive tray. "Ah, supper," Rupert exclaimed. "Come along Charles, have something to eat. You are expected in North Audley Street. You have a wedding to plan. And I...tomorrow I must find Delia." *** Contrary to her expressed desire, Delia had not reached Edinburgh within the week. After the first day's long journey, she and Morag Lochmaddy rested at the Fox in Huntingdon. When they rose the next morning, Delia surprised even herself with an announcement. "We shall divert our journey today, to Manningford." Her companion allowed herself an astonished exclamation. "Is it wise Miss Delia?" "I do not know. But I know it to be necessary. I have a wish to see the house in its finished state." They accomplished the side trip to Manningford by mid-afternoon. The park was hazed with green, and daffodils nodded in drifts to the edges of the burgeoning forest and hedged fields. Mrs. Inniskip, close upon the heels of Prym, met them in the Hall. "Miss Tyninghame, we are glad to see you." Her expression revealed her shock at Delia's worn and fragile appearance. "And I you," Delia smiled warmly. "I am returning to Edinburgh, and wished only to see Manningford...to see if the decorations were appropriate." "Appropriate? Miss Tyninghame, you have wrought wonders. The furnishings sent from London have been placed according to your instructions, the hangings done, and the pictures. 'Tis wonderful." Delia wavered wearily and put a hand to her brow. "Will you take refreshment, Miss Tyninghame, rest a little? Then we might show you the house?" Delia nodded agreement, and permitted herself to be led to the saloon on the first floor. In the end the sense of belonging she felt at Manningford, combined with the connivance of the devoted servants, managed to delay her journey two days. Inniskip had questions regarding placement of certain of the items Delia had ordered, and by the time they had been answered that first day it was dusk. She was prevailed upon to sleep in a refurbished bedchamber. The following day, she had to see each room of the west wing, which was transformed by her careful design. By ingenious persuasion, she was convinced to spend another night. Aware of the servants' kind intentions, but determined to leave, she ordered her post chaise for nine o'clock the next morning.

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She could not weep, when they took coach for the Great North Road. Her regret, for what might have been, went too deep for tears. But the daffodils were a golden blur, and the view of the tower of Charles' church was distorted by her impaired vision. She left Manningford as her gift for Rupert, furnished with love for his comfort. They reached Grantham that evening in time to dine at the Angel. Despite Mrs. Lochmaddy's protests, Delia insisted they press on by moonlight to Doncaster afterwards. It was an absurd destination, the distance prodigious, but she would not be gainsaid. She fainted before they had passed another hour in the coach. She had eaten next to nothing at the Angel. Indeed she had eaten little for more than a week. Morag Lochmaddy pulled violently at the checkstring before reviving Delia with the sal volatile in her reticule. "Newark is only a few miles away, Miss Delia. We must spend the night there." "No. I wish to go to Edinburgh." Delia, her eyes clouded with fatigue, protested. "Ye canna," argued her companion. The coach door stood open and the postilion idled outside in the road. Morag called to him. "Here, can ye tell of a respectable inn at Newark?" "The White Horse, ma'am. Fine as you could wish," came the response. "There, you hear, Miss Delia?" Delia shivered, and relented. "Very well, we shall halt at Newark," she said. She did not speak again until she was installed in the bed of the best bedchamber of the White Horse. A private parlour was bespoke and Morag Lochmaddy, with a chambermaid to do her bidding, prepared a posset over the fire. "I believe you were right, Morag," Delia said. "I have made myself ill through not eating." "'Tis a feverish cold, Miss Delia, nothing more," the Scotswoman said. "Perhaps, but you were justified. Except that I still feel I cannot eat. But I shall endeavour to drink whatever you bring me." Her voice was suspended momentarily by unshed tears. "We should not have paused at Manningford." "Yet it was fine to see the place in good heart. Ye've done the earl a service indeed." Delia flinched. Morag hurried on. "We shall stay until you are stronger, a day or two. Now sleep. You've done precious little of that these past nights." "We shall stay a day, if you insist. And you must not blame the earl," Delia admonished. She was drowsy but her anguish denied her rest. Rupert would be in France now discovering that there was no hope, and no future for them. "He's no worse than the rest of his breed," Morag acknowledged. "'Tis Lady Barbara I blame. She should not have let you come south...either first or last." She supported Delia so that she could sip the sustaining drink prepared for her.

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Delia felt a flicker of amusement, an emotion that she had assumed quite dead. "This is not a foreign Land, Morag. The English are not barbarians," she said. She drank as she had promised she would. "Besides she could not have prevented me either time." Four days passed before she was fit enough to continue the journey. The morning of the fifth day, she made to descend the staircase of the White Horse. She felt calm and somewhat rested, though despondent still. At the foot of the stairs, the door stood open on a bright spring morning dancing with sunlight. The host was in conversation with a tall gentleman, clad in a greatcoat, who held his beaver in one gloved hand. His black head was bent in a most familiar way. Delia clutched the banister more securely. Surely she was not in such control as she thought, that any tall slim gentleman could affect her so. Or was she dreaming? No, for surely she knew that straight broad shouldered back. "Rupert?" she breathed. He spun about. "Thank God," he exclaimed. "I have been to Leicester, Grantham and Nottingham, besides Manningford. Bowland is certain I am a Bedlamite." He mounted the stairs two at a time, to seize her and kiss her breathless before she could speak. She responded without restraint, conscious only of her deep need of him. His lips were warm on her mouth, her cheek, her throat. Morag Lochmaddy's shocked remonstrances at last penetrated her joy. "We must not!" She tore herself away at last. "You mustn't." Half the inn servants stood gaping at them from the entry below. His gaze wandered adoringly over her face. His long fingers traced the smooth line of her jaw, and teased her pearl eardrop. "Must I not...cousin?" he asked. His deep voice was quiet and very tender. She clutched his arm with surprising strength and drew him, hurried him, back into the parlour she had only just vacated. "Cousin?" she asked. The future was dawning before her. She scarcely dared to hope that happiness could be theirs. She closed the door in Morag's outraged face. "Cousin," he confirmed. He reveled in the glory of her growing joy. "I have been to Paris, and spoken with my uncle. Augustus recalled very well a trip to Scotland, and his genuine love for a delightful woman called Margaret. Their joy in each other was very real, and consummated but once. His regrets are many and of long-standing." "He is my father," Delia said, her emotions in a turmoil. Anxiety beset her. "Shall I like him?" "I think so. I believe so. To hear of your mother's death, and of your existence was a great shock to him. He wonders if you will meet him." Delia found it necessary to be seated, and drew Rupert down beside her. "I shall, of course, but it is strange to hear of it. To think of it."

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"I believe I could more easily have accepted this change of parent than you. For your 'father' was well loved by you, and mine, not at all by me. I wish the adjustment had been mine." She studied him, and discovered the shadows of the past still in his face. But the lines had smoothed, and a new content shaped his features. "We must look to the future, not the past," she said. "When we are wed..." he began. He was studying her as eagerly as she did him, she realized, and she coloured. She discovered her strength flooding back, and recognized even that she was hungry. "Are we to be wed?" she interrupted him to query half-teasingly. A touch of disbelief haunted here, but her heart was full of joy, and her dreams were to be realized. "You have just kissed me in a public inn, in a manner in which no unmarried lady should indulge. We shall have to wed. Your reputation is destroyed." His expression was tender. "And does a rake worry about reputation?" "There is not a rake present. Only a man, begging for your hand, desiring the bliss of your companionship and your love. And vowing to ensure your happiness. Will you marry me?" She smiled with great sweetness upon him. "I will," she promised. She was gathered again into his arms. "I have a special license in my pocket," he murmured against her feather soft black hair. "It would be pleasant to be married by Charles," she whispered in return, breathing in the crisp scent of him, against the linen of his neckcloth. He held her away by the shoulders, very gently. "Charles is still in London. I cannot wait so long," he said. "I shall fall to bits and be most pathetic." "Emotion conquers the man of science," she teased lovingly. "Well then, Newark must hold a sympathetic man of God. We shall send Bowland to find him, and Morag to find flowers. But Rupert, one thing I demand." He faced her gravely. "I will spend our wedding night at Manningford." "Done," he agreed with a dazzling smile. The End To learn about other books Awe-Struck publishes, go to the Awe-Struck E-Books website at http://www.awe-struck.net/

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