Conspiracy of Kisses

Conspiracy

Kisses

Columbine House King Street, St. James' London CONSPIRACY OF KISSES First published 1986 by Columbine House the romantic side of Arlington Books (Publishers) Ltd 15-17 King Street London S.W.l. © Caroline Courtney 1986 Typeset by Inforum Ltd, Portsmouth Printed and bound by Biddies Limited, Guildford British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Courtney, Caroline Conspiracy of kisses

I. Title 823'.914 [F] PR6053.089 ISBN 0 85140 680

1 "What nonsense is this, Mariella? Have you totally taken leave of your senses?" Lord George Stanley gazed down on his golden haired fiancee, displeasure emanating from every inch of his short, stocky frame. Mariella Ward could not meet his furious brown eyes. Oh dear, she thought. I anticipated that George would not take kindly to my unexpected news. But I had not expected him to be quite so angry as this! Clutching Lord Stanley's dark oak library table for support, she drew a deep breath and tried again: "I am aware that this has come as something of a shock, George, but please try and understand ..." "My understanding, Mariella, is that overnight you appear to have turned from a sweet, amiable lady into a wilful, ungrateful girl," snapped Lord Stanley. He stood with his back to the roaring log fire and demanded, "Is it not true that after the untimely death of your parents you would have been left in dire financial straits had I not been there to take you under my wing and offer you the protection of marriage?" "Yes, George — " "What is more, you will be marrying into one of the most respected and wealthy families in all England. You will be a lady of consequence in the land. Did you dream, on those dark days after your parent's funeral when I found you sobbing

on the window seat, that in such a short while your future would be bright and secure once more?" "No, George — " "And now," thundered Lord Stanley, "you have the impertinence to stand here before me and declare that you wish to postpone our wedding! Why, it is the most outrageous suggestion I have ever had the misfortune to hear in my entire life." Mariella's violet eyes filled with tears. George was right, of course. George was always right. Journeying throughItaly last year, her parents had contracted a fever, which had proved fatal. The Ward estate, and London family home had passed to Mariella's eldest male cousin, leaving the eighteen year old Mariella in a perilous financial position. Naturally, she had blurted out all her troubles to Lord George Stanley, a family friend whom she had known all her life. And naturally, she had been overcome with relief when George had so capably taken charge of her affairs. He interviewed Mariella's cousin, and arranged that she would be allowed to stay on, albeit temporarily, at the Ward family home in Hill Street, with the cousin providing her with a small allowance sufficient for her everyday requirements. George had called on her every day, and she had found his solid presence and sensible words of encouragement most reassuring. She was so grateful to him. So when, on the day her first six months of mourning were ended, Lord George took her hand and asked her to marry him, she had accepted. It seemed inevitable that she should marry George. Inevitable and, yes, right. Everything George thought was right. "I am waiting, Mariella, for a convincing explanation of why you desire to postpone our nuptials!" Mariella pushed back her golden hair. "Believe me, George, it is not a decision I have made totally of my own free will. You will mind that I dined with Aunt Emilia last night?" "Ah yes," nodded Lord Stanley. "Lady Henlow is your late mother's only sister, is she not?" "She is recently widowed," said Mariella, "and having lived all her married life in Bath she is now anxious to spend the rest of her days in King's Lynn, the town where she was born.

She has rented a house there, and intends quitting Bath for Norfolk early in the New Year." "Mariella, I should be obliged if you would kindly get to the point," said Lord Stanley irritably. "I am sure your Aunt Emilia is a most agreeable lady, but I fail to see what her domestic arrangements have to do with your sudden refusal to marry me, as agreed, on your nineteenth birthday in January." But Lord George Stanley was forced to wait a further few minutes for his fiancee's explanation, while the maid entered and drew the velvet library curtains against the foggy December night. As the doors closed behind the maid, Mariella went on, "You must appreciate that Aunt Emelia is all alone in the world, George. Anxious though she is to return to King's Lynn, she is worried about the journey, and establishing her household with no one at her side. As her only niece, indeed, her only living relative, I felt honour bound to offer to accompany her to Norfolk, and stay with her for a few months until she has settled in." Lord Stanley strode across to the brandy decanter, and poured himself a generous measure. "Norfolk?" he bellowed. "King's Lynn! But my dear Mariella, are you not iware that no one, but no one, journeys to Norfolk in the midst of winter? In autumn, yes, for the shooting. Excellent sport to be had there then. Quite superb. But to contemplate travelling to Norfolk in January is the mark of a deranged mind." "I assure you, George," said Mariella with unaccustomed boldness, "that Aunt Emilia is one of the sanest, gentlest — " "Mariella." Lord Stanley's tone was avuncular. "As you are a girl, I appreciate that you have not had the benefit of a formal education. Now, are you aware exactly where King's Lynn is?" Of course Mariella knew where King's Lynn was. Both her mother and Aunt Emilia had been born there. This had given her a natural interest in the town, an interest fostered by the private tutor who had taken diligent charge of Mariella's days in the school room. Nevertheless, under Lord Stanley's patronising gaze, Mariella found herself reduced to the level of a gauche twelve year old schoolgirl. "N-Norfolk is on the e-east coast of England," she stuttered, "in the area known as

East Anglia. The counties bordering it are Lincolnshire to the north, Cambridgeshire to the West, and Suffolk to the south. K-King's Lynn is a port, and market town situated on the river Great Ouse, and is a hundred miles from London!" Lord Stanley smiled indulgently. "What you say is quite correct, my dear. But you have missed one vital, not to say crucial fact about the area in question. Come now. Think a little harder!" Mariella sank onto the sofa, wondering why it was that George always had the capacity to make her feel inadequate. Perhaps I am inadequate, she thought sadly. I do try so hard to be all he wants me to be, but all too often George gives me the impression that I am failing him, badly. In desperation, she fell back on the wile of fluttering her eyelashes, fixing him with her lustrous violet eyes and breathing helplessly, "Oh George, you're so clever, and so very mean to tease me in this manner! I declare, when I look at your handsome face all sensible thought goes straight out of my head!" Lord Stanley's chest expanded visibly. Crossing to the sofa he sat down beside his fiancee and patted her hand. "You are such a silly, but such an enchanting little goose Mariella," he murmured. "Sometimes I blame myself for expecting too much from you, when your purpose in life is to delight us all with your beauty, not your intelligence. No, the essential fact you must remember about all East Anglia is the climate, my dear. Situated, as you so rightly say, on the east coast of the country, it is vulnerable at all times of year to the harshest of winds. But in January, those winds are not merely harsh, they are ruthlessly icy. They weep down from the frozen north, and across from snowbound Russia . . ." Mariella shivered, and knelt down in front of the blazing fire. Lord Stanley sipped his brandy and continued, "Reflect, Mariella. You were born and raised here in London. Being of the female gender, you naturally possess a delicate constitution. For you to travel east, to Norfolk, in the depths of winter would be an act of insanity. No, my dear, it is something I cannot, will not permit. You will tell your unit that, regretfully, you are unable to accompany her, and our wedding will take place in January as arranged."

The words, "Yes, George," trembled on Mariella's lips. She was so accustomed to following George's lead in every matter that it seemed outrageous now that she should question his word. And yet, she was driven on to murmur helplessly, "But George, I promised Aunt Emilia. I gave her my word that I would accompany her to Norfolk! She is occupied at this very moment, making all the arrange- ments. I simply cannot go to her now and tell her that I have changed my mind!" Lord Stanley sighed. Sometimes, he reflected, the burdens of an affianced man were heavy indeed. But he knew where his duty lay. Duty was something no member of the Stanley family ever shirked. Rising, he crossed to the fireplace and straightened the ornate gilt framed mirror hanging above the mantel. "Do not fret yourself, Mariella," he instructed calmly. "I shall call upon Lady Henlow tomorrow.and explain the situation to her. She is lodging in London for the present, you say, with a friend in Jermyn Street?" Mariella nodded, and Lord Stanley continued confidently, "Rest assured, my dear. I shall make it clear to your aunt that there is no question of you recklessly reneging on your promise. But for the sake of your health, I as your fiance, have instructed you that the wisest course would be for you to remain in the gentler climes of the south. Lady Henlow will, I am sure, instantly release you from your promise when she has listened to what I have to say." ★★★ For the rest of his life, Lord George Stanley would look back on his interview with Lady Henlow, and find himself regarding the episode as if through a thick, swirling mist. The trouble was, he reflected afterwards, that Lady Hen- low, in common with so many of the female gender, had no appreciation of logical thought or argument. A delicately-boned woman, with wispy silvery hair, she had greeted him most cordially and fussed for some considerable time, ensuring that his chair was comfortable, that he was out of the draught, that he was not scalded by her drawing room fire. When at last she was seated opposite him, he launched immediately into his prepared speech about Mariella's health and his fears that the biting East Anglian winds would prove too much for her delicate constitution.

But instead of looking concerned for the welfare of her niece, Lady Henlow's face lit up. "Ah yes, the Norfolk air, Lord Stanley! So bracing, and so pure after the smoke-filled atmosphere of London. I am so glad you agree with me that a dose of clean East Anglian air will do dear Mariella the power of good!" Lord Stanley frowned. Was the woman deaf? Why, she appeared not to have heard a word he had uttered! He tried again. "Lady Henlow, I fear you do not comprehend me. I feel that for Mariella to take the risk of exposing herself to an East Anglian winter she would, from the point of view of her constitution, be skating 011 very thin ice indeed. I cannot permit — " "Skating!" exclaimed Aunt Emilia, her blue eyes sparkling. "Oh, how splendid of you to remind me, Lord Stanley. My, what times we had at our skating parties when I was a girl. The rivers near Lynn freeze over in the winter, you see and then all the young people take to the ice. And afterwards, there are hot chestnuts and mulled wine. Mariella will adore it all! Has she had the opportunity to learn how to skate, do you know?" "Er, I really have no notion," muttered Lord Stanley, caught off guard. Then, recovering himself, he said forcefully, "We appear to be talking at cross purposes, Lady Henlow. You must understand that I came here today to talk to you, in confidence, about my fiancee." Lady Henlow's eyes widened. "But we are talking about Mariella, Lord Stanley! We have agreed, have we not, that the Norfolk air will put roses in her cheeks, and that she shall learn to skate? Perhaps there will be dancing on the ice( Mariella loves to dance, does she not?" Lord Stanley did not wish to discuss his fiancee's passion lot the dance. Having little natural sense of rhythm himself he could not comprehend Mariella's eagerness to take to the floor and dance all night at the balls they attended. Fortunately, he reflected, since their engagement she had been in mourning for her parents, and he had prevailed upon her that to be observed dancing in public was unseemly for a lady wearing black. "No doubt there will be many balls for Mariella to attend in Lynn," Lady Henlow chattered on. "Just because it is winter, it does not mean that everyone shuts themselves in and forgets how to enjoy themselves, you know. Dear me no.

Norfolk people are not inclined to permit a touch of inclement weather to spoil their pleasures." Lord Stanley, who had been beginning to feel that con- trol of the conversation was slipping away from him, seized his opportunity. Rising to his feet, to lend his words added authority, he said firmly, "That is precisely my point, Lady Henlow. It is all very well for people who have been born in East Anglia to go hither and thither through snowstorms and howling gales. But my Mariella, my fiancee, is a more delicate flower and I would be failing in my duty if I did not express to you, in the strongest possible terms, my anxiety..." He was obliged to jump away from the fireplace as Lady Henlow reached forward and threw a spitting pine log onto the flames. She smiled up at him. "Oh yes, Mariella is such a lovely girl is she not? That beautiful golden hair, those lustrous violet eyes and my, what a matchless complexion! You must be truly proud of her. And she in her turn is so fortunate to have a gentleman such as you as her betrothed." Lady Henlow sighed. "So many gentlemen nowadays have no sense of the old values. Loyalty. Trust. And above all, duty. But in you, Mariella has found someone who truly understands right from wrong. Why, I cannot think of any other man in all London who would selflessly agree to postpone his wedding arrangements in order that his fiancee should accompany her poor widowed aunt to set up house in the town she was born in, and the town which will be her final resting place. That, my dear Lord Stanley, is devotion to duty indeed -family duty - and I want you to understand that I am not only grateful to you, but filled with admiration also." Lord Stanley rubbed his eyes. He could not believe that he was hearing aright. Surely he was dreaming . . . This conversation was not taking place at all? But the situation was rapidly to go from bad to worse. Lord Stanley, having decided that tact and diplomacy were lost on the muddle-headed Lady Henlow, drew breath to state loudly and uncompromisingly that under no circumstances whatsoever would he allow his fiancee to accompany her to Norfolk. At that moment, however, a footman entered and announced that Lady Torrington was waiting on Lady Henlow. In fact, Lady Torrington was not waiting. Sweeping into the drawing room she dismissed the footman with a wave of

her hand and after greeting Lady Henlow sat down in the chair recently vacated by Lord Stanley. Lord Stanley was dismayed at the lady's entrance, and most reluctant to meet her steely gaze. A year ago, he had been on the point of proposing marriage to Lady Torrington's daughter, Selina. Lord and Lady Torrington had given their tacit consent to the match. Both the Torringtons and the Stanleys were wealthy, well-connected families and the union of George and Selina could bring nothing but credit to both sides. But then Mariella's parents had died so unexpectedly, and Lord Stanley had been swift to assess the advantages of the situation. Mariella did not, it was true, possess the sizeable fortune of Lady Selina Torrington. But Lord Stanley had sufficient wealth of his own. And, more important to him than wealth, was the fact that Mariella was far more beautiful than the somewhat stolid Selina. She was also, he realised, far more malleable. Selina, the only child of doting, rich, titled parents, was inclined, on occasion, to behave like a spoiled, wilful girl. Mariella, on the other hand, was sweet natured and impressionable. He was confident that in time he could mould this lovely golden haired flower into the docile, perfect wife he had always wanted. He would, Lord Stanley was confident, be the envy of all London with the demure and beautiful Mariella by his side. He had, of course, kept an acquisitive eye on Mariella for many years but he knew his prospects of marrying her were doomed when he overheard her father referring to him as "that pompous ass." "Shush, William," Mrs Ward had remonstrated. "Lord Stanley comes from one of the finest families in the land." '' I care not whether he's related to King George himself," snapped back Mariella's father. "If he has it in mind to ask for my daughter's hand then he would be advised to reconsider. When Mariella marries it will be to someone worthy of her, a man of intelligence, with a cultivated mind, not a stiff-necked bore like Stanley." After the Ward's sudden death, it had been an easy matter for Lord Stanley to persuade Mariella to marry him. Less easy, however, had been his interview with Lord and Lady Torrington. Although he and Selina had never been officially betrothed, there had been, as Lady Torrington icily pointed out, an understanding between them. Lord Stanley had

explained away his sudden engagement to Mariella by gravely informing the Torringtons that as an old family friend of the Wards he felt it his duty to offer the orphaned Mariella his protection. Standing now in Lady Henlow's drawing room, Lord Stanley bitterly regretted the long and impassioned speech he had made to the Torringtons about the importance of duty. For Lady Henlow, moving her chair closer to Lady Torrington, was babbling about her proposed remove to Norfolk . . . accompanied by her niece . . . and how splendid it was of Lord Stanley to postpone his nuptials to enable his fiancee to perform this kindly, family duty for her aunt. Lady Torrington fixed him with a frosty glare. "Ah yes," she said crisply. "How valiant of you, Lord Stanley. But then it is exactly what one would have expected from you. How well I remember you telling me how important it was, in these days of falling moral values, that standards should be maintained." Hurriedly, Lord Stanley made his excuses and left. Scorning his carriage, he walked back to his Curzon Street home in a tearing rage. Women, he concluded were a curse to mankind, and Mariella's Aunt Emilia was one of the most muddle-headed, woolly-thinking females he had ever encountered. His encounter with her was enough, he decided, to make one seriously consider becoming a monk. However, by the time he arrived to dine with Mariella that evening, Lord Stanley was once more in control of himself, and of her life. Dressed in a simple black silk gown, she awaited him in the drawing room. He was surprised to find her alone, for after her parents' death Lord Stanley had insisted that she ask her old Nanny to come out of retirement and live with Mariella as her chaperone. "Nanny has a headache, George, and has requested a supper tray to be sent to her room," explained Mariella, as George's dry lips brushed across her cool cheek. "Er . . .how did you find Aunt Emilia? Did you like her?" Lord Stanley could not, in all conscience, express to his fiance his true feelings about her aunt. Clearing his throat, he intoned, "Observing your Aunt Emilia this afternoon, my dear, made me realise once again the advantages of having been born a man in this troubled world. Clearly, the death of her husband has left your aunt severely overwrought. And she is in no fit state to travel alone to Norfolk."

"No, George, that's what I — " "It would be unfeeling and inhuman to deprive the lady of companionship at what is clearly a most stressful time of her life." "I am so relieved to hear you say so, George, for — " "I realise how disappointed you will be at postponing our wedding, Mariella, but this is one occasion when we must put aside our selfish desires and lend support and loyalty to the one who needs it most." "Yes, George." Mariella hesitated, but then the mischievous streak in her nature got the better of her. "But I thought you indicated, George, that for the sake of my health it would be wiser not to expose myself to the harsh winds of East Anglia." Lord Stanley frowned, and continued frowning as he escorted her into the blue dining room. "Mariella, it has come to my notice recently that it appears to be a trait of female members of your family not to pay attention to what others are saying. This is a fault, my dear, which I should like you to eradicate immediately from your temperament." "Very well, George. I promise I will try." Lord Stanley smoothed his damask napkin over his knees and continued, "I said that we must put aside our own selfish desires for the good of your Aunt Emilia. We must make sacrifices, Mariella. It is the only responsible thing to do. Surely you are not trying to tell me that you would desert your aunt in her hour of need, simply because you are afraid of feeling cold in Norfolk?"

"N-no, George," stammered Mariella. "It was my understanding that you thought — " "We shall all three leave for Norfolk in the New Year," said Lord Stanley. "The matter is settled." Mariella dropped her soup spoon. "We three? she exclaimed. "You — you intend to accompany us?" "But of course I shall accompany you," said Lord Stanley testily. "How can I possibly allow an unmarried girl — my

fiancee — and a feather-brained woman to go roaming halfway across the wilds of England on their own, and in the depths of winter. Apart from the hazards inherent in the inclement weather, there are the dangers arising from all the rogues and villains abroad on our roads. Of course you must be escorted. I shall put my carriage at Lady Henlow's disposal, and make all the arrangements personally." "That is very generous of you," said Mariella dully. "I am sure my aunt will be most grateful." "No doubt," nodded Lord Stanley. "It will of course mean a great sacrifice on my part, as there are many matters claiming my attention in London at this time. However, I shall have the consolation of knowing I am performing my duty to your family, an example I know you will emulatewith my kith and kin once we are wed." Mariella repressed a shudder, aware that he was referring to his terrifying mother, a querulous old lady who liked nothing better than to oblige her sons' wives to dance constant attendance on her. Feeling akin to a bird being remorselessly driven into a gilded cage, Mariella murmured, "Yes, George." ★★★ The party set forth from London the day after Mariella's nineteenth birthday. The day was mild and sunny for early January, and Lord Stanley's luxurious coach was well -appointed and comfortable. But Mariella, who usually possessed such a cheerful disposition, was today feeling downcast. She had, she realised, been looking forward to travelling alone with Aunt Emilia to King's Lynn. It would have been such an adventure, just the two of them, and a diverting journey too, for Mariella found her aunt excellent cornpany. A wave of guilt washed over Mariella as she studied her fiance's profile outlined against the dark blue velvet upholstery. How can I think such thoughts, she wondered anxiously. Whatever is the matter with me? Of course I am pleased that George is accompanying us. Of course I would have missed him dreadfully had he remained in London. Any betrothed girl would yearn for her future husband if they were parted as we would have been. George has been so good to me, so kind and protective. Without him, this past year, I should not have known which way to turn. And here I am, repaying all his kindness with wicked longings to be in this coach - George's coach - alone with Aunt Emilia.

Distressed at her lack of gratitude, and anxious to make amends, Mariella leaned forward and touched Lord Stanley on the arm. "I should be most grateful if you would point out all the sights and buildings of particular interest on our journey, George. For as you know, I have lived in London ill my life and rarely ventured further than Surrey. Why, I even have little notion why London is so called." Lord Stanley, ever anxious to air his knowledge, informed her, "The Romans, of course, named the city Londinium, but before that it was known at Llyndyn. Dyn or dun was Celtic for a hill, or place of strength, and llyn was a word for pool, or lake. The River Thames at that time expanded into a considerable lake — " "Why yes, of course," interrupted Aunt Emilia excitedly. "How extraordinary that you should know that, Lord Stanley." "Not at all," said Lord Stanley crossly. "We Stanley's have resided in the capital for generations. Naturally, I am au fait with all aspects of the city's splendid history." No, no, you misunderstand," smiled Aunt Emilia sweetly, "I was not referring to London, but to King's Lynn. It too is a town born of land and water you see. Thewaters of the Fens and the salt waters of the Wash rolling in from the North Sea. Lynn must have been named, like London, for its water, and then of course Henry the Eighth--gave it the title Lynn Regis. Why, how heartwarming that you should be so aware of my home town's origins, Lord Stanley!" Lord Stanley rustled open his copy of The Times. Their journey east was going to take the best part of four days. Four days cooped up in a carriage with his fiancee's flock-headed aunt! Lord Stanley wondered how he was to survive the ordeal without ending the journey in a completely deranged state of mind. Mariella was at a loss to understand why George was so morose on their long journey. Certainly, she and Aunt Emilia did their utmost to keep him entertained, taking an alert interest in the changing variety of countryside they passed through, and attempting to introduce diverting topics of conversation. But as day followed day, he grew increasingly withdrawn, coming to life only when they reached their overnight inn, when he would leap from the carriage to give instructions about the care of the horses, and interview the innkeeper in order that the best rooms were secured for his party.

The lush green prettiness of Surrey gave way to the more open landscape of Hertfordshire and Cambridgeshire, until at last they were on the borders of Norfolk. Here, the land grew flatter, and as they approached the watery level of the Fenlands, an eerie silence descended on the gathering dusk, broken only by the rustling of the forest of reeds growing by the dykes. Aunt Emilia peered out of the carriage, along the miles of flat, untamed land and said, "Lord Stanley, I can see the lights of an inn about two miles ahead. Might I suggest that we repair there for the night? These Fens are extremely dangerous to traverse in the dark, as there are countless bogs, and if the mist comes down we could well find ourselves hopelessly lost." If there was one thing Lord Stanley could not abide it was a woman telling him what to do. "My driver is extremely experienced, madam, so I assure you there is no danger of us falling into a bog. The land is flat, and we should make good time. The journey has taken long enough as it is, though we have been fortunate with clement weather for the time of year. I see no reason for us to stop again until we teach King's Lynn." As Aunt Emilia opened her mouth to protest, Mariella said quickly, "I am sure George is right, Aunt Emilia. He has travelled a great deal you know and has a fine understanding of the different terrains of England." Yet despite these words of loyal support for the man she was to marry, Mariella could not repress a shiver as she regarded the flat, alien wastes of land across which they travelled. Apart from the welcoming lights of the inn they passed, there was not another dwelling, or human being to be seen across the sinister, darkening landscape. It is as if, she thought, with a strange frisson of frightened excitement, we are journeying across another planet, a place where traditional rules and mores of society do not exist. A place where anything could happen . . . The carriage jolted suddenly to a halt, propelling Mariella with some force onto the cushions on the seat opposite. With a muttered curse, Lord Stanley reached for the door handle. "What the devil is that driver playing at?" "P — perhaps he was startled by a fox running in front of the coach?" suggested Maltella breathlessly.

" There are few foxes on the Fens," Aunt Emilia informed her. "The land is too waterlogged for them. I recall as a child, my father — " She broke off and gave a terrified scream as the carriage door was wrenched open from without and they found themselves face to face with a gleaming pistol. Bearing the weapon was a masked man, seated astride a magnificent grey. Keep back, ladies!" ordered Lord Stanley, somewhat unnecessarily, as Aunt Emilia and Mariella had instantly flung themselves into a terrified heap in the far corner of the carriage. When the masked man spoke it was in a low, menacing whisper. Waving his pistol in Lord Stanley's affronted face, he demanded, "What is your business exposing two women to the dangers of the Fenlands by night? Why did you not take shelter at the inn?" "That is no concern of yours," blustered Lord Stanley. "Is it money you want? Here," he reached for his money bag, but the masked man raised a restraining hand. "No, keep your gold and silver. You will need it at the inn." "We are not going to the inn," said Mariella, surprising herself by finding her voice, and such bold words, when confronted by a blackguard with a pistol. "My fiance is anxious to reach Lynn without delay, and he is confident that we shall not fall into any bogs on the way." The masked man directed his gaze at Mariella. Although she could see nothing of his face, nevertheless, she felt the piercing intensity of his eyes upon her. Blue eyes, she decided intuitively. The rogue has eyes of deepest blue. The man laughed, softly, mockingly. "Ah. Your fiance says, does he?" "Be silent, Mariella!" snapped Lord Stanley. "Kindly leave this matter to me." "On the contrary," said the masked man laconically, "it is I who am making the decisions at the present. And I have decided that you will turn this carriage round, and spend the night at the Black Swan." He called up to the driver, and slowly the horses were backed up and the carriage reversed.

Aunt Emilia, highly relieved that they were not to be robbed or murdered, murmured, "I must confess, Lord Stanley, I think it is a sensible notion that we should stay at the inn. The Fens are no place to be roaming abroad at night." "Lady Henlow," said Lord Stanley irritably, "I should be obliged if you would leave all matters pertaining to our travelling arrangements to me. Of course we shall not stay it the inn. Do you imagine that I would allow myself to be intimidated by some Fenland blackguard? We shall draw into the inn coachyard, and then, after a discreet interval of time, we shall proceed on our way to Norfolk!" "But George, is that wise?" quavered Mariella. "We have just encountered one rogue. There might be dozens more of his ilk lying in wait for us on the Fens." "Do not argue with me, Mariella," said Lord Stanley obstinately. "It shall be as I say." "Dear me. I fear I am the cause of harsh words between the betrothed couple." The highwayman had dismounted from his grey, and had pulled open now the door nearest to Mariella and her aunt. Addressing Mariella, he said, "I trust you will make it clear to your beloved that I shall be watching, out here on the Fens. And if I should catch sight of your carriage making its stealthy way back from the inn, then I shall personally manhandle your fiance into the nearest bog!" Lord Stanley seethed, but the masked man ignored him, concentrating his attention on Mariella. In the dim coach light she could see that she was right — the eyes, just visible behind the dark mask, were a deep piercing blue. Suddenly, he turned her head away, uncomfortably aware that she had been gazing at the stranger for an unconscionable length of time. The masked man once more uttered that mocking laugh. "My, what set, angry faces I see before me! Not a glimmer of gratitude that I should spare the time to save you all from a most uncomfortable night in the wilds of the Fens." He paused for a moment, and then went on levelly, "I think, after all, I shall demand some compensation for all my kindness to you." Lord Stanley drew a sharp breath, and once more reached lor his money bag. Tight lipped, he said, "Tell me what you want, and then be so good as to allow us on our way to the inn."

The stranger waved a dismissive hand at the money bag, and turned his attention once more to Mariella. "Your money does not interest me. But this delightful young lady does interest me. Very much indeed. What I shall have, I think, is a small memento to remember her by. Those earrings, my dear. It would please me greatly if you would remove them, and hand them into my care." Horrified, Mariella brought up her hands in an instinctively protective gesture, to cover the exquisite emerald and gold jewellery adorning her ears. "Oh!" she cried, "you would not be so heartless as to take these. Why, my fiance gave them to me on the occasion of my nineteenth birthday!" Aunt Emilia was struggling with the ribbons of her ear muff. "Pray, take my pearl earrings instead," she pleaded. The masked man shook his head and said gently to Lady Henlow, "Do not distress yourself, madam. You must keep your pearls. But I am afraid I must insist that the young lady here hands me her earrings, as a token, you understand, of gratitude for my timely intervention here tonight." "Blackguard!" snapped Lord Stanley. The stranger sounded as if he were smiling. "There is, of course, an alternative. If the young lady is utterly distraught at the notion of parting with her fiance's birthday gift, then I would be happy to take something else in exchange." "And what would that be?" growled Lord Stanley. Mariella felt a tingle of excitement run down her spine as the masked man's eyes met hers once more. For an instant, it was as if Lord Stanley and Aunt Emilia did not exist. It was as if she and the highwayman were the only two people in the world and nothing and nobody else mattered at all. The words, when they came, were spoken in such a low, warm whisper that to Mariella they sounded like a caress. "A kiss," said the masked man. Aunt Emilia's shocked intake of breath suddenly brought Mariella to her senses. Turning to her fiance, she said helplessly, "Oh George! What shall I do?" Lord Stanley's face was scarlet with rage. But faced with the masked man's pistol he had no choice but to contain his

fury. "What shall you do?" he demanded angrily of Mariel- la. "Why the decision is obvious! How could you possibly hesitate. Give the rogue your earrings and let's be done with the matter!" "But — but they were your birthday gift to me!" she said, in considerable distress. "Mariella, surely you are not suggesting that I, as your fiance, should stand by and watch you being mauled by a ruffian of the roads. The notion is preposterous, and insulting to me. Now hand him those earrings this instant, and I will buy you some new baubles once we reach Lynn — which at our current rate of progress will be sometime late in the summer!" The masked man laughed. It was a sound which immeasurably infuriated Mariella. She tore off the earrings and then, goaded by some strange impulse she flung them past the stranger, out into the night, amongst the rustling reeds. "If you want them, go and hunt for them!" she declared wildly, her violet eyes blazing. Lord Stanley covered his face with his hands and loaned. Mariella sat rigid, her hands tightly clasped in her lap, waves of terror sweeping over her as she waited for the masked man's violent reaction to her reckless defiance. He stood for a moment, staring at her. Then he murmured, in a voice so low only she could hear, "So. As I thought. The kitten does have claws after all." Raising his voice, he said, levelly, "Goodnight, ladies and gentleman. I wish you a comfortable night at the Black Swan." He slammed the carriage door shut, and they heard him ordering the driver to proceed to the inn. The carriage moved forward, and the three travellers found themselves alone once more. For a few moments, they sat in stunned silence, unable to believe that the danger was past. Then Lord Stanley recovered himself, and raged at Mariella, "This is all your doing! Why did you not have the sense to remain silent, instead of blabbing that we were not intending to put up at the inn for the night?" Aunt Emilia said mildly, "I must confess I was somewhat surprised, Lord Stanley, that you did not counter the highwayman's pistol with arms of your own. Surely we are not travelling unprotected?"

"Naturally not," snapped Lord Stanley, sounding extremely nettled. "It happens that my pistol is situated within the box seat on which you and Mariella are placed. I did not wish to have the pistol in view, for fear that the sight of it would alarm Mariella's delicate sensibilities. But that is beside the point. As I was saying, Mariella — " "You are so right, Lord Stanley," said Aunt Emilia. "Pistols are extremely dangerous weapons if you are not accustomed to handling them. I recall once travelling with my late husband between Bath and Lyme, and a gentleman in the coach insisted on having his pistol at the ready, and then the coach all but overturned on the rutted roads, and the pistol misfired and shot him quite severely in the leg." "Lady Henlow, I must protest at your suggestion that I am inept at handling a pistol!" Mariella stared out into the night, closing her ears to the argument in the carriage. She was more concerned with the strange mixture of confusion and excitement which consumed her. Again and again she relived the episode with the masked man, remembering his every word, gesture, and tone of disguised voice. But most of all, she recalled her feelings of intense disappointed when George had ordered her to give the man her earrings, instead of a kiss. I wanted him to kiss me, she admitted to herself at last. Oh how shameful, how wicked for a betrothed girl to think thus. And with my fiance and aunt present too! But the masked stranger was like no other man I have ever encountered. I could not see his face. I do not know his name, or a single fact about him, and yet I feel I know him. This man was strangely familiar to me. And oh, how 1 wanted to feel his lips on mine. How I wanted him to kiss me!

2 The party arrived in King's Lynn early the following afternoon. Their progress through the town was slow, due to the congestion caused by the Tuesday Market. The clutter of merchants, traders, farmers and gipsies making their way to and from the market did nothing to please Lord Stanley, and much to excite Aunt Emilia. "Lynn is such a fascinating place, Mariella, being half sea-port and half market-town. One has all the sense of adventure engendered by the

merchants with all their exotic wares from other lands, but at the same time there is such a sense of peace and security in watching an English farmer drive his geese to market." "Lady Henlow," said Lord Stanley firmly, "my driver is not familiar with King's Lynn, so I should be grateful if you would give him clear and concise instructions on the route he is to follow to your house." But Aunt Emilia was not capable of giving the driver clear instructions. Harrassed by Lord Stanley's threatening manner, bemused by the hustle and bustle in the busy streets, and being, well, just Aunt Emilia, she caused the driver to circle the town twice until at last, more by chance than design they found themselves in the quiet road where the White House was situated. Lord Stanley ushered Aunt Emilia inside, and then stood back and glared at the building. "Mmm. Hardly an imposing residence for your aunt, Mariella." "Oh but it is only to be a temporary dwelling place until she has the opportunity to look around for a house to buy," said Mariella. "It is small, I admit, compared to your magnificent London residence George, but it is amply big enough for Aunt Emilia, and look how prettily it is situated, opposite that lovely tree-lined walk. Oh, after days cooped up in that carriage, I confess I am longing for some brisk exercise in the fresh air." Lord Stanley looked up at the sky and shook his head. "There will be little opportunity for walking, my dear. That sky has a distinctly yellowy tinge, which in my opinion presages snow. You would be best to stay inside and keep warm." "But a little snow would not harm me, George!" "If the weather is in any manner inclement, you will stay inside and keep well wrapped up," repeated Lord Stanley. "Yes, George." Indoors, they found Aunt Emilia seated in the pretty old rose drawing room, before a roaring fire. "Oh my dears," she greeted them, "I have had such a wonderful surprise. Why, the house is fully staffed and already the household is running smoothly. I have spoken to the housekeeper, Mrs Gordon, and she seems a most capable woman." "That is good news, Aunt," smiled Mariella. "I know you were not looking forward to the trouble of engaging staff.

Now, you must be exhausted after your long journey. May I suggest that you have a rest before dinner?" When Aunt Emilia had retired to her bedchamber, Lord Stanley wandered restlessly round the drawing room, examining the watercolours on the good, though faded wallpaper. "Mmm, some quite fine paintings here, though I fear the choice of frames is somewhat outmoded." "Yes, George," said Mariella, repressing her opinion that the older style frames perfectly suited the gentle atmosphere of the charming room. This was, after all, a country town drawing room, not an elegant London salon. Lord Stanley went on cheerfully, "I am delighted that the servants are already installed, and the household is running smoothly. It appears, then, that with Lady Henlow already so well settled, we shall soon be able to make plans for our departure." "But George," Mariella was shocked, "we cannot leave her yet awhile. She will need time, I am sure, to adjust to her new surroundings and find her way around Lynn. She will need our support, our presence at her side." "Don't be absurd, Mariella. Lady Henlow was born and raised in the town. She must feel perfectly at home here." Mariella pushed back her golden curls. "She has not lived here since she was eighteen, and much must have changed in that time. Why, only today, she was totally bemused when called upon to direct the coach driver to this house. And we must remember, George, that it is one thing living in a town as a young girl, under the protection of your family, and quite another to return as a widow, in the middle years of your life, with no one at your side but your niece and her fiance." Lord Stanley frowned, and rang the bell for refreshments. He loathed what he had already seen of Lynn. He hated this small house, and its feminine decor of pinks and pale blues. Lady Henlow irritated him beyond measure. But to his chagrin, he could muster no reasonable argument to counter Mariella's determination to stay for a decent period of time with her aunt. It was, he had to admit, her duty. Their duty. But he knew that this cold January in Lynn was going to seem like one of the longest months of his life.

Lord Stanley's temper was not improved the following morning when a footman entered the library and informed him that Richard, Earl of Darvill, was waiting upon Lady Henlow. " There is no cause to disturb Lady Henlow," said Lord Stanley, aware that Aunt Emilia was in the morning room, discussing menus with the cook. "I will see Lord Darvill here in the library." With a sigh of annoyance, Lord Stanley put aside his copy of The Times and prepared to exchange civilities with what he had no doubt would be a hayseed of an English country lord. Lord Stanley had frequently observed the appalling breed on their occasional forays into London, brash, rough necked individuals with not a civilised word to say between them. He pulled out his watch and decided that he would give Richard, Earl of Darvill, just ten minutes of his time. No more and no less. "I fear I am disturbing the peace of your library," said a deep, firm voice from the door. "No, pray do not arise. It was in truth Lady Henlow I called to see." Lord Stanley looked up in surprise, unaccustomed to having strangers take the verbal initiative. He arose, but gained little extra authority by the move as Lord Darvill towered head and shoulders above him. The shoulders, Lord Stanley realised with even more surprise, were clad in a wool topcoat in a cut so stylish that it must have been fashioned by one of the foremost London tailors. "Lady Henlow is not at home at present," he said shortly. "But you may speak your business to me. I am Lord George Stanley. I have the honour to be betrothed to Miss Henlow's niece." A slight smile played around Lord Darvill's handsomely rugged face. He said pleasantly, "And I am Richard, Earl of Darvill. I have the honour to own the house which Lady Henlow is renting. If you would be so good as to advise her of my arrival, there are a few matters pertaining to the house which I should like to discuss with her." "I have already indicated, that you may discuss these matters with me," said Lord Stanley obstinately. "Whilst I am residing here, Lady Henlow is under my protection." "But Lady Henlow is, I understand, the person paying the rent," Lord Darvill argued quietly, "and as you are not,

by your own admission, a relative of the lady, then it is she who is head of this household, and she to whom I should like to speak. Now." Lord Stanley jumped at the sudden commanding note in Lord Darvill's voice. But before he could protest further, the library doors opened to admit Lady Henlow and her niece. Not immediately noticing Lord Darvill, who was standing to one side of the doors, Aunt Emilia said gaily, "Lord Stanley, Mariella and I have it in mind to stroll for a while around the streets of Lynn. Would you care to accompany us?" Lord Stanley coughed, and indicated the presence of their visitor. Introductions were effected, and then Lord Stanley said sourly, "Lord Darvill is particularly anxious to speak to you, Lady Henlow. It seems he has come to collect your rent." Aunt Emilia laughed. "My, how droll you are, Lord Stanley! I am sure that, naturally, Lord Darvill has an agent to attend to such matters." Lord Darvill inclined his dark head. "It was my agent who engaged the staff of the house, Lady Henlow. But I have taken it upon myself to call today, to ensure that everything is to your satisfaction." "Yes indeed," said Aunt Emilia, blushing like a girl as the tall dark haired man gazed down at her. "The house is charming, and the servants seem excellent." "If you would care to leave the name and address of your agent, then if Lady Henlow does have any anxieties concerning the house, she will be able to approach him about it directly, without having the need to take up your valuable time, Darvill," said Lord Stanley cuttingly. "On the contrary," replied Lord Darvill smoothly, "I should take it greatly amiss, Lady Henlow, if you did not come immediately to me if there is anything you are worried about. I lived for some time in this house myself, you see, whilst Darvill House was being rebuilt, and I must confess I formed a singular attachment to the place." During these exchanges, Mariella stood by the door, saying nothing, hearing nothing but the hammering of her heart. "Lord Darvill, may I present Miss Mariella Ward, my fiancee," Lord Stanley had said. And Mariella had curtsied, and looked

up into piercing blue eyes. Familiar eyes. Fascinating eyes. The eyes of the masked man whom she had so wickedly willed to kiss her, last night out on the Fens. She marvelled that neither her aunt nor fiance had recognised him. But they did not look into his eyes as I did, she thought. There could not be another man in all England with eyes of such a penetrating blue. She herself had been too shocked at their introduction to give any sign of recognition to Lord Darvill. And in his turn, his expression had been quite unreadable. As she stood quietly near the door, listening to her aunt and Lord Darvill exchanging pleasantries, it occurred to her that perhaps her imagination was playing her tricks. Lord Darvill was, presumably, a respected and wealthy member of Lynn society. What would a man in his position have been doing, out on the Fens on a winter's night, masquerading as a highwayman? And on what was she basing her supposition that they were one and the same man? On nothing more than a pair of extraordinary blue eyes. Eyes which, after their introduction, had not once strayed her way. Hardly the attitude of a man, Mariella, she told herself, who only such a short time ago was enticing you to kiss him! ". . .I hope your journey from London did not prove too taxing," Lord Darvill was saying. Lord Stanley gave Aunt Emilia a warning look. The previous night, over dinner, he had impressed upon both ladies that the incident of the Fenland highwayman was to be forgotten, and mentioned to no one. "Oh . . . yes, we had a most uneventful journey. Er, very pleasant, and er, comfortable, and . . . and uneventful'," Aunt Emilia fervently assured Lord Darvill. The dark haired man smiled. "I am glad to hear it. There are all sorts of rogues and villains abroad on the wild lands of the Fens. But Lord Stanley has already assured me that he has you safely under his protection." Hastily, Mariella turned away to hide her silent laughter. Busily pretending to tidy the books on the side table, she hugged to herself the intriguing confirmation that Lord Darvill was indeed her masked highwayman. For when he uttered the word protection he had, at last, looked straight into Mariella's eyes and she knew he was remembering the episode on the Fens. She wondered how much this fascinating man had been able to read in her face. Had he known as he gazed on her in the carriage, how much she willed him to kiss her?

She blushed at the notion, and would have left the library, but Aunt Emilia forestalled her with the words, "I do appreciate your calling, and welcoming me back to Lynn, Lord Darvill. In fact, my niece and I were just about to set off to explore my old hometown." Lord Stanley had crossed to the window. "I should not advise an expedition at the present. The sky still looks full of snow." Aunt Emilia's face fell, but Lord Darvill said easily, "It will not snow today. The clouds are too high. And if you are planning a walk, I should be delighted to accompany you some of the way. Lynn must have changed considerably since you were last here, Lady Henlow, and it would be my pleasure to act as your guide." Lord Stanley looked ready to explode as Aunt Emilia excitedly agreed to the plan. "Now we shall have no cause to disturb you, Lord Stanley," she said to him. "You shall have a quiet morning reading in the library whilst Lord Darvill escorts us through town." "Naturally, I shall accompany you," said Lord Stanley, glaring at Lord Darvill. "The four of us, then. How very agreeable," smiled Lord Darvill. And Mariella, smiling as she went to fetch her cape and bonnet, could not but reflect on the different circumstances, and different tensions which had been present on the last occasion the four of them had been in the same company! The party was held up for some minutes when Lord Stanley, who was not partial to exercise, suggested that they take the carriage. But Lady Henlow was adamant that they should walk, "for we shall see so much more that way." Lord Darvill, being familiar with all the history and interesting anecdotes connected with the old streets and buildings proved a most engaging escort on their stroll around the town. Aunt Emilia, bright eyed as she gazed on familiar landmarks, was delighted that two favourite buildings of her childhood, the Renaissance-style Customs House and the knapped flint Guildhall, still remained unaltered. There were many more shops, of course, since she was here last, but Lord Stanley refused to allow her to linger outside milliners and drapers, and hurried the party on. It was the dockland area that fascinated Mariella most, with its constant buzz of activity, and magnificent waterfront

houses, which Lord Darvill informed her had once been the residences of rich merchant traders. As they turned back towards the White House, Lord Darvill surprised them all by inviting the party to dine with him at Darvill House that evening. Before Lord Stanley could utter a word, Aunt Emilia delightedly accepted the invitation. "Capital. I look forward to entertaining you this evening, then. Good day to you," and with a graceful bow, the Earl took his leave. Lord Stanley, his face like thunder at this turn of events, departed also, to renew his acquaintanceship with Lord Egremont, who was residing in the town. Upon their return to the house, Aunt Emilia could not settle, such was her excitement at the prospect of dining with Lord Darvill that night. "Just imagine," she fluttered, "we have been in Lynn such a short time yet already we are invited to one of the most splendid houses in the county, and by such a dashing, and courteous a gentleman! Why, my friends in Bath will never believe me when I write to them with such intelligence. To be invited to dine so soon after making his acquaintance! I am quite overwhelmed, Mariella." Smiling, Mariella leaned forward to untie the ribbons of her aunt's bonnet which Lady Henlow, in her agitated state, had contrived to tangle into knots. "I have no doubt that the Earl invited us to dine this evening because he suspects that by tomorrow the snow will have fallen, making the roads impassable," she said. It was not, of course what she wanted to believe. But she told herself it was what she ought to believe, especially in her position as one betrothed to Lord George Stanley. It is ridiculous, she thought, as she went up to her bedchamber to rest, for me to dwell so much on the person of the Earl of Darvill. I am in danger of becoming obsessed by him, which is not just absurd, it is shameful for an engaged girl to think. I should count my blessings, and be grateful that I am to wed such a sensible, responsible, protective person as George, someone on whom I can rely always to know what is best and right. After all, she mused, slipping off her dress and snuggling down under the cosy goose-down quilt, what do I know of Lord Darvill? That he is a rich and respected member of society, certainly. But then so is George. Yet George does not

masquerade as a highwayman, and accost innocent travellers on the wilds of the Fens. The notion of her fiance disguising himself as a rogue of the road reduced Mariella to helpless laughter, before a sense of guilty loyalty to her fiance forced her once more into a sober frame of mind. Admittedly, Lord Darvill had not been so crass as to demand money from the party he accosted in the carriage. He had, after all, been more concerned about their safety while abroad in the strange terrain of the Fens that night. And yet his gallantry did not extend itself for the entire length of the episode. For he demanded either my earrings or a kiss. A kiss, no less, with my own fiance seated in the carriage with me! What manner of man is the Earl that he should so brazenly make such a demand? And how often, wondered Mariella, does he roam the Fens by night exacting kisses at gunpoint from innocent travellers? It seemed a strange kind of sport for a cold Norfolk night. Why was he not married, and safely at home tending his estates, his wife, his family? He must be in his early thirties, Mariella reasoned, and a man with his title, and obvious wealth would no doubt have been sought after by every eligible girl in the county. Admittedly, he had not come forth and stated that he was unwed. But Mariella knew instinctively that this man had been tamed by no woman. His walk, the set of those broad shoulders, and the alive expression in those penetrating blue eyes all spoke of a man accustomed to his freedom, a man who would not take kindly to restraints or shackles of any kind. Why, Mariella realised, of the two men, Lord Darvill and Lord Stanley, it was George who had the look of one who had been married for years, with his serious expression, and shoulders that appeared permanently to be bearing many burdens. But George has had many responsibilities, thought Mariella, defensively. For the past year, he has taken care of me, shielding me from the world and giving me his arm to lean on to help me recover from the shock of my parents' death. And then there is his mother, who makes so many demands upon his time. Mariella sighed heavily as she pondered on Lady Stanley. She had tried with all her might to find it in her heart to think kindly of George's elderly mother. Tried, and failed. Lady Stanley was a formidable old lady who chose, when it suited her, to regard herself as an invalid. She lived in a huge draughty house in Park Lane, just round the corner from George, and her favourite form of diversion was to take to her bed and demand that

all her children, their spouses and her grandchildren should pay her constant attention. All her sons and their families lived in London, and if any of the sons or their wives failed to pay her a daily visit she would rave and rant, and announce that she was dying purely through their neglect. She had been furious when George had informed her that he would be accompanying Mariella and her aunt to Norfolk, but as the eldest son, he had always had slightly more influence over her than had his brothers. Nevertheless, much though she was grateful to be marrying George and establishing a safe, secure future for herself, Mariella dreaded the prospect of spending much of her married life dancing attendance on George's querulous mother. But all that is in the future, thought Mariella, shivering as she cast aside the warm goosedown quilt. Tonight, I am to dine with Lord Darvill! And somehow I must, oh I must contrive to be alone with him, just for a few minutes, to learn why he roams the Fens by night, disguised as a highwayman! Mariella dressed with care, in a dark blue velvet gown, simply cut, and edged with finest white lace. She chose a sapphire pendant and earrings, and swept up her golden hair into a froth of curls. Then, with her lovely violet eyes alight with excitement at the prospect of the evening to come, she ran down to join her aunt and fiance. In the drawing room, she found Aunt Emilia in floods of tears. Lord Stanley, extremely embarrassed, was standing by her chair, awkwardly patting her shoulder. "Oh my dear Aunt, whatever has happened?" asked Mariella in alarm, rushing to embrace Aunt Emilia. Lady Henlow choked back her sobs. "We — we are not to dine at Lord Darvill's! L-Lord Stanley has sent word that I am indisposed and we shall not be able to attend!" Mystified, Mariella cast a questioning glance at her fiance. Whilst Aunt Emilia dried her eyes, Lord Stanley declared, in sombre tones, "I regret that I cannot permit either you or your aunt to set foot in Darvill House, Mariella." "But why?" queried Mariella, disappointment clawing her heart.

Lord Stanley cleared his throat. "As you know, I called on Lord Egremont this afternoon. During the course of our conversation certain facts, certain most unpleasant facts, came to light about Lord Darvill, and in the light of this knowledge I was compelled to send word cancelling ourengagement at Darvill House this evening." " What facts, George?" demanded Mariella desperately. But Lord Stanley was in the most pompous of moods. "I do not consider it fitting for me, as a gentleman, to discuss such matters with two persons of the female gender." Exasperated, Aunt Emilia burst out, "Lord Stanley, I was married for over twenty years and I assure you I am quite familiar with all aspects of life, both savoury and unsavoury. As you have taken it upon yourself to cancel an engagement on my behalf, I must insist on knowing the reason why!" Mariella looked on in amazement at this unaccustomed display of firmness from her aunt. Why, she had never in her life dared to address George in such a manner! And who would have thought dear muddle-headed Aunt Emilia capable of such authoritative speech? Lord Stanley appeared to share Mariella's surprise. For several minutes he struggled with himself, until at last he declared in strangled tones, "Yes, Lady Henlow. My sense of fair play does indicate that it is important for you to be aware of the truth about Lord Darvill. In a small society like Lynn your paths are bound to cross again, and it is vital that you should be aware of the reasons why you should have no association with such a man. A certain Lady Melton was also present at Lord Egremont's — " "Lady Melton!" exclaimed Aunt Emilia. "Why yes, she came Out some years after me. Of course, she was not Lady Melton then, but the Honourable Isabella Loughton — or was it Lawton, I never could remember — " "I will send word," said Lord Stanley loudly, "requesting Lady Melton to call after dinner, and take tea alone with you both. She is au fait with all the facts concerning Lord Darvill, and will no doubt explain matters to you in a manner I should find impossible as a gentleman." Lord Stanley adamantly refused to say another word on the matter, so with that the two ladies were compelled to be content. Dinner was a tense, silent affair. Aunt Emilia,

resentful of her spoiled outing, ate little and said even less. Lord Stanley was wishing himself a hundred miles away, back in the civilised salons of London. As for Mariella, her mind was in a turmoil. Whatever had George discovered about Lord Darvill? The truth about the highwayman episode? Oh, but surely George would not be in such a lather over that — such a lather that he felt compelled to invite Lady Melton to reveal the facts about the Earl, rather than explaining it all himself. No, it had to be something more serious than that. Gambling debts? No, many of George's acquaintances at Whites were constantly on the verge of bankruptcy through gambling and George, whilst he did not condone their actions, was never so heavily censorious of them that he cut them in the street. What then? Dishonourable conduct, of some kind, towards a woman? George's reluctance to speak of the matter certainly pointed to Lord Darvill being involved in a scandal with a lady, or ladies ... Mariella brought down the shutters in her mind, suddenly unwilling to allow her thoughts free reign in that direction. For some unaccountable reason, the notion of Lord Darvill in the company of a lady was something she did not wish to contemplate. Which is absurd, she reasoned, for he is a free man, an attractive man, and entitled to take his pleasures where he wishes. She blushed then, remembering his eyes holding hers that night on the Fens, and her all consuming desire to feel the touch of his lips on hers. If he aroused such emotions in her, when they were total strangers to one another, what must he be capable of upon longer acquaintanceship with a woman? "Mariella, dear, are you quite well?" As if from a long distance, Mariella heard Aunt Emilia's anxious tones. "I have said twice that it is time for us to leave Lord Stanley to his port and retire to the drawing room." Lord Stanley turned his brown eyes upon her. "If you are feeling overtired by the events of the day, perhaps it would be best if you retired early, my dear." Immediately, Mariella gave him her most animated smile. Not for worlds would she miss Lady Melton's forthcoming revelations about the Earl! "I am perfectly well, I assure you George. I was merely musing that we have had no word from your mother since we arrived, and wondering if she is feeling in better health." "I neglected to inform you, Mariella, that a letter arrived by the evening mail. Mother has a chill, and all the family are with her, but naturally, she is distressed by my ab-

sence." He patted Mariella's hand as she passed by him with her aunt on the way to the drawing room. The wait for Lady Melton seemed interminable, and Mariella was grateful for Aunt Emilia's reminiscences about what she could recall of Lady Melton in their younger days. "A tall girl, who quickly lost her bloom. She married rather late, as I recall, but before that there was talk of an unhappy romance. I don't believe she and Lord Melton have been blessed with children, although of course living so far away in Bath all these years there has been little communication between us." Shortly afterwards, Lady Melton was announced. She was indeed tall, with a face that Mariella judged would once have been considered handsome, but had been spoiled by telltale lines of bitterness and rancour. And although she greeted Lady Henlow effusively, Mariella detected a certain chilly wariness beneath the apparent warmth. Mariella had feared that Lady Melton and Aunt Emilia would begin by reminiscing for some time about their girlhood days in Lynn, but to her relief, Lady Melton seemed anxious to get straight to the point of her visit. "Now, Emilia, I know you are anxious to hear about the scandal surrounding Lord Darvill," said Lady Melton, once Mariella had brought her tea. Scandal! marvelled Mariella. She sat down quietly in a chair a little removed from the two older ladies, so as not to distract them with a word or gesture. Lady Melton leaned forward. "Do you recall the old Earl of Darvill, Emilia?" "Why yes," said Aunt Emilia thoughtfully, "I recall that as young girls we were all terrified of him. He was so overbearing and well, men will be men as we all know, but there did seem to be so many women in his life! And then of course he married dear, sweet Melissa and I assumed they lived happily ever after." Lady Melton shook her head. "All went tolerably well until their only son, Richard, became a young man. Then there was nothing but quarrels and rucks between father and son." "But surely that is usual between two males in a family," pointed out Aunt Emilia. "The young stag seeking dominance and his rightful heritance over the old."

"I wouldn't know about that," said Lady Melton. "All I know is that there was such bad feeling between the old Earl and his son that the Earl threatened to disinherit him. And that night, there was the most terrible scene at Darvill House. Windows were broken. Furniture overturned. The house was set afire — " Aunt Emilia gasped. "They set the house on fire!" "Worse was to come," said Lady Melton breathlessly. "When the fire was finally put out, they found the old Earl, lying dead on the floor, shot straight through the heart!" Aunt Emilia's eyes widened. "You don't mean . . . you cannot suggest . . .?" "As far as the servants, and the common folk of Lynn are concerned, the old Earl accidentally shot himself after an over indulgence of wine. But in truth, of course, the town of Lynn will always believe that Richard shot his father after a violent quarrel, to prevent the old man from disinheriting him." Weakly, Aunt Emilia held out her cup, and Mariella hurried to pour the ladies more tea. So it was rumoured that Richard, Earl of Darvill, had shot his father! Mariella shivered as she remembered the masked man, and the pistol pointed at her throat. "What — what of Lady Darvill?" asked Aunt Emilia. "Surely she must have been present, and able to confirm the truth of what happened that night?" "Lady Darvill," said Lady Melton in a hushed whisper, "fled. She fled not just the house, but the country too, and now resides in Italy. Clearly, she was so overcome with grief at her husband's death, and shame at her son's action. In truth, it was her action, more than anything, which confirmed in everyone's minds that the old Earl had not shot himself accidentally. Had not shot himself at all!" "Poor Melissa," sighed Aunt Emilia. "She was such a gentle, sweet-natured girl. What a dreadful tragedy to befall her. Her husband dead, and her son branded as a murderer. Though of course, I assume that nothing could be proved against Richard?" "Nothing at all," agreed Lady Melton. "He himself gave evidence that his father shot himself when the gun misfired, and his word was accepted by the authorities. Nevertheless,

in the eyes of all Lynn, the hand of suspicion falls heavily on Richard's shoulders." "And does this mean that Lord Darvill is now ostracised by Lynn society?" asked Aunt Emilia. "That he is not received? Is that why Lord Stanley was so adamant that Mariella and myself should not dine at Darvill House this evening?" Lady Melton was silent for a moment. Then she said, "It would not be true to say that Lord Darvill is not received. After all, it is not proven that he shot his father." "And," smiled Aunt Emilia, echoing Mariella's thoughts, "he is an extremely eligible gentleman. I cannot imagine any society hostess with a marriageable daughter not inviting him to her balls and salons." "Well . . . yes and no," said Lady Melton. "You see, there is an added — how shall I put it — complication regarding Lord Darvill." Lady Melton fussed for a moment with the ruchcd collar of her silk dress, and Mariella thought she would expire of excited anticipation. What further revelations were to be forthcoming about the mysterious, and dangerous Richard, Earl of Darvill? "After he so dramatically succeeded to the title," Lady Melton began, "it was assumed that he would take a wife. There was much to be done, as Darvill House was being rebuilt after the fire, and we thought he would take the opportunity to have the place refurbished in a style fitting to a young married man intent on having heirs." "Why yes," murmured Mariella, half to herself, "did not Lord Darvill mention that he resided in this house for a while, and became very fond of it? Was that while his own house was being rebuilt, Lady Melton?" "Yes. I believe so," said Lady Melton shortly, scarcely turning her head to look at Mariella as she responded to the girl's question. Mariella sat back in her chair, feeling rebuffed, wondering what she had done or said to antagonise Lady Melton. "It was also assumed," Lady Melton went on, addressing Aunt Emilia, "that Lord Darvill would marry one Sarah Woodrow, who everyone knew had been his childhood sweetheart. The couple were extremely well matched in every way and they would have

made the most perfect pair. But then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, Sarah married the Earl of Denby. Her marriage came as a dreadful blow to Lord Darvill and his pride, they say has never recovered." "I suppose many would say it was just retribution if, in fact, it is true that he killed his father," murmured Aunt Emilia. Lady Melton waved her hands. "Yes, indeed." "And he has not chosen another woman to be his wife?" Lady Melton sighed. "That is the point I was coming to, Emilia. It is true that he has never been seen squiring another unmarried girl around town. But that does not mean that he has lacked for female companionship, if you understand what I am saying." "Not…not girls from the bawdy houses?" gasped Aunt Emilia. Lady Melton shook her head. "No, for many years Lord Darvill has consorted with various notorious married ladies of the county!" "Oh." said Aunt Emilia in a disappointed voice. "Is that all?" "All?" shrieked Lady Melton, setting down her tea cup with a bang. "I am surprised at you, Emilia. I expected you to be extremely shocked at this intelligence. Aunt Emilia twisted the fronds of her silvery hair. "But it is common knowledge that where there has been an arranged marriage, with little genuine love on either side, that man and wife agree, discreetly of course, to go their separate ways in certain matters. It was so in Bath, that I do know, and I assume in London too." She turned enquiring eyes to Mariella. "Oh . . . yes, yes indeed, Aunt," said Mariella hastily. Mariella had, in truth, no notion what the truth of the matter might be. Although she had been born and bred in the capital, she had been carefully protected and sheltered, first by her parents and more recently by Lord Stanley. She was aware, of course, that many marriages were of convenience rather than love — that was an accepted part of life — but it had never occurred to her to wonder what other arrangements of convenience were made within a marriage.

Lady Melton turned her head to glare at Mariella. "I dread to think what style of life you have been leading in London, Miss Ward. For I assure you, when this matter was mentioned to Lord Stanley this afternoon, he was as shocked as I at Lord Darvill's activities." As if he had heard his name, Lord Stanley chose that moment to enter the drawing room. Mariella repressed a sigh of impatience at his entrance, for she was longing to hear more about Lord Darvill's exploits, but it was clear from George's set expression that he would not have the matter discussed in his presence. And his first words bore this out: "Ah, ladies. I trust you have finished discussing what one might call the matter in hand? If not, I will withdraw to the library." "No, no, please stay and take tea with us Lord Stanley," fluttered Lady Melton in her most ingratiating tones. "I am delighted you have joined us, for I wished to mention the ball I am holding tomorrow night for my niece C Mara who has just arrived to reside with me for a while. I do hope you will all be able to attend." Lord Stanley stroked his brow. "We have only recently arrived in Lynn, Lady Melton. I fear that the excitement of a ball would severely overtax my fiancee." "A ball! How delightful!" exclaimed Aunt Emilia, as if she had not heard Lord Stanley. "But of course we would be honoured to attend. I imagine that your niece is of the same age as Mariella and it would be pleasant, would it not, for the two girls to be in company together. We shall be pleased to accept your kind invitation, Lady Melton." "Then that is settled," said Lady Melton rising to her feet. "Now I must leave you, for there is much to be done for the ball tomorrow. I left Clara back at the Hall ensuring that the guests' names are correctly spelled on the supper cards. Last time Dowager Lady Sewel caused a fearful ruck when the last letter of her name was inadvertently written as an r instead of an /!" The guest list, thought Mariella. Would Lord Darvill be present at the ball? Despite all her protestations of shock at his reputation, would Lady Melton have dared to exclude him?

3 Mariella had much to ponder upon the following day as she and Aunt Emilia made their preparations for Lady Melton's ball. Naturally, uppermost in Mariella's mind were the revelations concerning Lord Darvill. Last night she had sat stunned and, yes, more than a little shocked as Lady Melton's story unfolded. But now, in the cold light of the January day she found she viewed Lord Darvill's life with more equanimity. It is, after all, only rumoured that he shot his father, she reasoned. There is not a shred of hard evidence to convict him of such a crime. And as for his dalliance with married ladies of the county, well, if Aunt Emilia is not shocked at such intelligence, then neither need I be. What intrigued Mariella far more, was the news of Lord Darvill's heart break when his childhood sweetheart upped and married another. With her romantic soul thoroughly aroused, Mariella longed to know more about this Sarah whom Lord Darvill had loved . . . whom he still loved, if Lady Melton was to be believed. What maimer of woman was she, this Sarah who had captured the heart of a man such as Richard, Earl of Darvill? Was she fair, or dark, a sweet country girl or a high spirited (illy? It infuriated Mariella that Lady Melton had said so little about her, other than that the couple were perfectly suited. Upon one matter Mariella was confident, however; Sarah Woodrow must have possessed extraordinary qualities if Lord Darvill still carried such a torch for her that even after all these years, he still cast no glances at any pretty unmarried girl of the county. And yet . . . and yet "he wanted to kiss you" Mariella informed her reflection in her bedchamber mirror. Yes, because he knew you to be an affianced girl, Mariella reminded herself firmly. No doubt he was testing the water, wondering if, once you were wed to Lord Stanley, you would make an agreeable addition to his bevy of willing married ladies. The thought sobered Mariella, and she became angry at herself for spending so much time dwelling on the fortunes and fancies of Lord Darvill. Immediately, she sped

downstairs and sought out George for a game of his favourite backgammon. He won easily, as she intended him to, and was in a good humour as she returned to her apartments to change for the ball. After a year of wearing mourning clothes for her parents, it was a delight to Mariella to slip on her shell pink ballgown, encrusted with pearls at hem and neck. She wore pearls, too, around her slender throat, and swept up her lovely hair into a high knot of curls. The curls did not find favour with Lord Stanley. "I wish you would not dress your hair in that manner," he complained as she entered the drawing room. "It makes you look slightly taller than I!" "Indeed not," said Aunt Emilia hastily, fearing that Mariella would make them late for the ball by having her maid arrange her hair in a more moderate style, "you may not be excessively tall, Lord Stanley, but with your impeccable bearing you will look more impressive than any other man in the ballroom tonight." Mollified, Lord Stanley instinctively straightened his shoulders and drew himself up to a more erect posture as he ushered the ladies into the hall. They waited as the footman hurried to open the front doors. The footman pushed, and pushed, but to no avail.

"The doors appear to be stuck, Lord Stanley," grunted the footman, breathing hard. "Surely doors from the street are supposed to open inwards, not outwards?" pointed out Lord Stanley irritably. "Yes sir. But as this house was constructed with only a medium sized hall, I believe that Lord Darvill had the doors rehung during his period of residence here." Lord Stanley's face darkened at the mention of Lord Darvill. But before he could utter a censorious word, Mrs Gordon, the housekeeper, came hurrying down the hall. "Oh but you will never be able to open the door this night," she cried. "Are you unaware that nearly a foot of snow has fallen in the last few hours?"

Everyone looked abashed. Aunt Emilia had been asleep for most of the afternoon. Lord Stanley and Mariella had been playing backgammon, with the library curtains closed, at Lord Stanley's insistence, so that Mariella should not be in a draught. As for the footman, he had been engaged in afternoon sport of his own, with the plump new laundry maid. Mariella rushed into the drawing room and threw back the curtains. The street outside was a sea of glistening white with the snow laden trees in the Walk beyond looking as if they were covered in sparkling, magical white blossom. On Mariella, however, the beauty of the scene was completely lost. She gazed out in dismay at the snow, resenting every glistening flake that fell from the sky. "But the ball!" she exclaimed in distress. "How shall we travel to the ball?" Lord Stanley stood at her shoulder. "Clearly, we shall not be attending the ball, my dear. Even if it were possible to fetch the carriage out from the blocked up coach yard, we would still find the road to Melton Hall impassable." Mariella turned imploring eyes towards her aunt. There must be a way! There must! But Aunt Emilia was looking resigned. "I fear Lord Stanley is right, Mariella. We are snowed in, and there is nought we can do about it until morning." Mrs Gordon nodded. "If the snow hasn't melted by the morning, my lady, I'll have the male servants climb out of a window and clear a path around the house." "Now pray do not look so disconsolate," said Lord Stanley, as the dispirited Mariella sank into a chair. "It is only a ball, after all. You are only nineteen. There will be plenty of other balls for you to attend in your life." "Yes, George," replied Mariella in a small voice. Not even to herself would she admit the reason why this ball was so special to her. It is not that I was looking forward to conversing myself with Lord Darvill, she told herself. It is simply that I was interested to see if Lady Melton had invited him, and if so, what effect he had on the other guests. That is all. "It's always so unnaturally quiet after a fall of snow, is it not?" mused Aunt Emilia. "All normal sounds are muffled, and it is as if the world has fallen asleep."

Restlessly, Mariella paced the room, unable to settle. She longed to be dancing, and in animated company, with music and lights and laughter, not shut into a snow bound house with the ticking of clocks instead of the rhythm of the ballroom orchestra. Wildly, she eyed the drawing room windows, wondering how George would react if she flung them open and ran away up the street to find the ball. The notion brought a smile to her lips, and Lord Stanley said: "Ah, now that's an improvement. I am pleased to see you have recovered your spirits. We shall dine here, of course, and perhaps play backgammon later on. I confess, the prospect of a quiet evening appeals to me. What is a ball after all, but an excess of chatter, loud music and ungainly ladies treading on your toes?" Mariella was not listening. Acute of hearing, her sharp ears had been alerted to sounds from without. Sounds of voices instructions being shouted - and sounds of scraping metal. She was first to the drawing room window. What she saw outside made her rub her eyes in wonder. "Why, there is a great party of men out there," she exclaimed joyously. "They have shovels, and brooms. They are clearing the road!" Brusquely, Lord Stanley moved her out of the way to view the scene for himself. Unable to contain herself, Mariella blurted, "But how strange that they should be clearing the streets in the evening, instead of waiting for the light of day. Oh George, please raise the window and ask them what they are about!" "Don't be absurd, Mariella! I cannot possibly be observed doing anything so degrading as shouting at workmen out of windows," snapped Lord Stanley. "I will summon a footman," said Aunt Emilia. With some difficulty, because of the snow on the ledges, the window was levered open and a footman climbed out. He spoke to the gang leader, and within minutes everything was explained. The men were from Lord Darvill's estate sent to clear the short stretch of road leading from Lynn to Melton Hall. "Lord Melton and everyone with large estates in the neighbourhood have their men clearing the surrounding roads too," the footman informed Lord Stanley, "in order that the guests may reach the ball unimpeded." Mariella and Aunt Emilia gazed at one another with undisguised delight. Lord Stanley, however, speedily cast a douche of cold water over their renewed expectations. "That

is all very well. But having arrived at Melton Hall, what is to happen if there is a fresh fall of snow, blocking our homeward path?" "With respect my lord, "said the footman, "Lord Darvill has sent word through his men that it is unlikely that fresh snow will fall tonight." Lord Stanley grunted, but could hardly be heard casting doubt upon Lord Darvill's word in front of a servant. Aunt Emilia, meanwhile, speedily gave instructions for the male servants of the house to join the task force outside, and have the carriage made ready. Mariella's heart was singing. We are going to the ball! Oh we are going to the ball! During her London season, Mariella had been to countless balls in the grandest houses of the capital, but never had she known such an atmosphere of gaiety as was present at the Melton Hall ball that night. All the guests (with the exception of Lord Stanley) felt triumphantly delighted that they had, after all, contrived to outwit the weather. Such was the spirit of elation abroad that night that even the Dowager Lady Sewel, who customarily sat in a disapproving frost at balls, was observed moving with gusto through a vigorous set of the Dashing White Sergeant. Mariella had abundant opportunity to observe the dangers, as to her chagrin, George had forbade her to take part m the country dancing. "I shall, as is proper, stand up with you later for the first minuet," he said, "but country dancing is unseemly for an engaged girl, Mariella. It would be best if we seated ourselves here in the window arbour whilst we accustom ourselves to this onslaught of noise and chatter." "Yes, George." With a heavy heart, Mariella did as she was bid. As the dancers passed by in the gilded and chandeliered ballroom, Mariella noticed that she was the cause of many curious glances from the other girls. In a small society like Lynn, she realised, her arrival in the town would not have passed without comment. They w rould be pointing her out now, as the newcomer from London, the girl who was engaged to the wealthy and well respected Lord Stanley. Perhaps they were envying her, having secured such a good catch for a husband. But oh, how Mariella envied them, with their freedom to whirl like butterflies around the perfumed ballroom!

One girl in particular caught Mariella's attention. Tall, and graceful, with jet black hair and milk white skin, she had a dream-like quality about her, as if she were in a private world of her own, many miles away from Melton Hall. As if conscious that someone was gazing at her, the girl looked across the ballroom. But it was not Mariella's violet eyes that she met, but the blue eyes of another. A tall, dark man in a green velvet evening coat, standing easily by a marble pillar. Mariella's first soar of the heart that he was present at the ball was speedily followed by a sensation of having been stabbed as she observed his absorbtion in the girl with black hair. But there was no time for further reflection, as Lady Melton, Lady Sewel and Aunt Emilia joined them at the table in the window arbour. "My what a night it has been!" exclaimed Lady Sewel, seating herself with a rustle of dark blue taffeta. "Why, earlier on when I saw the snow begin to fall I had quite resigned myself to an evening at home by the fire. What a sensible notion Lady Melton, to send out the teams of men to clear the roads." "I confess, the initiative came from Lord Darvill," said Lady Melton, fingering the rubies at her thin throat. "He knew my niece would be excessively disappointed if the ball was put off." "Your niece I believe is the pretty dark haired girl in the blue gown?" enquired Aunt Emilia gazing towards the girl with the dream-like quality whom Mariella had earlier noticed in the country dancing. Lady Melton nodded. "Clara has been Out just over a year now and my how she has blossomed! I am simply delighted with her. She has a natural grace and dignity which to my admittedly biased eye, sets her head and shoulders above most other girls of her age." "She is indeed a most striking girl," agreed Aunt Emilia, "and how admirable that, despite her having grown almost excessively tall, she holds herself so well, and does not slouch." "Indeed," said Lady Sewel crisply, head and shoulders above other girls of her age was an apt turn of phrase, Lady Melton. It will be difficult finding a husband for her, dwarfing other men so as she does."

Lord Stanley, who always felt his own lack of inches so keenly, was observed sitting bolt upright, with his neck stiffly craned, as if therefore to increase his stature in the eyes of the critical ladies surrounding him. Lady Melton, however, looked not at all put out at this criticism of her niece. She merely smiled, and murmured, 'Clara has a sizeable fortune, of course, and more importantly a most agreeably docile personality. There will be no difficulty, I am sure, in finding someone most suitable for her." Again, all eyes swivelled towards Clara, and it was impossible for any of the party to ignore the fact that Lord Darvill now standing near the red-carpeted stairs, was still gazing with interest at the dark haired girl. "I am surprised to see Darvill present here this evening," said Lord Stanley to Lady Melton, in a tone which clearly meant that he was surprised that she had extended an invitation to a man he considered to be a blackguard. Lady Melton fluttered her thin hands. "One is placed in such a dilemma in such situations. Naturally, one abhors the notion of entertaining in one's home a man who so callously killed his own father — " "But that is not proven," pointed out Aunt Emilia gently. "Surely one cannot condemn a man on rumour alone?" Mariella felt like hugging her aunt for voicing what she too felt, but clearly, with her fiance and these terrifying ladies present, could not be heard putting into words. Lady Sewel ostentatiously moved her gilt chair so her back was turned to Lord Darvill. "It is not merely the rumours which make Lord Darvill unacceptable to polite society. There is also the matter of his notorious exploits with certain respectable married women of the county!" "If it is common knowledge that they have been dallying with Lord Darvill, then surely they can hardly be termed respectable?" said Aunt Emilia in a soft, vague tone. Lord Stanley cleared his throat. "Ladies. With respect I should be deeply obliged if we could turn to other, more agreeable topics of conversation. I am sure you will appreciate that I do not consider the matter of Lord Darvill and his activities to be a savoury choice of conversation

in the presence of the unmarried girl who I shortly intend to make my wife." Mariella blushed, wishing that George would refrain from making her feel like a little nun, obliged to veil her eyes when within sight or sound of any member of the opposite sex. Lady Sewel "Ah yes, you reside for a impressions

adjusted her eyeglass and inspected Mariella. are Miss Ward, recently arrived from London to while with dear Emilia. And what are your first of Lynn society, Miss Ward?"

"We have been here but a short while," smiled Mariella, "but I confess I am charmed by the town and the warmth and kindness of the people I have had the pleasure to meet." "You are residing, of course, at the White House. Everyone agrees that although it is not over large, it is nevertheless one of the most beautiful houses in Lynn." "Lord Darvill told me that he too is extremely fond of the house," said Aunt Emilia, earning a glare from Lord Stanley for mentioning the name he least wanted to hear. "Lord Darvill owns the property, as you no doubt are aware." "For the time being, he does," said Lady Melton thoughtfully. "But it is part of his family tradition that once Lord Darvill marries, the White House then becomes the property of his wife, to dispose of — for her lifetime — as she sees fit. She is not permitted to sell the property, but it is she who decides who lives there." "Oh dear," fluttered Aunt Emilia, "how very worrying. If I decide I like the house so much I want to stay there, and not bother purchasing another residence then upon Lord Darvill's marriage, I could find myself suddenly homeless?" Lady Sewel patted her hand. "Have no fear, Emilia. Lord Darvill has proved to us all over the past years that he is not a marrying man. Why, he has never been known to cast so much as three consecutive glances at any unmarried girl." Lord Stanley pushed back his chair, and said abruptly, "Mariella, I believe the dancing proper is about to commence. Come. I should be delighted to take you onto the floor for the minuet." Lord Stanley was not the most graceful of dancers at the best of times, having little natural sense of rhythm, but

on this occasion his performance was additionally hampered by his sense of extreme irritation. "I fail to comprehend, Mariella, first why Lady Melton felt compelled to invite Darvill to this ball, and second why it is that everyone finds him such an inexhaustibly fascinating topic of conversation!" Mariella had noticed just the same thing. On the surface, the people of Lynn were anxious to give the impression that they ostracised Lord Darvill. Yet, clearly, not only was he received everywhere, but the moment he entered a room people were unable to refrain from talking about him. The ladies of Lynn, in particular, were obviously intrigued with the man. During the country dancing, Mariella had sat and watched the other ladies. Few of them had been able to resist turning their heads to regard Lord Darvill, and Mariella had observed in their eyes a mixture of admiration and fascination mingled with a frisson of fear — which clearly didn't terrify them sufficiently to dampen the sparkle in their eyes. They disapprove of him, thought Mariella with a smile, and yet at the same time there is soinething about the dangerous aura of the man which holds them all in thrall. After two dances with her fiance, Mariella was then whirled round the floor by Lord Egremont, and after this Lord Melton engaged her for the cotillion. Satisfied that his fiancee was in safe, respectable hands, Lord Stanley repaired withi relief to one of the card tables in the adjoining saloon. As Lord Melton led Mariella towards the floor, a foot- man approached and informed his lordship that snow from the roof had fallen onto the conservatory, smashing the glass and, it was feared, damaging a watercolour which Lord Melton had been in the process of completing. A talented painter, Lord Melton turned to Mariella in dismay, "Miss Ward, I beg you to excuse me. My painting was but a day from completion and I shall not be able to rest easy at the ball wondering if my work has been ruined by snow and splinters of glass." "Oh but of course you must go at once to the conservatory," said Mariella, who was at that moment joined by Aunt Emilia. He smiled. "I hope to have the pleasure of dancing with you later in the evening." Aunt Emilia was looking flushed, and somewhat furtive. "Oh dear, Mariella, I confess I have been dodging round the pillars of the ballroom like a hunted little hare," she said. "Dowager Lady Egremont has made it known that she would like

to renew our acquaintanceship and to own the truth, there is nothing I should like less!" Mariella laughed. "I danced with her son, who seemed almost too timid to take his hand in mine when we took to the floor." Aunt Emilia nodded. "Lady Egremont is fearsome. All her children are terrified of her, and I recall when I came Out she made my life a misery, forever criticising me on my appearance, my deportment, my manners." Mariella recalled that her own George was a close acquaintance of Lord Egremont. No doubt, she thought, they find they have much in common as both have the misfortune to possess dominating mothers. "Ah, Lady Henlow," said Lord Darvill's voice behind them. "I have just been in conversation with Lady Egremont, and she asked me most particularly to present her compliments and say she would be delighted if you would join her in the Rose Saloon." Aunt Emilia groaned. "Oh dear! I shall feel eighteen again, fearful that my hair is awry and that I shall wobble when I curtsey!" Lord Darvill's blue eyes were lit with laughter. "As Lady Egremont is aware, I am a notoriously unreliable person and I know she would not be at all surprised if I omitted to pass on her message to you. She has, regrettably, sprained her ankle, so she is unable to move from the Rose Saloon." Aunt Emilia brightened considerably at this intelligence. Smiling up at the handsome man, she said, "I did so appreciate your kindness in ensuring that we would be able to travel to the ball. I trust you are finding the evening enjoyable?" "I am confident that the next fifteen minutes will be the most enjoyable of the entire evening. That is," he turned and said directly to Mariella, "if Miss Ward will consent to honour me with the next dance." "Oh — I — well — George — " stammered Mariella, taken completely by surprise. "Why yes," smiled Aunt Emilia, taking Mariella's hand and placing it on Lord Darvill's arm, "you are quite right, my dear, the tune they are playing is called The Day George Went Away to the War. So sad, but so romantic and such a haunting melody."

Firmly, Lord Darvill took Mariella's arm and guided her onto the ballroom floor. At first, she found herself unable to meet his eyes. How typical of the arrogance of the man, she thought, that he asked neither my aunt's nor my fiance's permission to dance with me! No, completely flouting convention, he spoke to me directly, making it impossible to refuse without appearing as gauche as a schoolgirl. And you, Mariella, when confronted with his sophisti- cated approach, how did you respond, she questioned herself sternly. Why, you stammered and stuttered, and fell back, verbally, into the safe protection of your fiance! Annoyed with herself for appearing such a milksop, she tilted her lovely head and looked Lord Darvill boldly in the eyes. He said nothing, but as the music began she saw the glimmer of a smile playing around his chiselled mouth. "No doubt," said Mariella in a voice just loud enough for he alone to hear, "you were smiling in just the same manner under your mask on a certain recent evening out on the Fens." The suddenness of her attack alarmed him not one jot, for he continued his smooth progress through the cotillion, missing not a beat. "I must confess," he said, "that the episode did afford me considerable amusement — and not a little anger." "Anger?" she enquired, perplexed. Then she smiled, realising that at last she had penetrated his confident pose. "Ah yes. I frustrated you, I fear, in your attempt to secure my earrings." "A rather foolish act, surely, throwing your jewellery into the rushes in such a manner?" "On reflection, I do agree," said Mariella sweetly. "I have been so concerned ever since that one of the poor little waterfowl may have taken the earrings in its mouth, and choked on them." She saw his eyes flash at that, yet still their expression remained infuriatingly unreadable. He said, in a level tone, "You misunderstand me, Miss Ward. I had thought that, on reflection, you would have considered your act to be one of folly, bearing in mind that by your own rash action you have now lost forever the treasured gift of your own fiance." Furious at being thus caught out, Mariella retorted, "I am most surprised that a blackguard like yourself, who amuses

himself by posing as a highwayman on the Fens, should be aroused to anger on behalf of one of his victim's fiancee. How very touching, Lord Darvill." For an instant, his hand tightened round her wrist, reminding her that this was a man who would never be afraid to meet fire with fire. "You seem to make a habit of misunderstanding me, Miss Ward," said Lord Darvill in a tone that was sociable, but edged with steel. "I was angry not over the matter of your baubles, but that any of you should have been journeying across the dangerous marshes of the Fens after dark. It was a foolhardy thing to do. Which is why I took it upon myself to stop you. Word travels fast in Lynn, so I was aware of your imminent arrival with your aunt. Had you been travelling alone with her, then naturally I should have approached you directly. But when the carriage passed by and I noticed Lord Stanley within ..." " Then you decided to amuse yourself at my fiance's expense, whilst casting terror into the heart of my poor A u n t Emilia!" flared Mariella. But for the warning of the previous minute, when he had held her wrist in such an intentionally restraining manner, Mariella was sure she would have struck Lord Darvill, such was the violent reaction he provoked in her. She was surprised at herself. All her life she had been told what an agreeably even tempered girl she was. It was, she knew, one of the facets of her character which George loved most about her. And yet here was Lord Darvill, with his dark hair and blue eyes, arousing her in just a few minutes conversation to a blaze of anger which took all her self control to contain. As if sensing the struggle within her, Lord Darvill was silent for a while, and then he said, "Once again, Miss Ward, you are jumping to conclusions. The fact of the matter is, that knowing something of Lord Stanley's tem- perament from conversations with Lord Egremont in Lynn, I suspected that if I approached him as myself, and advised him to repair to the inn for the night, he would not see lit to follow my advice. Hence, I was obliged to don my mask and wave my pistol to ensure that my words of caution received your full attention." Mariella realised full well the implication behind Lord Darvill'd well-chosen words. He was saying, in effect, that Lord Stanley was stubborn to the point of stupidity and would take direction from no quarter. Hotly, she rushed to her fiance's defence :

"Certainly, as head of the large and influential Stanley family in London, my fiance is accustomed to taking the lead, and making his own decisions. You are fortunate, Lord Darvill, that unlike me he did not recognise you as the highwayman when we met in the library of the White House. For if he had realised who you were, he would most certainly have called you out!" "Oh, without doubt," said Lord Darvill dryly, inclining his head politely towards Lord Melton who had just returned to the ballroom. "And you, Miss Ward. I am curious to know two things. First, how you had the perspicacity to recognise me, when your fiance and your aunt did not. And second, why you did not immediately expose me." His question placed Mariella in something of a dilemma. How could she explain that from the first moment on the Fens when she had looked into the masked man's deep blue eyes, she had felt an immediate sense of recognition, as if this was a man she had known all her life? The notion sounded absurdly fanciful, even to her own ears. And she would rather have been boiled in oil than admit such a sentiment to the man with whom she was dancing, the man who infuriated and attracted her in such equal measure. And why had she not denounced him to George? Because, she admitted, she had been intrigued by his audacity, and curious to know more about this man, and the life he led. But none of this could she reveal to Lord Darvill himself. She said dismissively, as if the matter was of no consequence to her, "It is enough that I did recognise you. The reason why is irrelevant. And I would of course have denounced you, had it not been for the fact that you own the house my aunt is renting from you. If my fiance knew of your adventures on the Fens, he would have caused the most fearful ruck and insisted on Aunt Emilia removing herself from the White House. As she had only just arrived, and we are in the depths of winter, such a move would have caused her severe distress, and this, naturally, I was anxious to protect her from." Lord Darvill's eyes glimmered with amusement. "I am touched to learn that you are such a dutiful niece to your aunt, Miss Ward." Stung by his tone, Mariella replied without thinking, "There are still some of us left in the world who believe in loyalty and devotion to our kith and kin, come what may."

His eyes turned to ice and for a dreadful moment she believed he would strike her, right there in the middle of the ballroom, in full view of all the other guests. Instinctively, she continued the graceful movements of the cotillion, but her heart was hammering with fear, and she berated herself for allowing such unguarded words to slip past her tongue. It is only rumoured that he killed his father, she told herself furiously. It is not proven fact and you have no right to fling the past into his face in such a cruel manner. Nevertheless, it was Lord Darvill who was regarding her with such a barely controlled fury that she could feel herself beginning to tremble from head to foot. She wished he would speak, to give her the opportunity to explain, and to accuse him in her turn — for why was it there was always something in his manner, something in his tone of voice which seemed to provoke her to words and acts most foreign to. her nature? On their first meeting she had recklessly thrown her earrings into the forest of rushes, and told him that if he wanted them, he could go and hunt for them. And now, here she was in the midst of the most refined of Lynn society, reminding him of the horrific night when his father met his violent death. But there was no opportunity for either Mariella or Lord Darvill to take matters further, for the cotillion was drawing to a close. He bowed. Still trembling, she swept him a curtsey, but arose with her head held high. Then he reached into the pocket of his green velvet coat and said abruptly, "We shall meet again, Miss Ward. Meanwhile, here is a small reminder that when I hunt, I rarely hunt in vain." She felt something small, cold and hard being pressed into her hand. And then he turned on his heel and was gone. She looked down into her palm, and a flush tinged her cheeks as she regarded the gold and emerald earrings which she had last seen flying through the night to what she had assumed would be their final resting place in the rushes of the Fens. But he had gone, and found them, and returned them to her. Why, it must have taken him hours to find them in the thicket of rushes. Mariella slipped the earrings into her reticule, reflecting that Lord Darvill was the most unpredictable man she had ever encountered. One moment he was sending chilling waves of fear running through her, and the next he induced in her the most overwhelming feelings of gratitude and . . . well, and almost of affection.

"Mariella!" It was Lord George Stanley, standing before her, his face as black as a thundercloud. He gripped her arm. "Come with me this instant!" Never had Mariella seen George so angry. Within minutes she found herself escorted from the ballroom, a footman was summoned to fetch her cloak, and then she was bundled into into the carriage, where Aunt Emilia awaited them. "You have brought disgrace on the entire Stanley name," roared Lord Stanley as the carriage door slammed shut. "B — but George, what have I done?" stammered Mariella. "Why are we going home? The ball is but half way over and I was so enjoying the dancing ..." "That was perfectly evident!" bellowed Lord Stanley. "How dare you, Mariella! How dare you wait until my back was turned, and then take to the floor with the most disreputable man in the county?" "I — I beg your pardon, George. It all happened so quickly, before I had time to think ..." "It is a pity you did not concentrate your thoughts on the facts of the man's outrageous reputation. As you know, I normally prefer to avoid mentioning such matters in front of respectable ladies, but on this occasion I will not mince my words. Darvill is notorious for his liaisons with certain married ladies of the county. What is more, for years he has not been known to approach an unmarried girl and request the honour of a dance with her. For him to do so tonight, and for you to accept and stand up with him was unprecedented, and did not pass unnoticed at Melton Hall. Were you unaware that everyone was staring at you, and speculating about you during the cotillion?" "I had no notion of that George," said Mariella in a small voice. She spoke the truth. She had heard nothing of the evident buzz of amazement which had accompanied her dance with Lord Darvill. Mariella had had ears and eyes only for him. Lord Stanley was now in full spate. "Surely you must realise that he is a dangerous man? His reputation is such that no respectable girl is safe with him. Yet you wilfully chose to take the floor with him, in full view of all Lynn society."

"Surely," intervened Aunt Emilia in her mild voice, "if Lord Darvill is known only to associate with married ladies, then I should have thought it followed that Mari- ella, as an unmarried girl, would be perfectly safe with him?" Lord Stanley clapped his hand to his throbbing brow. He was aware, of course, that those of the female gender were never endowed with logical minds. But Lady Henlow was capable of such woolly thinking that when conversing with her he always felt as if she had contrived to place a sack over his head. Ignoring Lady Henlow, he snapped at his fiancee, "Your behaviour is not only disgraceful, it is also deeply insulting to me and to my family name. Heaven knows how Mother will react if intelligence of your behaviour is allowed to reach her in London." Chastened, and utterly miserable, Mariella shrank into a corner of the carriage. At the ball, beguiled by the heady atmosphere, the lights, the music, the revelry, it had not seemed wrong at all for her to dance with Lord Darvill. Now, listening to George's molten tones, she realised the enormity of what she had done. But how can I explain to George that whilst we were dancing, Lord Darvill made no improper approach to me? There was nothing in his conversation which could be construed as insulting to George. And in truth, despite everyone's surprise that Lord Darvill should be seen on the dancefloor with an unwed girl, he only asked me to dance so that he should have the opportunity discreetly to return my earrings. There was no other reason, of that I am convinced. Mariella knew she could talk of none of these matters to her angry fiance. It was better for her to remain silent, rather than fuelling the flames of his fury with further defensive protests. Besides, she was unaccustomed to defying George in any manner. It had become almost second nature to her to rely on him to advise her in all things, and instruct her on the wisest course of action. She had another reason, too, for wishing to be silent with her own thoughts. Whilst she was waiting for the Melton Hall footman to fetch her cloak, she had heard Dowager Lady Egremont's penetrating voice issuing forth from the Rose Saloon. Lady Egremont, it appeared, had previously called on Lady Melton's niece to be presented to her. "Charming young girl," was Lady Egremont's verdict, when Clara had departed back to the ballroom. And then Mariella

had heard her continue, "Uncanny thing, though. The girl is tall, and dark, with large grey dreamy eyes. And she bears a quite remarkable resemblance to Sarah Wood- row who, if you recall, we all expected Lord Darvill to marry."

4 For the following week, Mariella devoted herself to molifying her fiance. She mixed his snuff in the way he liked host, arranged for the White House cook to prepare his favourite delicacies, and she played endless games of backgammon with him. Despite all her efforts, Lord Stanley made it clear that he was still extremely displeased with her. For two pins he would, she knew, have swept her off back to London, but winter had tightened its grip with a vengeance and heavy falls of snow had made all roads out of Norfolk impassable. The snow, and then the ice made leaving the house a treacherous business, and this in turn did not improve Lord Stanley's temper. Accustomed to his own large bachelor residence in London he did not take kindly to being cooped up for days on end in a female household. One afternoon, after a game of backgammon in which he played so disastrously that it proved impossible for Mariella not to win, he exploded with his sentiments that living in a house with two females was making him feel distinctly unlike his normal self. Aunt Emilia glanced up from her petit point and commented gently, "Then I fear for you when you are wed, Lord Stanley. Imagine if you should happen to father a family of daughters. Will you then be in a permanent state of ill health?"

Lord Stanley hurriedly left the drawing room. But that evening, before Mariella came down for dinner, he took the opportunity of having a quiet, instructional word with Lady Henlow. "I should be most obliged," he informed her, "if you would refrain from discussing in front of Mariella anything which touches o n . . . on what one might term the more intimate side of married life."

Aunt Emilia looked perplexed. "I was not aware that I had engaged in any such conversation with you Lord Stanley!" Exasperated at her obtuseness, and not a little embarrassed, Lord Stanley ploughed on, "You mentioned this afternoon the possibility of me fathering a family of daughters.""But naturally I had assumed that as a betrothed couple, you and Mariella have discussed your future family, and how many children you hope you will be blessed with?" replied Aunt Emilia. "I well recall when I was betrothed, my future husband and I spent many happy hours selecting names for our future children. Of course, as it happened, we were not fortunate enough to be blessed with them, but we were not to know that at the time. I do recall that he was anxious for our daughters to have my looks, and our sons_"

Lord Stanley turned away. What one requires, in conversation with Lady Henlow he reflected, is a ball of twine to lead one back through the twists and turns of the maze she leads one through. How I feel for her late husband. One imagines that he must have been secretly relieved that his wife was barren. A family of girls, all chattering on like their mother, would surely have driven the man to an early grave. For the first time that week, he permitted himself a smile as Mariella entered the drawing room. He approved the demure pale blue gown she wore, and noticed that she had dressed her hair with the curls to the back of the head rather than on top, so as not to make her appear too near to him in height. He had been genuinely shocked at Lady Henlow's reference to his and Mariella's future family. Such matters were never discussed between them. In truth, very little of any intimate nature — either word or gesture — was encouraged by Lord Stanley. He had been drawn to Mariella, and selected her as a suitable bride, because of her innocence and purity. And thus he desired her to remain, until their wedding day. He himself took great pains to take no liberties with his fiancee. On the day of their betrothal he had kissed her on the lips, as a betrothed man should, but since then he had permitted himself nothing more than a kiss on her cheek upon greeting her, or taking leave. And thus it would remain until she became Lady Stanley. He had heard many stories of engaged couples conducting intimate conversations,

touching and kissing too often, until the ladies' heads were filled with such longings and fantasies that when they were wed they became uncontrollable in their desires. Lord Stanley had no intention of allowing this to happen to Mariella. He knew her to be innocent, untouched by impure thoughts or knowledge of the ways of the world, and the ways of men. So she must stay, until they were wed, when she would learn everything she needed to know from him, within the sanctity of marriage. She would be safe with him. He would teach her, mould her, protect her as a dutiful husband should. Meanwhile, it pleased him for her thoughts to be occupied with gentle feminine pursuits, concerned with lady Henlow's household and, of course, his own comfort and well-being. At the end of that week, the sand cart was brought into Lynn. With the icy streets gritted with sand, it was at last possible to leave the house, and with great relief the White House party planned their respective expeditions. Lord Stanley intended to join Lord Egremont at Stowe's, the small, select Lynn gentleman's club. Lady Henlow and Mariella, for their part, were eager to explore the shops, and renew their acquaintance with other ladies of the town whom they knew would be taking this opportunity of an expedition also. Mariella felt a great sense of freedom as the White House doors swung open and they stepped into the street. Snow and ice still sparkled on the window panes and trees, but the sun was shining and the air was invigorating. Well protected against the cold in an ermine-lined cloak and hood, Mariella breathed in the clean fresh air and felt very happy to be alive. The previous week, shut up in the White House, had been a time of great reflection for her. She felt extremely guilty at her disloyalty to George. Disloyalty not just because of her action in dancing with Lord Darvill at the ball, but also because of the disproportionate amount of time she had devoted to thinking about the man George termed a blackguard. I have been in danger of becoming unhealthily obsessed with him, she realised, and making a spectacle of myself over him. After our unorthodox first meeting it was natural that I should be fascinated and intrigued by him. But matters now have gone far enough. He has returned my earrings. There is no cause for us to have further social contact, or indeed, no reason why he should desire to further his acquaintanceship with me.

Especially, she thought, now Lady Clara Melton has arrived in Lynn. The girl whom Dowager Lady Egremont had remarked bore such an uncanny resemblance to the girl Lord Darvill had desired so much to marry, but whom he had lost to another man. Mariella wondered if it was in Lady Melton's mind to encourage a match between her niece and Lord Darvill. Lady Melton, of course, had been quick to point out to Lord Stanley the rumours attached to Lord Darvill. But at the same time, no one could deny that Lord Darvill was by far the most eligible bachelor in the county. In his early thirties, and the last of his line, it must be in his mind that he should marry and father heirs to carry on the Darvill tradition. And Mariella had not forgotten how, at the Melton ball, he had stood transfixed, gazing at Clara as she made her dreamlike way through the country dances. Mariella tossed her golden head as she and her Aunt crunched their way through the snow and ice of the Lynn streets. Lord Darvill's future is his own affair, she decided. I shall waste no more time dwelling on the matter, but instead, I shall concentrate on my own future, and my own marriage. Accordingly, she turned to her Aunt Emilia and remarked, "I have still a few items left to purchase for my trousseau. I wonder if anything will catch my eye in Lynn today?" Ever the romantic, Aunt Emilia replied, "Oh, it would give me so much pleasure to think of you departing on your Wedding Tour with some finery from my beloved Lynn! Much will have changed since my young days in the town, of course, but I do recall an excellent drapers which sold the finest French silks and laces. Shall we make that our first port of call?" The two ladies passed an agreeable two hours wandering from shop to shop, and it was in the milliners that they encountered Lady Melton, accompanied by her niece Clara. Immediately she set eyes on the dark haired girl, all Mariella's curiosity about Clara came flooding back and she prepared to listen with interest to discover the nature and character of this girl who so resembled the Sarah Woodrow whom Lord Darvill had loved. But to her disappointment it was Lady Melton who took the lead in the conversation. "I was so sorry you were obliged to leave the ball at such an early hour, Emilia," said Lady Melton, her eyes raking over Mariella in a manner which made it perfectly plain that she had observed Lord Stanley's fury with his fiancee over the matter of her dance with Lord Darvill.

"I regret I was overcome with one of my sick headaches," replied Lady Henlow. "We were both so sorry to leave, as it was such an enjoyable evening." Indeed, it was evident to all that Miss Ward was most certainly enjoying her first excursion into Lynn society," said Lady Melton crisply. She leaned forward, and enquired conspiratorially, "Do tell, my dear. We were all so intrigued to see you dancing with Lord Darvill. Upon what matters were you conversing with such vigour?" Mariella's throat felt suddenly dry. So it was true, then, that everyone at the ball had been staring at herself and Lord Darvill. Clearly, not a gesture or glance had escaped their hawk-like eyes. How stupid of me not to have realised that I was under such scrutiny. I should have been more careful. Much more careful, I appreciate that now. Summoning her wits, she replied in a faintly bored tone to Lady Melton, "Oh, our conversation was of no great moment, madam. As I recall, for the most part we were discussing the Fens." Lady Melton's eyebrows rose. "I confess, that is not a part of the countryside I choose to venture into. So wild, and so uncivilised." Aunt Emilia smiled at Clara. "And you, my dear. I trust you have many happy memories of the ball held in your honour?" "Oh Clara was such a success!" gushed Lady Melton. "There was hardly anyone present who did not draw me aside to compliment me on the beauty and demeanour of my niece. I was excessively proud of her!" Mariella looked expectantly at Clara, but still the girl said not a word. She stood, smiling pleasantly, the black fringed grey eyes attentive, but at the same time giving the impression that she was strangely uninvolved in what was happening around her. "Even Lord Darvill," Lady Melton went on, "even he enquired how long Clara was residing with me." "I am surprised, in view of your previous comments to me about Lord Darvill, that his opinions should be of any moment to you," murmured Aunt Emilia.

Lady Melton waved her hands. "Naturally, the rumours that surround him, and of course certain aspects of his private life do place us all in an extremely difficult position when one encounters him socially. But one has a duty to be civil. And, it must be said in all fairness, although one cannot approve of the life he chooses to lead, nevertheless, he does possess certain admirable qualities." Mariella turned away, pretending to examine some velvet-lined bonnets as she hid her smile. She had no doubt that the admirable qualities referred to by Lady Melton were Lord Darvill's title, wealth, and eligibility. Once more, Mariella glanced at Clara, but the girl's face was not revealing a flicker of undue interest in the conversation. Becoming suddenly irritated at Clara's inert air, Mariella decided to seize the initiative by asking her a direct question which her aunt could not answer for her. "I have been so admiring the embroidered ribbons on your bonnet, Clara. Do tell me, is it your own exquisite workmanship?" "Yes" said Clara. Mariella felt like throwing her bonnet in the air. At last, the enigmatic Clara had spoken! She listened attentively for Clara's next words. "Clara finds embroidering a satisfyingly soothing occupation," Lady Melton informed them. "But of course she is gifted at all the feminine arts. Her watercolours are highly praised, she is talented upon the harp and her voice, I declare, is the sweetest and truest I have heard for many a long year." Mariella decided that she was not prepared to be that easily defeated. Again addressing Clara, she said with a smile, "Since we are both newcomers to Lynn, it would be most pleasant if we could meet one day and arrange to explore the town together." Clara smiled."I should like that very much." Mariella was much encouraged by the sincerity in her tone. But again, Lady Melton intervened. "No doubt you will both be at the forthcoming skating party so you will have the opportunity to discuss the matter further then. Now we must hurry on." She hustled Clara towards the door, but then turned back, "Emilia, I almost forgot. Are you aware that your old Nanny is still alive, and living down near St. Margaret's church?"

Lady Henlow's face lit up. "Nanny Phipps? Oh, but how should love to see her again. Thank you for the intelligence, Lady Melton."

When the Meltons had departed, Aunt Emilia told Mariella that she was in a mind to call on Nanny Phipps without delay. "I think it would be best if I went alone, Mariella, as she is old and frail and too many callers would tire her ..." "Of course," smiled Mariella. "I will finish my shopping, and then make my way back to the White House. I am confident that I remember the way." Mariella's confidence was misplaced. It was one thing, she discovered being escorted round town by Lord Darvill, on a dry winter's day, and quite another to find her way through the maze of streets blanketed in so much snow that many familiar landmarks were either blotted out or rendered unrecognisable. But Mariella was not alarmed. In London, she knew it was possible to wander around for a week and still remain completely lost. But Lynn was a small town and the people were friendly. If I do not find myself soon back in one of the roads that leads to the White House, then I shall simply stop a sympathetic looking person and ask for directions, she decided calmly. Meanwhile, she was enjoying the fresh air and her own company. Being an only child, Mariella had never feared solitude. She was blessed with an enquiring mind, and always found much in her surroundings to interest and divert her. When she found herself down in the dockland area of Lynn, Mariella soon became absorbed watching a gang of men unloading one of the cargo boats. Aunt Emilia had told her that many of the boats came down from the Baltic, loaded with products from the extensive forests of the northern lands. How skilled the men are at their work, she marvelled, watching as with speed and efficiency they unloaded the rafters and deal boards, masts and spars for as yet unbuilt ships, the pitch, the tar and the resin. It was difficult work, as the quay was extremely icy. The boat itself, she realised, must have docked before the severe weather set in, for now all the waterways around Lynn were iced-over, making any transport or movement impossible from the town. As she walked on, treading carefully between the heaped up banks of glistening snow that piled the path, she remembered that Lady Melton had mentioned a skating party. Mariella's lovely face was wistful within the ermine-lined hood of her

cloak. Lord Stanley, she knew, would not approve of her attending a Frost Fair. He would tell her that such activities were dangerous — and apart from which, he would point out with perfect truth that as she had never learned to skate she would be unable to participate in the revelry. And it would, Mariella had to confess, be extremely dampening to the spirits to be obliged to stand on the sidelines, growing colder by the minute, as a mere spectator to the revels. She turned a corner, and was just picking her way up a small flight of steps that she hoped would lead her back into the main part of town, when she found her way blocked by two burly men. One glance was enough to tell her that these were neither gentlemen, nor honest folk of Lynn. Their c lothes were ragged and their faces unshaven. It was their eyes, however, which alarmed her most. Wild, craven eyes of desperate men who would stop at nothing. Drawing a deep breath, Mariella said quietly but firmly, "Would you kindly let me pass?" They made no move, but stood silently regarding her. Then the taller of the two men said softly, but with an underlying menace in his tone, "A young lady like you shouldn't be walking around on her own." "I am not alone," said Mariella with dignity. "My escort is but a few paces behind me, and will be here directly." They laughed, clearly not believing her. The short, stocky man spoke: "These are dangerous streets to be abroad in, my lady. It would be best if we escorted you for a way." He held out a grimy hand. "For a guinea we will ensure that you are not molested by any of the villains of the area." "And there are many villains," said the tall man pointing up the narrow street. Mariella shivered as she observed groups of men waiting in doorways, ready, she was sure, to rob or attack her. She was beginning to feel extremely frightened. She had no notion where she was in Lynn, and neither Aunt Emilia nor Lord Stanley was acquainted with her whereabouts. "I am neither rich, nor titled and I do not have a guinea upon me," said Mariella bravely. The men, clearly, did not believe her. Their eyes travelled knowingly over her ermine-lined cloak, her burnished snow boots and her kid gloves. Mariella swallowed with fear. Although it was true that she had very little money upon her,

she was aware that beneath her cloak glistened an exquisite gold chain and locket which these villains would no doubt regard as a prize well worth taking. The chilling notion of the men's rough hands upon her throat goaded Mariella into action. Observing the taller man's eyes alight upon her reticule, she decided to play along with their impression of her as a wealthy half wit, and said guilelessly, "I truly have no money upon me to give you. All I have is a few diamonds which I was taking to the goldsmith to be set." She was aware that anyone of her own breeding would have known that a lady such as herself would never be so foolish as to walk the dockland streets carrying so valuable a cargo as diamonds. But she reckoned, correctly, on greed overcoming sense in the minds of these desperate men. Giving them no time to think further, she reached into her reticule and pulled out a handful of "diamonds." Closer inspection would, of course, reveal them to be inexpensive glass beads which she had purchased to decorate a fire screen she had just finished embroidering. But it was not her intention to give the men opportunity to scrutinise the beads too closely. As she anticipated, they leaned forward eagerly to grasp the beads. Moving swiftly, she flung the hard glass pieces into their faces. Taken by surprise, they were thrown off balance. One of them slipped and fell heavily against the wall, half pulling the other man down with him. Mariella waited to see no more. Turning, she slithered back down the steps and ran round the corner onto the path that led alongside one of the dock quays. "After her!" she heard one of the villains call out. "Catch the minx. She won't get far!" Frantic, Mariella picked up her skirts and ran. But the villain was right. Although her terror lent her wings, on the icy path she stood no chance of flight. She skidded on a broad patch of ice, pitched forward and would have fallen headlong to the ground had not strong arms suddenly reached out and pulled her to safety. Breathless, and ashen with fear, Mariella looked up into the concerned blue eyes of Lord Darvill. "Oh!" she gasped, "thank heavens you are here! Some villains were about to steal my jewellery. I threw some glass beads in their faces and ran away, but I could hear them pursuing me and — "

She could say no more, for he was holding her close to him until her trembling quietened. "Have no fear," he said. "Your attackers will have turned tail and run in the other direction at the first sight of me." "Thank heavens you were here!" exclaimed Mariella. Then she looked towards the moored ships and said mischievously, "Aha, I know the truth. Masquerading as a highwayman has become dull sport for you. Now you are planning to become a pirate!" He laughed. "I am relieved to see you are so quickly restored to good spirits, Miss Ward. But piracy has no thrall for me. I have travelled much and am happy, for a while, to remain in one of the loveliest and most civilised countries in the world." Mariella approved his unselfconscious patriotism for her beloved England. "Only for a while?" she queried. "You feel that eventually the wanderlust will overtake you again? "Who knows?" he murmured. "There is much of the world to see and it seems foolish not to take advantage of any opportunity to widen one's horizons. That is why I come often down to the docks. There is the smell of adventure here, of voyages to countries as far flung as Iceland, Italy, Spain and the New World." As he spoke, his blue eyes were distant, and Mariella said with a touch of envy, "It must be wonderful to journey abroad, on the Grand Tour. It must cause you to regard everything in England in such a different light when you return. Not in a critical light, necessarily, but with the advantage of all the fresh and exciting impressions one has received in other lands." He took her arm and guided her along the path to his waiting carriage. "But no doubt you too will be seeing something of the world with Lord Stanley on your Wedding Tour," he said. Although there was nothing in his voice to suggest it, Mariella always had the impression that he was mocking her whenever he referred to her betrothal. "George does not care for foreign food," she said. "And he feels it would upset my constitution. So we shall be journeying to his family estates in Derbyshire for our Wedding Tour." Lord Darvill's face was impassive as he enquired, "But you, Mariella. What would you like to do?"

"Why, whatever George decides of course," said Mariella firmly. "Of course," was the dry response. Lord Darvill assisted her into the carriage and Mariella took the opportunity to thank him most sincerely for coming to her rescue. Then she went on, feeling rather embarrassed, "There is no cause to trouble yourself driving me all the way to my door. If you set me down near the tree-lined Walk, I should be happy to stroll the short distance from there to the White House." Lord Darvill laughed. "What you are saying is that it will cause difficulties between yourself and your fiance if you are observed emerging from my carriage. Is that not correct?" Mariella nodded. "Then why not come straight out and say so. My reputa tion may, in some quarters, be beyond the pale, but I have no wish to place you in a difficult situation with Lord Stanley. However," Lord Darvill rapped on the carriage roof as a signal for the driver to proceed, "the dilemma is not one we find ourselves in immediately, as I am not taking you straight home." Mariella sat bolt upright. "Oh but you must! I — I am expected directly!" He turned, and looked directly into her violet eyes. "I have warned you before," he said levelly, "not to dissemble in your conversations with me. You are not, in truth, expected home for at least another two hours, are you?" Mariella coloured. "No. But how.do you know that?" He shrugged. "I encountered Lady Henlow who informed me she was on her way to visit Nanny Phipps. And earlier, I had noticed Lord Stanley in Stowe's with Lord Egremont. They had challenged one another to a fearsome series of backgammon games which, clearly, is going to take all afternoon." "But where are you taking me?" demanded Mariella in some alarm as she realised she was being practically kidnapped by the most notorious man in the county. If he took her somewhere public, and she was observed in his company, why the scandal would cause George to make her return to London immediately — on foot, if necessary.

As if reading her thoughts, he said calmly, "I am taking you to see my house. The renovations are almost complete now, and I should value your opinion." Mariella could not contain her inner excitement at this intelligence. One of the reasons that Aunt Emilia had been s o overwhelmed to receive the earlier dinner invitation from the Earl (the invitation Lord Stanley had finally decreed they should not accept) was that very few people in Lynn had had the opportunity to view the restored grandeur of Darvill House. This was partly because Lord Darvill had not been generous in his extension of invitations. And partly because, if certain members of Lynn society had received such an invitation, they would have felt bound to refuse, telling one another that one could not possibly set foot in the residence of a man with a reputation such as Lord Darvill's. But now she, Mariella Ward, was about to steal a march on the rest of Lynn! Naturally, she was intrigued — and curious too. Why had Lord Darvill singled her out in such a manner? Surely he was not whisking her away from the public gaze in order to make improper advances towards her? He was a sophisticated, red-blooded man with an undoubted ability at seducing married ladies. Was he about, then, to exercise his practised charms on her, an unmarried girl it was true, but one who would be shortly wed? Despite her alarm, she could not repress a thrill of illicit excitement at the notion. Then she found his amused blue eyes upon her. As if reading her thoughts, he murmured, "Fear not, Miss Ward. I promise I have no designs upon you." And then, as her shoulders relaxed in relief, he said in a voice so low she wondered if she had heard aright, "Not yet, not today, anyway." Hastily, Mariella sought the instinctive safety of voicing a remark about Lord Stanley. But before she could draw breath to speak, the carriage swept through the imposing open gates of Darvill House, and within minutes all thoughts of her fiance had fled from her mind. Darvill House, justly celebrated as one of the most impressive houses in the county, was designed on classical lines, and fronted by an enormous lake. Lord Darvill escorted her inside, through a magnificent hall, and through a myriad of graceful saloons, drawing rooms, libraries, dining halls and picture galleries, all furnished simply, but in the most exquisite taste.

They paused by the tall, silk hung windows of the Gold Drawing Room, at the front of the house. "This is one of my favourite rooms," said the Earl. "The man who originally designed the house, William Kent, planned it to catch every ray of the setting sun." "And with the beautiful decor, it must be a blaze of gold especially in summer," breathed Mariella, "especially with the light glinting across the lake beyond." The Earl nodded. "You will notice that the drive sweeps in a broad arc from the gates and round the expanse of the lake. My sister was of the opinion that this was in order to give my father good time to view any unexpected callers, and bolt if necessary, into the privacy of his gun room." He smiled wryly. "My father, as you will have gathered, was not the most sociable of men." Mariella had frozen cold as the lake outside at this, his first mention of his father— and of his father's gun room. Surely, she reasoned, if Lord Darvill had fired the pistol which had killed his father he would not be so brazen as to bring the word gun into the conversation? A guilty man would take extreme care to avoid mentioning the murder weapon. Lord Darvill, however, appeared not to notice her discomfiture. He went on easily, "You must come again, Mariella, and view the lake when it is not frozen. For on a calm, windless day the entire front of the house is reflected in the water in quite the most striking manner." "But the lake is equally enchanting now it is iced over," smiled Mariella. "Each season has its own beauty, does it not? I confess I grow weary of people who are forever complaining about our capricious climate. England is glorious, it is true, in the summer months, but now, in winter with the snow and ice on the ground the countryside takes on a breathtakingly fairytale quality." She saw that he was listening attentively. "Yes, that is true. And each season brings its own compensations, and pleasures. The ice may have brought all the cargo boats to a halt along the rivers, but for us it provides excellent sport. Are you looking forward to the Frost Fair?" Mariella's face fell. "No, I regret I never had the opportunity to learn to skate. And — "

She had been intending to voice her fears that George would not permit her to attend the gathering, but Lord Darvill was suddenly all action, hustling her from the drawing room towards a small room situated at the back of the sweeping staircase. "You shall learn to skate this very afternoon," he declared firmly. "In that room you will find some skates left by my sister after she was wed. You are similar in size, so I hope the skates will accommodate you." "But — but I shall never be able to walk on them to reach the ice," protested Mariella, wondering for a wild moment if he was intending carrying her down to the icy lake. He laughed. "You will be surprised to find walking on skates much easier than you imagine. And it will be good for you to grow accustomed to the feel of them on your feet before you embark on the ice. Now hurry! The light is good and conditions are perfect." There were times, reflected a bemused Mariella, when there was no arguing with this man. As she laced on the skates, she imagined what George would say if he knew where she was, and in whose company. Mariella shuddered, and hastily pulled down the blinds on such a vision. Then she rose unsteadily to her feet and practised walking round the room. To her amazement, though balanced on a fine edge of steel, she did not topple over. Lord Darvill was right. Walking on skates, for anyone with a reasonable sense of balance, was surprisingly easy. Skating on ice, however, she was prepared to find much more difficult. As Lord Darvill had said, conditions were perfect out on the lake. There was no searing wind, and the afternoon sun lent a sparkle to the smooth expanse of white. At the edge of the ice, Mariella hesitated. "Perhaps it would be most helpful if you skated once or twice round the ice, Lord Darvill, to show me how it should be done." Laughing, he took her hands in his. "Not a bit of it. This is a time for you to jump straight in at the deep end, so to speak. Come now you are safe with me. But do not be concerned if you slip and lose your balance. When people are learning to skate everyone takes a bump or two at first. The essential thing is not to be discouraged, but to keep on trying. And I promise you, in a very short time you will quite suddenly find your confidence and discover that skating comes quite naturally to you."

Encouraged by his faith in her, and greatly reassured by the touch of his strong hands holding hers, Mariella stepped onto the ice. Immediately, she would have slipped and fallen, but Lord Darvill had a firm grip on her. Slipping one hand around her slender waist, he guided her slowly along for a few yards, then brought her to rest for a moment on the bank. "Now that wasn't too bad, was it?" he smiled. "Let's try again." They glided onto the ice once more, and after a short while, Mariella was able to relax. At first, she had found it impossible to concentrate on keeping upright whilst in such intimate proximity with this dangerously attractive man. Although their hands were gloved against the cold, her fingers burned at his touch and his arm encircling her waist sent tremors of hitherto unknown desires running through her. Then, to her delight, Mariella discovered the truth of Lord Darvill's earlier words. From a point when she thought she would never stop slipping and wobbling, she suddenly found her natural balance on the ice and she was filled with a glorious sense of exhilaration. Oh, how glorious this was, to be out in the crisp clean air, moving with such freedom across the sparkling ice. Her exhilaration speedily turned to dismay, however, when Lord Darvill said, "Now, it is time for you to try this on your own." Stilling her protests, he informed her that he was going to skate across to the island in the middle of the lake. He would wait for her there, and she would skate across alone, to join him. Mariella was in a complete state of panic, her newfound confidence shattered. She knew, without a shadow of doubt, that once alone on the ice she would fall over, be unable to get up again, make a total fool of herself before his amused gaze. Miserably she murmured, unable to meet his eyes, "I would rather not." She stood before him, hating him, because she knew he would now insist on her skating alone, would force her by sheer weight of argument and will to do as he told her. Gently, he placed his hand under her chin and turned her face up to his. "The choice is yours," he said quietly. "You are a free woman, Mariella, and there is nothing in this world you have to do if you choose not to. All I will say, is that when you are learning to skate, there comes a time when you

have to attempt it by yourself. Knowing you to be such an excellent dancer, I was confident that you would take equally gracefully to the ice. And so it has proved. I guarantee, if you skate alone to me to the island, then you will never again feel uncertain on the ice. But if you decide that you are tired, and have had enough sport for the day, then we shall immediately return to the house and reward ourselves with a warming drink. The decision is yours." He left her then, and sped with a sure, athletic grace out to the island. Left on the bank, Mariella stood in an agony of indecision. She was accustomed, with George, always to being told what to do. It was rarely required of her to make her own decisions. George decided, and of course, George was usually right. And if it transpired that he was wrong over a matter, then naturally as a dutiful fiancee, one would not dream of pointing out his error to him. Yet here was the forceful, challenging Lord Darvill, informing her that she was a free woman, at liberty to make her own choices! He had reached the island now, and was occupied knocking out a frozen pool, to give a flock of birds access to drinking water. Watching him, Mariella knew what she must do. If I do not skate across to the island, she realised, he will despise me for my lack of courage. And I shall despise myself. If I fall down, well, it can't be helped. The important thing is at least to try. Taking a deep breath, she launched herself onto the ice, concentrating hard on maintaining a natural, easy rhythm. It was only a short distance, but to Mariella, marooned in the middle, the expanse of ice seemed miles across. And then, with a great sense of triumph and relief, she found she was nearly there. Just a few more yards to the security of dry land! Unconsciously, she gathered speed, her skates hissing on the ice. But then, just two yards from the bank, her attention was distracted by a flock of birds coming down to the island to drink. Her balance lost, her feet slid from under her. But miraculously, Lord Darvill was there to prevent her fall, and guide her to the safety of the bank. Breathlessly, Mariella declared, "Why, that is the second time today you have prevented me from falling when I slipped on ice." "Yes. The first time, you were escaping from danger, and the villains pursuing you. But this time, you were not running away were you?"

His blue eyes met hers. Mariella stood regaining her breath, unwilling to continue his line of conversation. She knew full well to what he referred. No, she had not run away from herself by returning to the house instead of skating alone. And also, by her presence here today, she had not run away from Lord Darvill, either. She should not be here at all, alone with this notorious man. Of course she should not. Were she found out, the scandal would rock all Lynn. And yet, she was not sorry she had come to Darvill House. She could have refused, she realised that now. She could have screamed, and shouted and insisted that Lord Darvill turn his carriage round and return her to the White House. Instead, she had acquiesced. She had made her choice. And she did not regret it. Nevertheless, Mariella could put none of this into words with Lord Darvill. Instead, she changed tack slightly and remarked, "Although I am only a novice skater, I found myself increasing my speed across the ice. I wonder how fast it is possible to go?" "The men of the Fens are the speediest in Norfolk," Lord Darvill informed her, "because during the winter months when the rivers and dykes ice over and the roads are impassable, often the only way to reach your destination is on skates." Mariella was fascinated. How different life in Norfolk was to life in London. She giggled at the notion of the fearsome Lady Stanley donning skates to pay her afternoon calls. "How long does it take to skate a mile?" she asked. "Some of the fast Fenland men can cover the distance in under three minutes, but the average skater like myself would take about four minutes." Four minutes to cover a mile! Such a speed seemed unimaginable to Mariella. She glanced sideways at Lord Darvill and suggested unguardedly, "I am sure you are too modest, my lord. No doubt, if there were a race you could win easily, even against the most experienced Fenland skater." His reaction astounded her. Had she made a remark of such a nature to Lord Stanley, he would have looked delightedly flattered, as of course she intended him to. But Lord Darvill merely uttered an amused groan. "Mariella, there is no cause for you to indulge in this absurd simpering and flattering. The men of the Fens skate all day and every day. They have little education, no wealth, no real experience of the world. But skating they are skilled

at — because they have to be. Of course in a contest they would win against a gentleman like myself, with my estates and many matters to attend to, who skates infrequently, and purely for pleasure." He paused. "You must always speak plain with me, Mariella. I have no time for those who indulge in guile, or idle flattery." Mariella was considerably confused. She had always been led to believe that when with a member of the opposite sex, it was the duty of the female to make the gentleman feel as important, clever and gifted as possible. And she had always found, up to now, that there was no limit to the flattery that gentlemen were susceptible to. Certainly with George, a sure way to soothe him out of a tetchy temper was to lavish extravagant praise upon him. What harm did it do, when it pleased him so much, and helped to create a pleasant atmosphere between them? Yet here was Lord Darvill, reacting to her attempt to please in the most critical manner! "You say I may speak plain," she said, her cheeks burning both with the exercise of skating and the blaze of anger he had provoked within her. "Very well. I regard it as most ungallant of you to speak to me in such a curt manner, when I was only attempting to make pleasantly civilised conversation between us." He smiled. "If I was abrupt, I beg your pardon. But you see, all too often, civilised conversation is nothing more than a confection of sweet half truths and remarks designed to soothe and flatter. To be blunt, I have no time for such nonsense. Life is too short, I feel, to indulge in prevarications and dissembling. I confess, I have little in common with my father, but one thing I am grateful for is that he raised my sister and I in the belief that we should always be free to speak our minds." "In my experience," replied Mariella with spirit, "people most eager to speak their minds are those who are most offended when others are blunt with them." " That is a fair criticism," agreed the Earl, taking her arm and guiding her back onto the ice. "But I give you my word. I shall never be angry with you for plain speaking. It is people who flatter and dissemble who tend to receive the rough edge of my tongue." Mariella was never able to explain what happened next. They reached the bank near the house without mishap. Then, fired

by her triumph at learning to skate and also by a foolish bravado inspired by his determination that she should say what was uppermost in her mind, she burst forth: "Very well, Lord Darvill. You say I may always speak plain with you. Will you answer me then one question? Did you kill your father?"

5 She would never forget his face as her question hung between them in the cold January air. The handsomely rugged features seemed turned to stone whilst the eyes, the magnificent deep blue eyes, were touched not with anger but with unimaginable sadness. Mariella felt she had gone too far. "I beg your pardon," she said quickly. "I have put to you a question which should never be voiced." "No," he replied levelly. "I am aware that it is a question which many in Lynn would dearly love to ask, but none have the courage to do so. Until now." Emboldened, Mariella went on, "Is it because if they knew the answer, it is one which they would find unpalatable?" He placed his arm lightly around her shoulders, and led her up the path towards the house. "I am aware, of course, that there was considerable controversy and speculation surrounding the circumstances of my father's death. And all I can tell you, in reply to your question, is that I have no answer to give you. It is for you to decide whether or not I am a man capable of murder." He took her inside, then, and in the Gold Drawing Room they drank warming mulled wine, and talked of other things. Immediately she set down her silver goblet, he called for his carriage and drove her to a quiet spot near the beginning of the tree-lined Walk which led back to the White House. During those long days when it had been impossible to leave the house, Mariella had often gazed

from her window and longed for the snow to melt a little so she could explore the elegant chestnut and lime bordered Walk. There were many such Walks in Lynn, and it pleased the romantic in her soul to remember that the trees and paths had been laid out along the lines of the ancient city walls. But today, after she took her leave of Lord Darvill, she was in too much of a turmoil to take pleasure in her surroundings. What was the truth about Lord Darvill? What manner of man was he? All her encounters with him thus far had been so contradictory. It seemed incomprehensible that the same man who had caused them such terror that first night on the Fens, should then take trouble to break ice free for the birds to drink, and should confess such an unaffected and sincere love for his home. And surely, Mariella reasoned, a man who had shot his father would not choose to remain long in the house where the tragedy occurred. There would be too many reminders, too many silent accusing fingers to underline his guilt. "And yet," she whispered, walking briskly up the path beneath the bare trees, "he would not give me an answer to my question. Admittedly, he was not angry with me for having the impertinence to ask. But he would not answer me directly, as surely he would have done had he been innocent?" As she approached the White House, Mariella was once more overcome with anxiety as she realised how much time - both in a physical and mental sense — she had been devoting to Lord Darvill. Yet try as she might, it was difficult for her thoughts not to keep drifting back to him. For whenever she encountered him, she always came away with her mind buzzing with new ideas, her imagination fired by things he had told her. This was a new experience for Mariella, as she could with confidence predict the tone and content of her fiance's conversation. But Lord Darvill was always unpredictable. And that does not make one feel comfortable at times, she told herself. At least with George, one knows where one is. There are no surprises, no sudden jolts, no unexpected adjustments to be made. Whereas with Lord Darvill, one's mind is not allowed to remain still for a minute. Just when you imagine that you understand him, he then provokes a further extraordinary chain of ideas which leaves one breathless. Mariella was fortunate enough to arrive home ahead of both Lord Stanley and Lady Henlow. By the time they returned, Mariella had changed her dress and was sitting demurely over her embroidery in the drawing room. Outwardly, there was nothing untoward in her appearance to give any indication

of her adventure with the most notorious man in the county. But whenever she moved, her aching muscles provided her with a pleasurably secret reminder of her unaccustomed exercise. Aunt Emilia was full of her visit to Nanny Phipps. "Such a remarkable person. She must be well into her eighties now, but her spine never touches the back of her chair, and what's more she's still the most astute judge of character of anyone I know." Observing Lord Stanley's frown, she added hastily, "Any lady, that is, naturally." "Quite so," said Lord Stanley, stretching out his legs and blocking the fire. "I should not, I confess, take kindly to the suggestion that my powers of judgement were inferior to those of your eighty year old nanny." "No, no, George," said Mariella soothingly, "quite the reverse. Why, I speak not just for myself but for all your family when I say that we regard your advice on all matters as invaluable." Firmly, she closed her ears to the sound of Lord Darvill's mocking laughter as Lord Stanley, smiling now, said to Lady Henlow, "I fear that, because of the inclement weather, we have all been feeling the lack of lively company. So I have taken the liberty of inviting a small party to dine with us tomorrow night. I hope the suggestion meets with your approval?" Aunt Emilia clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, but that is most considerate of you. Do tell whom you have asked to grace our table." "There will be Dowager Lady Egremont and her son, whom I had the pleasure of beating soundly at backgammon today. And Lord and Lady Melton, accompanied by their niece Clara. Oh, and Sir James Linton." "That is not, I confess, a name which is familiar to me," said Aunt Emilia enquiringly. "I made his acquaintance this afternoon, at Stowe's," replied Lord Stanley. "He has lived abroad for many years and is visiting Lynn because he has a great interest in churches." Aunt Emilia nodded. "Oh, there will be much to absorb him here. I recall as a child being taken to worship at St. Nicholas' Chapel, which is claimed by the local fishermen as their church. They give thanks for their catch with nets draped over crossed oars in front of a boat resting in the choir, and — "

"Lord Egremont," said Lord Stanley heavily, "vouchsafed Linton to me an excellent fellow and thus I took the liberty of asking him to dine. He is lodging at the Vine Hotel and confesses that the food is atrocious there." "Oh poor man," exclaimed Aunt Emilia. "I shall speak to Cook directly, and ensure that we provide him with a most hearty meal." The following day was taken up in a flurry of preparations for the evening's dinner. Aunt Emilia supervised the washing of china, and burnishing of glasses and silverware, whilst Mariella skilfully fashioned delicate yellow and white silk roses as a centrepiece for the table. Whilst she was pleased that they were to be in company that evening, the chosen guests did not fill her with any hope that the party would be a lively one. She had not taken to Lady Melton, whilst Dowager Lady Egremont was so iron-willed and difficult that her son, Lord Egremont, rarely dared utter a word for fear of offending her. Clara Melton, of course, would not say a word either, so no doubt it would be left to 'Sir James Linton and Aunt Emilia to conduct a spirited conversation about the local churches. Mariella decided that she would try to arrange for Lord Melton to sit on one side of her at the table. He was a pleasant man, who could be relied upon to talk with authority and interest about his collection of watercolours. She would, of course, have Lord Stanley at her other hand, as although it was the custom for married couples to be seated apart, those who were betrothed by custom always sat next to one another. As Mariella was putting the last touches to the silk rose centrepiece, Mrs Gordon, the housekeeper, entered the dining room to enquire if everything was to her satisfaction. Mariella regarded the rosewood table, glistening with crystal, silver and snow-white damask napkins and smiled. "Everything is most satisfactory, thank you Mrs Gordon. It is not easy, I imagine, arranging a party such as this at such short notice, and with a household staff who are new, and not accustomed to one another's ways." Mrs Gordon smiled. "I won't deny that there have been some small upsets below stairs, but everything is well under control. And for my part, I find it easier managing a small staff, as you have more opportunity to get to know them all and what they are capable of."

Mariella uncurled one of the yellow petals on her silk roses. "You are accustomed to a larger household then, Mrs Gordon?" "Oh yes, Miss Ward. I was housekeeper for many years to Lord and Lady Woodrow. But then when Lady Sarah had her first child they moved to their estate in Suffolk to be near her. I was born and bred in Lynn, and reluctant to make a move, so I was glad when the Earl of Darvill took me onto his staff." Mariella's hand froze on the silk rose. She knew, of course she knew, that she should not encourage the housekeeper to gossip about her former household. George would be furious with her if he should emerge from the library and overhear. But such was Mariella's overwhelming curiosity about the girl whom Lord Darvill had loved and lost, that she could not resist leading the talkative Mrs Gordon to tell her more. It was not difficult. Through artful questioning which to the casual ear would have sounded like no more than a polite passing of the time of day on Mariella's part, the golden-haired girl discovered much that she wanted to know about Sarah Woodrow. That she was, as Mariella already knew, tall and dark haired. "A quiet girl," Mrs Gordon said, "but that is not to say she was in any manner dull. Everyone remarked on the air of serenity that sur- rounded Lady Sarah, yet what few realised was that she was a young lady of great determination. Once she had made up her mind on a matter, she would not be budged. She did not shout, or stamp her foot as many young ladies would have done. She simply went quietly ahead and did what she had decided to do in the first place." "Her parents must have missed her a great deal when she left Norfolk to live in Suffolk with her new husband," said Mariella with a smile. Mrs Gordon rose to the bait. "They were as surprised as the rest of the town when Lady Sarah married the Earl of Denby. Everyone had expected her to wed Lord Darvill. They had grown up together, and he was often at the house. No one ever knew what passed between them, but suddenly she upped and wed her Earl of Denby. Lord Darvill must have been heartbroken. Mariella had heard this now from many people, many tunes. And yet, she found it difficult to imagine a man as sophisticated as the Earl suffering a broken heart. Mrs Gordon paused at the door, and then burst out, "I've heard all the rumours. But I won't allow any of the servants to say a word against him, Miss Ward. He's shown me nothing

but kindness over the years. I don't believe him capable of what they say he did!" Mariella heard the library door open, and George's heavy tread in the hall. Hurriedly, she brought the conversation to an end and went upstairs to change for dinner. She selected a gown of deep rose velvet, edged with a tracery of pearls at hem and neck. When she joined her aunt and fiance in the drawing room, she was pleased to observe that Lord Stanley was clearly in excellent spirits. "How charming you both look, ladies," he beamed, "one in pink and one in lavender. Quite enchanting. And what an excellent prospect it is, to dine with a party of civilised company. I confess, I anticipate an extremely agreeable few hours ahead." A footman entered, bearing a sealed letter on a silver salver. Aunt Emilia broke the seal and hastily perused the contents of the missive. "Oh, it is from Lord Darvill. He was he says, away from home longer than he anticipated this afternoon, and he regrets that his arrival here will be delayed this evening. He sends profuse apologies — such a courteous gentleman — and hopes it will be in order if he joins us midway through dinner." This was relayed by Aunt Emilia in the mildest of tones, as if she had no notion of the effect it would cause on a particular person in the drawing room. "Darvill!" spluttered Lord Stanley. "But I did not invite that rogue to dine here, Lady Henlow." "No, no. It was I who invited him," said Lady Henlow vaguely. "Dowager Lady Egremont sent word that she had a chill, so she and her son would be unable to attend, so it occurred to me to ask Lord Darvill to make up the party. In any event, an extra gentleman is most welcome to make up the even numbers at our table." As Lord Stanley's spirits sank, so Mariella's rose. With Lord Darvill amongst the party, she could rest assured that the evening would not be as dull as she had feared. She wondered where Lord Darvill had been that afternoon, and why he had been delayed. Was this another mysterious excursion out onto the Fens? Lord Stanley, extremely angry, looked ready to vent his wrath over the matter on Lady Henlow, but at that moment the footman announced Sir James Linton, The man who entered the

room was tall, thin and in his mid-thirties. He was soberly dressed and spoke in a dry, quiet manner. There was nothing about him, decided Mariella, that was either remarkable, or which would give offence. If one made his acquaintance fleetingly at a ball one would probably have difficulty, the following day, remembering very much about him at all. His manners seemed faultless. He complimented Lady Henlow on her exquisite amethyst necklace, informed Mariella that she was an enchanting addition to Lynn society, and informed Lord Stanley that he had no doubt that Miss Ward would make a good addition to the respected Stanley family. His remarks did much to improve Lord Stanley's temper, and by the time the Meltons arrived, and dinner was announced, Lord Stanley was even observed to be smiling. As they seated themselves at the table Lady Clara, gowned in pale blue velvet, stretched out a hand to touch the silk rose centrepieice. "Oh, how lovely," she exclaimed. "Did you fashion these yourself, Mariella? They are exquisite." Greatly encouraged at Clara taking the conversational initiative in this manner, Mariella replied, "They are very easy to fashion, once you know how. I will gladly show you, Clara, if you would like." "Clara, dear," laughed Lady Melton in an indulgent manner, "how many times must I tell you that false modesty is most unbecoming in a young lady?" She turned to the issembled party and continued, "Naturally, Clara is highly skilled in all the feminine arts, but I like to flatter myself that she inherits all her considerable artistic talents from me. We are so alike in many ways." Mariella thought this was most unlikely. Lady Melton had an appalling sense of colour, and was often to be seen parading through town sporting orange and pink plumes in her bonnet. Besides, everyone was aware that it was Lord Melton, with his talent for painting watercolours, who was the most gifted artistic person of the family. Lady Henlow said sweetly, "Being so alike as you are, Lady Melton, it must be a great joy for you having Clara residing at Melton Hall." Beaming, Lady Melton agreed that it was just so. Mariella glanced across at Clara, but her perfectly oval face, as usual, revealed nothing of what she was thinking. With lowered eyes she concentrated on her soup, paying attention to the conversation only when her aunt was speaking.

With an inward sigh, Mariella abandoned all thoughts of becoming friends with Clara. Clearly, the girl was nothing more than a pudding. And it would be impossible for us to spend a happy few hours together, talking of the latest fashions, reasoned Mariella, for Lady Melton would insist on being present, forever putting words into Clara's mouth. Mariella turned her attention to Lord Melton, who was seated beside her, and led him into conversation about his favourite watercolour painters. Lord Melton was an informative speaker though inclined when on his favourite topic, to be long winded, and it was with a sense of relief that Mariella heard the footman announce Lord Darvill. Upon his entry, immediately the atmosphere in the dining room became charged. The men straightened their backs as if preparing to do battle, whilst the ladies' hands fluttered to their hair. As the excellent roast goose was served, Lord Darvill quietly made his apologies to Lady Henlow for his late arrival, and took his place opposite Mariella. Lord Stanley, after the curtest of greetings to Lord Darvill, turned his attention to Sir James Linton: "May I enquire, Sir James, why you chose King's Lynn as your starting point for your researches into ancient churches? I would have assumed that a larger city, such as the capital, would have provided a wealth of interest for you.” Sir James smoothed his napkin over his bony knees. "There are of course many fascinating churches in London. But most of them are already well documented. In a small country town such as Lynn, there is much still to be discovered. Why, only today at St. Margaret's I found a rare clockwork moondial over one of the windows of the south-west tower, which shows the phases of the moon and the times of high tide." Lord Melton nodded. "Most essential in a town like Lynn which is not merely a market town, but also an important port." "London," said Lord Stanley testily, "is a far more important port than King's Lynn. Besides which, in London there are many celebrated people who have over the centuries been connected with our churches. One of my own ancestors, for example, is commemorated with a plaque at St. Margaret's,

Westminster. But who of any note was ever born in King's Lynn?" "Dr Charles Burney for one," said Lord Darvill. He looked enquiringly at Sir James. "He was, if I am correct, organist at one of our Lynn churches?" Sir James sipped his wine, and murmured, "Indeed yes. At St. James's." “I regret that the name of Burney is not familiar to me," said Lord Stanley in an aloof tone. "Oh, but he was a famous musician and author of a wonderful volume on the history of music," enthused Aunt Emelia. "Such an agreeable man. I remember him well. But of course, Lynn is equally proud of his daughter, Fanny. She has been a such a success!" Lord Stanley laid down his fork. "I take it that you are congratulating the organist's daughter on finding herself a wealthy husband?" Mariella took her fiance's hand and said hurriedly, "Fanny Burney is a celebrated lady author, George. Have you not read Evelina? It is quite the most wonderful book." "Don't be absurd, Mariella. I should not dream of readme anything written by a member of the female gender. Such books are full of frivolity and absurd romance. Be- sides, ladies do, of necessity, lead sheltered uneventful lives and so they have nothing of any importance to write about." There flashed before Mariella a vision of a frozen lake around which a pair of skaters circled in the bright, cold air. No, George, she thought with a smile. It is not true that all ladies lead sheltered, uneventful lives! If Lord Darvill noticed her smile, and understood the memory behind it, he gave no sign as he said to Lord Stanley, "If this is your view, I would recommend to you, then, the Book Of Margery Kempe. I think it would cause you some surprise about the manner in which some Lynn ladies have chosen to live." "Margery Kempe?" queried Lady Melton. "I recall something vaguely about her, but I cannot remember the details. Do expound, Lord Darvill."

Lord Darvill said quietly, "Sir James is the authority. I am sure he will be far more lucid on the subject than I." But Sir James at that moment was having difficulty with a bone stuck in his throat, and was obliged to leave the room to dislodge it in private. So Lord Darvill continued: "Margery Kempe was a Lynn mediaeval housewife who claimed to have experienced powerful visions of Paradise. She went on many pilgrimages, to Rome and Jerusalem and even went so far as to accuse the Archbishop of Canterbury of sinful living, before returning to Lynn to live a life of penitence spent in prayer, and in dictating her book." "Ah yes," murmured Mariella, "ladies in those days would not have been taught how to write." "She sounds an absurd woman," declared Lord Stanley. "Who in their right minds would desire to leave England and travel abroad risking their health with foreign food and foreign infections? Although, on second thoughts, no doubt Mrs Kempe was glad to escape from this unpleasant Norfolk climate." "It is known as a part of the country which either kills or cures," said Lord Darvill. "For when the winds blow in from the east, they are razor sharp and unforgiving. Those born and bred here, and who survive, will then often live to a great old age. But you must be strong and resilient to live in Norfolk. It is no place for weaklings." Lord Stanley glared across the table. "I trust you are not suggesting, Darvill, that my distaste for the climate in which I am currently obliged to live indicates any weakness in my constitution?" "Of course not, George," whispered Mariella. "Why you have the most robust constitution of any man I have ever encountered." It is true, she silently informed Lord Darvill as she met his amused gaze. George is never ill, apart from occasional severe headaches, and even then he resolutely refuses to take a powder, insisting bravely that nature should be allowed to take its course. "You say you are obliged to be here, Lord Stanley?" queried Sir James Linton, returning to the dining room. Lady Henlow speedily explained to him the circumstances surrounding Lord Stanley and Mariella's visit to Lynn and Lord Stanley added, "We were, of course, delighted to

accompany Lady Henlow, even at the cost of postponing our nuptials in London." "Such a noble gesture," murmured Lady Melton. Then she went on, "But Lord Stanley, why should you not be married here in Lynn, at St. Margaret's? Why, my heart goes out to you both, anticipating with such delight your wedding day, and to have the day pass by, and still remain ununited." Lord Stanley looked thoughtful. "Why, I must confess the notion had never occurred to me. But indeed, why not. Why should we not be married without delay in Lynn?" Mariella, aware of Lord Darvill's mocking eyes upon her, said quickly, almost defiantly, "Oh George, I should love that more than anything in the world!" And so I would, she told herself. Admittedly, of late, I have not devoted as much of my time or my thoughts to George as is proper in a betrothed girl. I have allowed myself to indulge in strange imaginings, and foolish adventures with Lord Darvill. But all this has happened, I am sure, because of the delay in my wedding to George. Both the delay, and quitting London for Lynn, have aroused in me an unwelcome restlessness. It would be best if George and I were married as soon as possible. Then my life will be settled and there will be no more opportunity for flights of fancy. "What a romantic notion for you to be married in Lynn!" breathed Aunt Emilia. "But what of your mother, Lord Stanley? Would she not take it amiss to learn that you had wed Mariella in Lynn, without either advising her first, or ensuring that she was present at the ceremony?" Lord Stanley sighed. "Yes indeed, Lady Henlow. I am indebted to you for reminding me of my duty. My mother would, of course, desire to be present at my nuptials. And with the roads still impassable, it could take weeks for a message to reach London." He turned to Mariella. "I am sorry to raise your hopes, only to dash them again a minute later. Are you very disappointed, my dear?" "Yes, George." It was only later, when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room, that Mariella realised that her demure, "Yes, George," had been spoken not out of automatic duty, but was a sentiment she truly felt. Sir James Linton had just expressed his compliments to Lady Henlow on her excellent table.

"I have enjoyed tonight a most memorable repast, madam. I am lodging, as you know, at the Vine Hotel and the food there is impossible to describe in polite terms before ladies!" "But why are you lodging at the Vine," asked Lady Melton. "Surely Lord Egremont could accommodate you at his house?" "Yes indeed, Lord Egremont has been kind enough to offer me the hospitality of his home," replied Sir James in his dry, level tones, "but my researches into the local churches often cause me to be out late at night, or very early in the morning and I should not care to disturb Lord Egremont's household." Lord Melton looked puzzled. "I confess I am curious as to what there is to be seen in churches in the dark, late at night Sir James." Sir James smiled a thin smile. "One can see very little, naturally. But the atmosphere is overwhelming. When all is quiet without and within, one can imagine the ghosts of the past appearing with the moonlight, and it is then that one truly understands the individual character of each church. I can assure you, although one is alone in the pew, it is far from a solitary experience." From Lord Stanley's expression, it was clear that he intended to quiz Lord Egremont as to the sanity of this man recommended to him as a "sound fellow." However, conscious of his duty to keep the conversational tone light, he commented in an attempt at jocularity, "Sounds to me, Linton, as if you're nodding off to sleep in those churches, and having vivid dreams caused by the atrocious food at the Vine!" "I fear the standard has gone down appreciably at the Vine since the return of so many of the militia from France," said Lord Melton. "They will not be home long," Lord Stanley informed him. "The peace will not last." "But how extremely distressing," said Sir James. "Have you reliable information on this score, Lord Stanley?" "Naturally, I am in contact with those in high places in the capital," said Lord Stanley, "and I am reliably informed that no-one in London believes that Boney will cease in his attempts to overpower our forces. Mark my words, before long the Duke of Wellington and his men will be in action once more."

"Oh, don't say there is more talk in London of the French invading our shores!" cried Lady Henlow. The gentlemen hastened to calm her, and the conversation turned to more agreeable matters. Mariella, who had taken no part in the exchange, dearly wished that they would lower their voices a little to enable her to hear a conversation taking place at the far end of the drawing room. For she had observed Lord Darvill drawing Lady Clara Melton aside, and they were now deep in conversation, infuriatingly, just out of earshot. Transfixed, Mariella could not believe her eyes as she observed Clara talking in the most animated fashion to the Earl. Clara, who never had a word to say for herself, was now saying something so riveting that the Earl's attention was totally engaged. His expression, Mariella noticed, was one of absorbed interest. He never regards me like that, she realised. Whenever we are in conversation, I always have the impression that he is mocking me. Yet here he is, evidently taking everything Clara is saying very seriously. She could not take her eyes from the couple. She noticed everything. The distance they were apart (not far), the set of Lord Darvill's head as he listened to Clara, the way he raised his hand to emphasise a point . . . and she imagined that hand continuing on its way, caressing Clara's cheek and pulling the pins from her glorious dark hair. And then Mariella came face to face with the truth. I am jealous she realised with horror. I want it to be me commanding Lord Darvill's attention. I want it to be me he looks at in such an attentive manner. And I want it to be me feeling his hands on my cheek, my throat, my bare shoulders. She turned away, and poured herself a scalding cup of tea. You fool, Mariella, she reprimanded herself. How could you allow this man to obsess you in such a manner? Why, even if you were free, do you seriously imagine that he would be attracted to you? Remember what you were told about Sarah Woodrow, the one great love of his life. That she was a serene girl, a girl of quiet determination, who knew her own mind. This is hardly how Lord Darvill regards you. In his encounters with you, both public and private, he has seen you constantly vacillate, one minute being the dutiful, submissive betrothed girl, and the next time displaying all the reckless defiance that he alone is capable of provoking

you to. Little wonder that he derives such amusement from your company! It is great sport for him to watch you running from one extreme to the other. And quite apart from all those considerations, there is the very important point that you are not a free girl! You are betrothed to a man who loves you dearly, who is the mainstay of your life and who has been generous enough to offer you a secure future within the bosom of his highly respectable family. Why, any other girl in your position — orphaned and with bleak financial prospects — would be on her knees in gratitude to Lord Stanley. Instead of which, your thoughts, your dreams are filled with imaginings about Lord Darvill. You allow him to take you to his home, unchaperoned, and you listen entranced as he talks to you about your freedom of choice. How absurd. What folly. For you have no such freedom, Mariella. Were you an heiress, with a substantial fortune, then yes, you would enjoy more liberty than is presently allowed you. But you are not an heiress. You have no fortune. Your good fortune is to be betrothed to George,Lord Stanley and it is he who should occupy your thoughts, not a dangerous man like Lord Darvill! No, resolved Mariella, I will not permit Lord Darvill to lead me astray. Fascinating though he may be, I must take positive steps to ensure that I am as little as possible in his company. I must remove temptation from my path. Accordingly , as soon as the guests had departed, and she had bid goodnight to her Aunt Emilia, Mariella followed her fiance into the library. "George," she said softly, her face luminous in the lamplight, "may I speak to you for a moment?" He looked up from the studded leather chair. "Why, of course my dear. Is anything troubling you?" "Oh George!" She "Please, may we not to advise her that so much like us to

flung herself on her knees before him. send a special messenger to your mother, we wish to be married in Lynn? I should be married without delay!"

"Why Mariella, you know yourself that the roads out of Norfolk are treacherous at the moment." Nevertheless, despite his protest, his gruff tone advised her that he was touched by her eagerness to be wed. Encouraged, she took his hands in hers and whispered, "Please kiss me, George!"

His hands stiffened. "Now Mariella. You should know better than to imagine that I would take advantage of you in such a fashion. These things are best left until after we are wed." "But when will that be?" she exclaimed. "Who knows how long this terrible winter will last? We could be here for months!" Lord Stanley did not find the prospect of being incarcerated in a house with the bird-brained Lady Henlow in the least appealing. He thought for a moment, and then informed Mariella: "Very well. I will take steps tomorrow to find a messenger who shall be paid, and instructed to overcome all obstacles and take a message to my mother in London. Rest assured, my dear. We shall be wed. And very soon."

6 True to her resolve to be henceforth as little as possible in the company of Lord Darvill, Mariella said nothing to her fiance about the possibility of them attending the forthcoming Frost Fair. Lord Darvill, she knew, would be present. Mariella, therefore, was determined to be absent. It was not an easy decision, as with all her heart she longed to join in the revelry down on the river. But her duty was to be by the side of her fiance and he, she was well aware, would regard a skating party as a frivolous waste of time. When, on the morning of the Fair, a footman brought in a letter from Lady Clara Melton, Mariella's curiosity at receiving a missive from this strange, silent girl quickly turned to dismay as she perused the somewhat childish hand: My dear Mariella, I am writing, in haste, to beg a favour of you. Lord Melton is today indisposed of a slight fever, which requires the attendance of his lady. She is anxious for me to enjoy the diversion of the Frost Fair but concerned that her wifely duties prevent her from accompanying me. May I ask, then, if I may join your party at the Fair? I am, as you know, extremely shy and I should welcome being in the company of someone of my age — all the more so as 1 fear I am unable to skate . . .

Mariella read the letter aloud to her aunt and fiance. "Oh dear, what are we to do?" asked Aunt Emilia. "I have not worn a pair of skates since my youth. I confess, I had

not considered attending the Frost Fair, as I regard myself as too old for such antics." Lord Stanley perused the letter and frowned. "This is a dashed nuisance. I was intending to spend the day quietly at Stowe's. But I do not see, Mariella, that in all courtesy you can refuse Lady Clara's request." "No," agreed Aunt Emilia, "it would look like a deliberate slight, especially as you have on two occasions indicated that it would please you greatly if you and Clara saw more of one another. We must send back the messenger to Melton Hall with a note saying we are distressed to learn of Lord Melton's ill health, but delighted to welcome Clara into our party at the Frost Fair." As Mariella, with mixed emotions, moved across to the writing bureau, Lady Henlow said to the glum Lord Stanley, "Your peaceful day at Stowe's need not be disturbed. We three ladies will be perfectly safe and in good company at the Frost Fair, I assure you." "Naturally I shall accompany you," said Lord Stanley stiffly. "It would be selfish in the extreme for me to sit in the warm and the dry at Stowe's while my fiancee, in the name of neighbourly duty, braved the ice and snow of the frozen river." "How noble you are," smiled Aunt Emilia. "A true example to us all." Mariella sat with her back to the others, sprinkling sand over her finished note to Clara. Well I tried, she thought. I really tried to keep away from Lord Darvill. But now Fate, in the guise of Clara Melton, has played a capricious trick on me. However, today at least there will be little opportunity for Lord Darvill and I to converse — for he, no doubt, will be taking advantage of the excellent conditions for skating, whilst I, with my fiance present, will be obliged to maintain the fiction that the only skates I am familiar with are the variety with gills! Lady Clara arrived an hour later, and after assuring Lady Henlow that there was no cause for alarm over Lord Melton's condition, the party set forth for the river. Mariella had never attended a Frost Fair before, and so was unprepared for the glittering spectacle which confronted her. The ice was crowded with happy skaters, and children playing ice quoits. All of Lynn seemed to be present! But skating,

Mariella realised, was a hunger and thirst-making activity, if the supply of victuals on the river bank was anything to judge by. There were mulled wine, hot muffins and braziers aglow with sweetly-smelling roasted chestnuts. And for those with heartier appetites, an oxen was being turned on a spit over a blazing fire. Despite the large throng of merrymakers crowding the ice, Mariella noticed Lord Darvill at once. He was at the far end of the river, lending laughing encouragement to a group of children who were playing ice quoits. Hastily Mariella looked away and glanced round for her fiance, but he had moved further up the river bank and was deep in conversation with Sir James Linton. But there was, it appeared, to be no ignoring of the commanding figure of Lord Darvill. Scanning the colourful blur of skaters, Clara Melton commented, "Ah, there is the Earl, further down on the ice. I wonder if he has noticed our arrival." "Most likely not," said Mariella vaguely. "For I cannot imagine that our presence should be of any particular moment to him." "Oh but when we dined at the White House he promised he would teach me to skate," replied Clara. "In order to do that, one requires the proper footwear to skate on and regrettably neither you nor I are equipped with such things," said Mariella a trifle tartly. She was glad that Clara had unwittingly satisfied her curiosity about what she and Lord Darvill were discussing so earnestly after dinner at the White House. Yet at the same time, Mariella could not repress a feeling of angry resentment towards the Earl. How many more of Norfolk's young ladies, she wondered, was Lord Darvill intending to teach to skate? How many other girls had he whisked, away to Darvill House on the pretext of skating or because he would "value their opinion" on the recent renovations to the house? Mariella felt annoyed with herself for having been so easily taken in, for allowing herself to believe that those stolen hours she had spent with the Earl were in some way magical and special for them both. For him, it was clearly nothing of the kind, she thought furiously. He was merely playing with me — and I have no doubt that I am not the first girl to be thus so deceived.

If this is true, then it appears that I have discovered what the rest of Lynn society has not. They are mistaken in their belief that the Earl never casts so much as a glance at an unmarried girl. Can it be that there is a strange conspiracy of silence amongst the young ladies of Lynn, that they are all aware of Lord Darvill's interest in them, but find him so intriguing that they remain silent on the matter? Undoubtedly, the Earl does possess a singular talent for making one feel special. It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that he had exercised his charm on a score of girls, all of whom felt in their hearts that they held a unique place in his affections. Mariella felt glad that she had come to her senses so quickly over Lord Darvill. Glad that she had resolved to be as little in his company as possible. Glad that she had pressed her fiance for an early marriage date in Lynn. Observing Lord Darvill skating effortlessly towards them, her eyes were as cold as the ice as she informed him silently, confine your attentions and your charm to the other girls of Lynn, my lord. For you shall not make a fool out of me! There was no denying, however, that the Earl cut a magnificent dash on the ice. Looking splendid in immaculate pale grey breeches and a superbly cut claret coloured coat, he moved across the ice in fine style, his athletic body showing perfect co-ordination as he swerved to avoid the skaters less experienced and less confident than himself. "Good morning, ladies!" he smiled, executing a courtly bow as he drew to a halt before them. "Was there ever a finer day for a Frost Fair?" It was impossible to disagree. Although the temperature was only just above freezing, the sun shone bright in a cloudless sky, lending a sparkle to even the most jaded eye. "Now come," said Lord Darvill, "you must all join in the skating. I assure you, it will not take you long to learn." His blue eyes sought Mariella's but she directed her gaze towards the horizon, and said distantly: "Unfortunately, Lord Darvill, we ladies do not possess any skates." "No excuses will be tolerated!" announced the Earl cheerfully. "I have arranged for one of the local bootmakers to send down a supply of skates in all sizes."

"Oh how thoughtful!" exclaimed Lady Henlow. "I am so longing to try my luck on the ice again. But it is so long since I skated. I wonder if the skill will have deserted me over the years." "Not at all," smiled Lord Darvill, guiding the party towards a large box filled with pairs of skates. "You will probably feel wobbly and unsure for a minute or two, but after that you will rediscover your sense of balance." As Lady Henlow and Clara selected their skates and began lacing them up, Mariella hung back. "Why Miss Ward," queried Lord Darvill, "are there no skates here to fit your "I have no inclination to skate today," murmured Mariella. "I shall join my fiance, and applaud you all from the bank." "Nonsense my dear," protested Lady Henlow. "You will become dreadfully cold if you stand still for much longer. Moving around on the ice is most warming and invigorating. Besides which, Lord Stanley is immersed in a discussion with Sir James, and you know how irritated men become when we ladies interject our frivolous talk into their serious conversations." Reluctantly, Mariella selected a pair of skates, aware that it was important for her to remember that she was supposed to be a novice on the ice. They linked arms, Lord Darvill supporting Clara and Lady Henlow, with Mariella beside her aunt at the end. She was relieved at this arrangement, dreading her reaction at the feel once more of his hand on hers. With much laughter, and one or two spills, the quartet gradually made their way across the frozen river. By the time they had completed the return journey, a breathlessly exhilarated Lady Henlow declared that she now felt confident enough to take to the ice on her own, and proposed to skate down to one of the far braziers and reward herself with some hot chestnuts. She gave a merry wave to Lord Stanley and Sir James as she passed by. Lord Stanley, his feet gradually turning as cold as the ice on the river, was glad to have Sir James's company. Of course, he found it incomprehensible (as any man of sense would) that Sir James should want to sit in churches by night searching for "atmosphere." But today Sir James seemed disinclined to talk about his researches. Instead, the two men had enjoyed an extremely stimulating discussion about the possibility of renewed fighting in France, and Sir James, confessing that he knew little about military strategy, had

been most interested in Lord Stanley's insights into the situation. After a while, Sir James excused himself, declaring that he had not come to the river to skate, but was merely passing by on his way to visit a little-known church on the outskirts of Lynn. Stamping his feet to keep warm, Lord Stanley frowned as he observed his fiancee, skating arm in arm with that Darvill fellow. The impudent rogue appeared to be teaching Mariella and Lady Clara to skate. He was, it had to be admitted, making rather a tolerable job of it too, as Mariella seemed remarkably steady on the ice. He waved at her, indicating that he wished her to join him, and instantly she disengaged herself and began to move towards him. Lord Stanley smiled as he regarded her sparkling eyes, and the halo of golden hair just visible beneath the ermine-trimmed hood of her cape. He had, he confessed, been somewhat worried about Mariella's attitude upon their arrival in Lynn. There were times when the soft, malleable little creature he had known in London had seemed almost to disappear. There had been flashes of temperament when it had appeared as if she was on the verge of disagreeing with him, of challenging his word. But recently, she had become once more her sweet, docile self and he could only conclude that her previous mood had been caused by her anxiety over their postponed wedding. Although it was she herself who had requested the postponement, in order that they may accompany her aunt to Lynn, nevertheless he could appreciate that for a young lady in her position, orphaned, and with scant financial means, she would naturally desire to have her future settled with the minimum of delay. He knew that she was grateful to him for offering her the respectability and security of marriage, and he in turn was not displeased with the prospect of marrying one of the most beautiful girls ever to grace London society. Mariella seemed in cheerful spirits as she joined him. "There, George, I skated across from the middle of the ice all by myself! Are you not proud of my accomplishment?" In a mood to be indulgent, Lord Stanley said, "I am pleased to see you happy, my dear, but I confess I cannot comprehend why anyone should desire to traverse the ice. It holds no useful purpose that I can see. And in such inclement weather, a blazing fire, a deep armchair and a copy of The Times hold far more attention for me."

Mariella took his arm. "Poor George, are you feeling so very cold? Come, let us walk up the bank a way, to where they are roasting the ox. The flames of the fire will warm you in no time." "If we are going to walk, then I should be obliged if you would remove those skates," said Lord George stiffly. "They cause your gait to appear somewhat absurd." "Yes George. I left my boots near the big box of skates, so I will change into them as we pass by it," replied Mariella, her meek tone giving no indication that she realised the true reason her fiance disliked her wearing skates was that, adding to her height, they caused her to look taller than he. It had been a relief to her when George had beckoned for her to join him on the bank. When Aunt Emilia had left to skate on her own, Lord Darvill had linked his arm through hers, and all her fears about what she would feel had proved justified. Always, when he touched her, she was conscious of a power and energy in this man, of such a force that it transmitted itself to her, and made her feel more alive than at any other time, or with any other person. It was a feeling which she knew could easily overwhelm her, beguiling her into unguarded words or glances, drawing her further into Lord Darvill's dangerous thrall. Thank heavens for George, thought Mariella. My steady, safe, reliable, blessedly predictable fiance. With George, everything is so assured. Whereas when I am in the company of Lord Darvill, I am in a constant state of turmoil, as I am never sure what he is going to do, or say, next! As they walked round a row of upturned, iced-over fishing boats, Lord George remarked, "I hope to have some information for you shortly, on the question of our marriage. I have sent word to my mother in London, as you so urgently and so sweetly requested my dear, and I trust that — " He broke off as a terrified scream rent the air. Instantly, all was confusion and disarray on the ice. The laughter died away, replaced with alarm as the skaters tried to ascertain what had occurred. Then the cry went up: "It is a child! A young boy has gone through the ice!" Instantly, Mariella realised what had happened. Whilst they were skating, Lord Darvill had mentioned that he had warned the children playing quoits not to venture further down the river as the ice there was thin and liable to crack. But boys being boys, thought Mariella, one of them had been unable to resist the temptation to go further than was safe.

The red haired young boy was struggling helplessly in the water. "Save him, save him!" shrieked an older girl. "He is my brother, and he cannot swim!" Immediately, a swarm of skaters started towards him but Lord Darvill was ahead of them and motioned them to a halt. "If we try to reach him in the normal way across the ice, we shall only run the risk of more of it cracking, sending more people into the dangerous waters." "But he is too far to reach from the bank!" came the answering shout from one of the crowd. "Save him!" screamed the boy's frantic sister. "He will drown if we do not help him soon!" Lord Darvill's calm but authoritative voice cut through the hubbub of confused suggestions from the crowd. Cupping his hands, he called across to Mariella and Lord Stanley, "Bring me one of the oars from the fishing boats. And hurry!" Lord Stanley bent and dragged out an oar from one of the boats, and prepared to run with it along the bank until he was level with Lord Darvill on the ice. But Mariella, goaded by the drowning boys terrified screams, seized the oar from her fiance and balanced it across her arms. "It will be quicker if I skate across with it, George." Ignoring his protests that she had only learned to skate that morning, and could not possibly carry the oar for that distance, Mariella took to the ice and set off towards Lord Darvill as speedily as her inexperience, and the weight of the oar, would allow. One or two of the men skaters darted forward, preparing to take the oar from Mariella, but they were restrained by others who realised that with Mariella travelling at some speed, the process of handing over the oar would probably unbalance her and could cause her a nasty fall. So she soldiered on alone, willing herself not to tire, but finding staying upright extremely difficult without her arms to use for balance. Ahead of her, she saw that Lord Darvill had stripped off his claret coloured coat and was standing in shirt and breeches. Gritting her teeth, she almost flung herself the last few yards and then, mercifully, he was coming towards her arms outstretched to take the oar and at the same time steady her. "Well done," he murmured, and in the brief moment that he looked at her, she saw that his blue eyes were filled with

admiration. But there was no time for words. As Lady Henlow and Clara Melton hastened to support the exhausted Mariella back to the bank, Lord Darvill knelt down and slid the oar across the thin ice towards the red haired boy in the water. The crowd fell silent, watching with bated breath as Lord Darvill, now lying full length on the ice, inched the oar forward until at last it was within a fingertip's grasp of the flailing child. "Now stop struggling, and just seize hold of the oar," Lord Darvill instructed him quietly. Spitting out mouthfuls of water, the boy did as he was bid. Lord Darvill went on, "Now I am going to move backwards, and at the same time pull you out of the water. But once you are clear, don't attempt to stand up, as the weight of you will only crack more ice and you'll find yourself back in the water once more. Lie flat, and wriggle towards me." The worst moment came when the boy, eager to be free of the chilled water, moved too hastily across the ice, and an ominous crack resounded across the river. "Slowly, lad, slowly," said Lord Darvill soothingly and the boy, less frightened now, had the wit to accept that there was nothing to be gained by hasty action. When at last the boy reached the hard, firm ice, Lord Darvill lifted him into his arms and skated fast towards the bank. "The poor wee lad is dripping wet and must be quite exhausted," murmured Lady Henlow. The resourceful Lady Sewel was waiting on the bank with warm blankets and mulled wine for the boy. Lord Darvill too must be feeling dreadfully cold, thought Mariella after lying on the ice without the protection of his coat. She knew she would never forget the expression on the Earl's face as he lifted the exhausted boy into his arms. An expression of relief that the boy was safe, and such tenderness too for the white-faced lad who was still sorely shocked at his experience. Surely, reasoned Mariella, no man who is capable of such sensitivity towards a fellow human creature could possibly have committed murder? She knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man had never killed his father. Whatever the strange circumstances of that tragic night, it had not been Lord Darvill's finger on the pistol trigger. Mariella felt such a wave of elation at this revelation that she longed to rush along the bank and tell Lord Darvill how she felt.

But of course, propriety made that gesture impossible. And besides, Lord Stanley was marching towards them, looking extremely displeased. "Really, Mariella, what a foolhardy thing to do, rushing off across the ice in that manner with the oar! Such undignified, unladylike behaviour! It would have been better for me to run along the bank with it." "But one always reaches one's destination faster on skates than on foot, Lord Stanley," said Lady Henlow. "A gentleman like yourself is hardly accustomed to running." "Yes," murmured Mariella absently, her mind still on Lord Darvill, "it would have taken you a considerable time to cover the distance, George, and meanwhile the little boy was in danger of drowning." "The entire episode just goes to prove my point that these Frost Fairs are more trouble than they are worth." Lord Stanley sneezed. "If you are ready, ladies, I should be more than happy to escort you home." Mariella was disappointed at having to leave before the day was over. But George, clearly, was in no mood to be either charmed or flattered out of his resolve to depart. Still sneezing, he led the way at a brisk pace back to the waiting carriage. * * * Lord Stanley continued to sneeze for the best (or, from his point of view, the worst) part of a week. He proved a difficult patient. Blessed normally with a robust constitution, he deeply resented the chill which now laid him low and instead of taking to his bed, insisted on attempting to continue his normal daily routine. When this proved impossible, he became tetchy and pernickety, causing Mariella on one occasion to run up and down the stairs four times with bowls of broth, each of which he complained was not seasoned quite to his liking. Towards the end of the week a drawn Aunt Emilia said to Mariella, "Oh dear, I promised I would call on Nanny Phipps today with a new recipe for her favourite honey mead. But I fear she would find me dull company indeed. Would you be most kind, Mariella, and make the call for me?" "Of course, Aunt," smiled Mariella, "but what if George calls for me whilst I am out? You know how it distresses him if I am not there to minister to him."

"I am sure he will understand that it was only your duty, after all, to visit a dear frail old lady," replied Aunt Emilia. "It is only a short step away, at the other end of the Walk, and the fresh air would do you good, child. Why, it is days since you left the house." In truth, Mariella was glad of an excuse to be by herself for a while, away from the confines of the house, and she set off through the snow at a cheerfully brisk pace. Aunt Emilia watched her go, and then took up Lord Stanley a delicious tasting hot drink, liberally laced with brandy. She smiled to herself as he drank it down, knowing that within ten minutes Mariella's fiance would be sound asleep. Poor Mariella is quite fatigued with nursing Lord Stanley, thought Lady Henlow. An hour or so in different surroundings will do much to revive her, and I am confident that she will find Nanny Phipps the most surprisingly stimulating company. Indeed, Mariella did not find Nanny Phipps the "frail old lady" Aunt Emilia had led her to expect. True, she was elderly, with a sweep of silvery hair swept up into a tidy knot. But frail, never. Straight backed, and with an endearing twinkle in her blue eyes, Nanny Phipps was spry, capable and energetic. She welcomed Mariella into her cosy parlour and when they were seated before the roaring fire she asked the golden haired girl how she was enjoying her first visit to Lynn. "Very much," replied Mariella, "though I am only sorry that the inclement weather has prevented me from exploring the town and its environs as much as I should have liked." "You do not find us dull, then, after London?" asked the old lady, stroking the marmalade coloured cat on her knee. "Not at all," smiled Mariella. "I am fond of the capital, because I was born and raised there, but Lynn has a charm all of its own. It is a peaceful town, yet there is also a strange air of mystery about it, as if the stones in all the old buildings are keeper of many secrets to which only the privileged few are privy." She brushed away a lock of hair, and said hesitantly, "Does that sound over fanciful?" Nanny Phipps was regarding her thoughtfully. "Indeed not, my dear. You have only been here a short time, and yet you speak as one who possesses an instinctive understanding of Lynn. For it is, as you say, a town which has known much intrigue down through the ages and many strange happenings, too. But you will find about the true Lynn people a rare

ability to leave well alone when unusual things occur. It is not a lack of natural healthy curiosity. It is simply that they recognise when the time is right for them to look the other way, and not meddle in happenings which they do not understand." "What kind of happenings, Nanny?" pressed Mariella, her violet eyes wide with curiosity. The old lady tickled her cat's neck, and enquired, "Have you visited the Red Mount chapel yet?" Mariella shook her head, and Nanny Phipps went on, "It is a small and very beautiful old stone chapel, and legend has it that an underground tunnel runs from there through to the chapel at Castle Rising, some miles away." Mariella nodded. "Castle Rising belongs to the Duke of Norfolk, does it not?" "That is so. But it is the tunnel, not the Castle which concerns us in this tale. For many years, local folk believed that there was a jinx on the tunnel, and anyone who dared enter it would never return. Then a fiddler, who I fear was somewhat the worse for ale, declared that he would walk through the tunnel to Castle Rising. Accompanied by his dog, he set forth, playing his fiddle so that his listeners could follow his progress above ground. All went well for about a mile as distantly came the sound of a merry tune being played. But the n ... " Mariella held her breath as Nanny Phipps paused in her narrative, and replaced the marmalade cat into her basket by the fire, "and then the sound of fiddling stopped. The man was never seen again. But the little dog, he did return." "But did no one venture down to look for the fiddler?" enquired Mariella. "Some brave souls took lanterns and ventured a way along the tunnel, but they were all overcome by a strange atmosphere which forced them to turn back." "Perhaps there was a deep well concealed inside the tunnel which the fiddler fell into," suggested Mariella. "In that case, why did the dog return?" asked Nanny Phipps. "The dog was accustomed to running ahead of his master and would have either fallen into the well himself, or barked and warned the fiddler of danger ahead. But whatever struck the

fiddler down, it must have been sudden and quite unexpected or the dog would have been aware that danger was imminent." "And since then, no one has investigated the Red Mount tunnel?" queried Mariella, utterly intrigued. Nanny Phipps shook her silvery head. "No. The tunnel has claimed one victim, and the people of Lynn have accepted the warning and understand that they must not trespass again. The mystery of why the chapels of the Red Mount and Castle Rising are linked by a tunnel must remain unsolved, and the chapels left to guard their secret in peace." The romance of this notion greatly appealed to Mariella. After all, she reasoned, why should everything in the world be explained and laid bare? How dull life would be if we knew the reasons for everything. Misinterpreting Mariella's thoughtful expression as one of anxiety, Nanny Phipps laughed and placed a hand on the girl's arm. "Do not fret, child. There are many such tunnels in Lynn, and most of them have a strange legend attached to them. Probably most of the tales are quite without foundation, but then, what would life be without a little mystery and suspense?" "Those were my thoughts exactly," smiled Mariella, rising reluctantly to her feet. "Come and see me again," said Nanny Phipps warmly as Mariella fastened her cloak. "I am always at home, and I have so much enjoyed our little talk. It is always pleasant meeting someone of the younger generation who has the same affection for one's home town as those born and raised here." Mariella felt greatly cheered in spirits as she left Nanny Phipp's neat flint-stone house and realised that the old lady was possessed of the rare ability always to make people depart in a more optimistic frame of mind than when they arrived. With the legend of the Red Mount still preoccupying her, it was not surprising that Mariella did not direct her steps towards home. As she wandered up the splendid avenue of chestnuts which led to the Red Mount, Mariella felt a pang of guilt about George, still suffering at home with his chill. But Aunt Emilia was there and besides, she would, Mariella reasoned, be only a short while at the Red Mount. Nanny Phipps had mentioned that the chapel was very small so it would not take long for her to wander around it.

She had no difficulty recognising the building as soon, ahead of her rose a small red-brick octagonal building, set on a grassy mount. Mariella scanned the surrounding snowy grass, wondering in which direction the mysterious underground passage lay — but the serene aspect kept its secret and gave her no clue. Delighting in the tranquillity of the spot, Mariella pushed open the chapel door. At once, the peace was shattered and a male voice declared furiously, "Have I not given you warning enough? Or will you force me to take steps to ensure that you stay out of my sight?"

7 Mariella froze. For standing in the middle of the chapel aisle was a furious Lord Darvill. She drew breath to stammer a confused apology and take flight, but then, as so often happened when she was in the presence of this man, a different spirit overcame her. Instead of running away, she stood her ground and demanded boldly: "How dare you address me in such a manner!" He strode up the aisle towards her and so powerful a presence was he that she felt overwhelmed and feared she would faint. Yet still she stood there, refusing to give an inch. Then, as the light from one of the windows struck his handsome face, she saw that his expression had changed. He took her trembling hands in his and said gently, "My dear Mariella, forgive me. I heard the door open and imagined you to be someone else — someone who was here a few minutes ago and with whom, I confess, I crossed swords quite sharply." Clara Melton, wondered Mariella. Had he and Clara had a secret tryst at the chapel, and then found themselves quarrelling? She felt an inexplicable surge of relief at the notion of he and Clara falling out. But then it occurred to her that if Clara was capable of arousing such emotion and anger in him, then his feelings for her must be passionate indeed. Otherwise, he would feel not anger towards her, but mere indifference.

"You are very pale," remarked Lord Darvill in a low voice. "I am sorry I startled you. Have you come to look at the chapel?" Mariella nodded, and told him of the tale recounted to her by NannyPhipps. He laughed. "Ah yes, I remember being intrigued by that story when I first heard it. But as I'm sure Nanny Phipps mentioned, there are many underground passages in Lynn and it is only natural that people should enjoy creating mysteries to attach to them." "You do not think it strange, then, that no one has had the urge to investigate the tunnel where the fiddler died?" asked Mariella. He shrugged. "I don't imagine there is anything particularly enthralling about exploring a dark, dank underground passage which by now is probably blocked by fallen earth and rubble. No, the last time the underground passages were used to any purpose was during the Civil War, when King's Lynn held out for the King against Oliver Cromwell." "I had guessed that Lynn would be staunchly royalist," smiled Mariella. "Was much damage done to the town during the siege?" "St. Margaret's church received one of the worst hits," replied the Earl. "During the cannonade an eighteen pound cannon ball hurtled through the west door window, smashed a pier and struck terror into the congregation. But the Red Mount, thank heavens, survived intact." "It is indeed very small, but quite exquisite," breathed Mariella, gazing at the cross-shaped chapel which was crowned by a beautiful fan-vaulted ceiling. "It was built originally as a chapel for pilgrims," explained the Earl, "but since then it has been used for other purposes apart from worship. It's fortunate that Cromwell did not direct one of his cannons towards the Red Mount, as during that war it was used to store gunpowder!" "What a colourful history this little chapel has," marvelled Mariella, adding with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, "and from what you were saying about your earlier encounter, the atmosphere in here was just as explosive as if one of

Cromwell's cannon balls had made a direct hit on the gunpowder!" Laughing, he took her arm and guided her towards the door. "Again, I apologise for the misunderstanding when you entered, Mariella. But my, how magnificent you look when you are angry! I confess I quite tremble for your fiance when you address him in such a furiously icy tone." "Oh, but I should never speak to George in that manner," said Mariella as they stepped out into the cold bright day. "We never quarrel." He raised a dark eyebrow. "My. How dull." "Not at all," retorted Mariella heatedly, nettled by his mocking tone. "It is merely that George is a person who knows his own mind, and I have found that he is always right." "No one is right about everything, all the time," replied Lord Darvill as they strolled towards the avenue of chestnuts. "Your fiance is a fallible human being, not a god. And surely you feel that in a marriage, in a partnership, you have a right to your own opinions?" "I — I have always believed that it is a woman's duty to obey her husband," countered Mariella. "Nonsense," said Lord Darvill firmly. "Two people should be equal within a marriage, both free to say what pleases and displeases them. No man of any worth would wish to wed a woman who did nothing but parrot his own opinions." Mariella gave him a sideways glance and said lightly, "On the contrary. Many men find a submissive nature in a woman to be a most engaging trait." "Well this man doesn't," came the forceful reply. "The women I most admire are those with spirit, who know wha t they want from the world and who are not afraid to flout convention to achieve it!" Heavens, thought Mariella, what wonderful, brave, exciting women he must have known. Feeling extremely lacklustre in comparison, she said defensively, "But not all women are alike, Lord Darvill. For myself, I find it a great comfort that George protects me, and takes care of me. And in return, it pleases me to please him by ensuring that we do not have cross words or disagreements."

She gasped as Lord Darvill suddenly took her by the shoulders and swung her round to face him. "You little fool, Mariella!" he blazed. "Can't you see the difference between being protected and being suffocated? Lord Stanley is in many ways a fine man. He is honest and dutiful and loyal to those who are close to him." "That is precisely what I have been trying to tell you!" interjected Mariella. Furious at being held captive, she tried to wriggle from his grasp, but he held her firm, and went on, "You were not born to be any man's meek, submissive wife, Mariella. From the moment you threw your earrings out into the Fens, and challenged me to go and find them, I knew you to be a woman of fire, red-blooded, bold and passionate. Your fiance knows none of this about you, because for all his sterling qualities, he lacks vision and imagination. You have both — in quantity. But if you marry him, all that is fine and brave and exciting about you will be repressed, because you will be under the total domination of your husband." His blue eyes deepened as he said in a low voice, "There's only one place where a man should dominate a woman. And that's in bed." Mariella felt that the heat of her blush at these words would melt the snow from the chestnut branches. To cover her confusion she glared down at his hands which were still tightly gripping her shoulders. "If that is so, Lord Darvill, then why are you holding me like this, against my will?" His fingers eased, but still he did not release her as he said softly, "You know why. We both know why." She looked away. Why are you holding me against my will, she had asked. But the truth was that it was not against her will at all. Whenever he touched her she felt instantly more alive, possessed by currents of desires which had never been awakened in her by George — even on the sole occasion when he had kissed her. The thought of her fiance brought her up with a jolt. She said stiffly, "I would remind you that I am an engaged girl, Lord Darvill. You should not talk to me in such a way . . . of such things." Gently, he took her arm, and they continued to stroll down the snowy path. "It is precisely because you are betrothed that I am talking to you like this. Firstly because I believe you are marrying the wrong man. And secondly because, being

engaged, I do not expect you to react like a schoolgirl when I mention the more intimate side of married life." Aware that she was indeed still blushing like a gauche young girl, Mariella attempted to retain her dignity by declaring with hauteur, "As I do not discuss these matters with my fiance, Lord Darvill, I see no reason why I should do so with you." Lord Darvill was staring at her in amazement. "You do not discuss . . . but Mariella, the time of betrothal, before marriage, is the time when two people should feel free to discuss their feelings and emotions towards one another. Or are you telling me that you do not love Lord Stanley? That yours is a marriage of convenience?" "Of course I love George!" said Mariella loudly. "Of course I do. Why, I cannot imagine my life without him." Which was true, she thought. For George had always been there in her life, first as a family acquaintance and more recently as her protector. "Mmm," murmured Lord Darvill thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "But when he kisses you, surely your love for one another is such that you are eager to exchange confidences and tell of your affection?" "George. . . George does not kiss me," said Mariella in a small voice. "At least, he did on the day we became betrothed but since then he has indicated that he would prefer to wait until we are wed for such demonstrations of affection. When two people have such a deep understanding as George and myself, I assure you there is no need of kissing." She kept her eyes on the ground, wondering why she was speaking in this way, and of such intimate matters, to Lord Darvill. And yet, there was something about him, something she had sensed right from their very first meeting, which made her feel she had known him for a very long time, and could be easy with him. He was a man who inspired confidences — as well as provoking them. But now she was obliged to suffer his mocking laughter. "No need of kissing, indeed! What nonsense you talk." "I am entitled to my opinion, as you are entitled to yours!" flared Mariella. "Although, of course, it is hardly likely that your opinion would marry with mine. You, so I have heard, are totally indiscriminate with your embraces,

especially where certain married ladies of the county are concerned. You — " "Now wait a moment —" But Mariella's temper was aroused now and she refused to allow him to overwhelm her. She stormed on, "How dare you stand there and criticise my fiance, and say I am marrying the wrong man? Why not admit that you are jealous of my future happiness, because the one woman you loved left you for another!" She was shaking from head to foot, appalled at what she had said, defiant because he, after all, was responsible for provoking her into such a speech and finally apprehensive as she waited for his wrathful reaction. Looking up, she saw that he had moved away and was brushing the snow from a broad tree stump. He took off his cloak, spread it over the seat and beckoned her to him. "Come and sit down," he invited. "I want to tell you about Sarah Woodrow." "I really have no desire to hear," said Mariella untruthfully. Oh yes, part of her burned to hear the true story about Sarah and Richard, Lord Darvill. Yet another part of Mariella, the part which she was finding extremely trouble- some with its desires and longings which she did not understand, shied away from learning of his great love for another woman. "But it is important that I tell you," he said quietly, adding with a smile, "you should feel extremely privileged, you know. Apart from Sarah and myself, there is not another soul in the county who knows the truth of what happened between us." Mariella's curiosity got the better of her. She knew she should not be sitting here, in the pretty, snow-spangled Walk with a man she had vowed at all costs to avoid. She should be hurrying home, to tend to her sick fiance. But she told herself that once she had heard the truth about Lord Darvill's love for Sarah Woodrow, then she would be satisfied. Her fascination for the dashing Earl would die a natural death and she could return to George with a clear and untroubled heart. Lord Darvill knocked some snow from his burnished boots and said, "I fear you will be dreadfully disappointed with my tale, Mariella. For I suspect that, over the years, the good

people of Lynn have fabricated a tale that would match Romeo and Juliet for passion and tragedy." Mariella laughed. "They say that you and Sarah were childhood sweethearts, and ideally suited. Everyone expected you to marry. But suddenly, she deserted you for the Earl of Denby and you have carried a torch for her ever since." A smile touched his blue eyes. "That's partly true. We were indeed much in one another's company when we were young and yes, I kissed her once or twice amidst the apple blossom in her father's orchard. But there was never any true passion between us. I liked Sarah, because we had grown up together and there was a great bond of trust between us. But she was a placid girl, lacking any spirit of adventure. She told me many times that all she wanted from life was an amiable husband who would provide her with a quiet, comfortable country life. So when I introduced her to Denby she realised almost immediately that he was everything she had ever wanted, and so she married him, very speedily." Mariella remembered how Mrs Gordon, the housekeeper at the White House, had remarked that Sarah was the type of girl who decided what she wanted, and then quietly and single-mindedly set about achieving it. "You say you introduced Sarah to her future husband?" queried Mariella. Lord Darvill nodded. "I made the acquaintance of the Earl on my Grand Tour. He is an excellent fellow, and I am delighted that he and Sarah are so happy together." As Lord Darvill had anticipated, Mariella was beginning to feel a distinct sense of anticlimax. "But if you were truly happy to see them wed, why is it that all Lynn believes you to be heartbroken over Sarah?" He laughed. "I confess, this is a story concocted by Sarah and myself before her engagement was announced. She told me, you see, that it was a forgone conclusion in the elegant drawing rooms of Lynn that she and I would marry. But she warned that once she became betrothed to the Earl then every unmarried girl in the county would be setting her cap at me." ".Oh, not every girl, surely," retorted Mariella tartly. "To use your own words, you are a fallible human being, not a god." "I was using Sarah's words, not mine," smiled the Earl. "The point was, that at the time, I had no urge to marry. And the notion of being besieged by simpering girls and their fierce

mamas filled me with horror. So Sarah and I decided that we must devise a plan to keep them at bay." "And what better deterrent than the image of the jilted swain showing a brave face to the world, but consumed with pain within, because he knows he can never love another?" sighed Mariella. "I suspect that you are mocking me," he observed dryly. "Sarah certainly derives great amusement from my lovelorn state. I always visit her and Denby when I am in Suffolk and it entertains her greatly to know that she is thought of in Lynn in such tragically romantic terms." This Mariella could well imagine. She was beginning to warm towards Sarah. It was, without doubt, an ingenious scheme. Sarah was right. With all of Lynn expecting she and Lord Darvill to marry, the other girls would have been obliged to keep their distance. But with Sarah wed to another, the most handsome and eligible bachelor in Norfolk would never have known a moment's peace. This would have been all very fine had the man in question been of a mind to marry. But as he was not, the situation would have been untenable. However, Mariella had no intention of flattering Lord Darvill to the extent of confirming his undoubted attractiveness. With a wry smile, she remarked: "However, I am sure that Sarah is greatly comforted in the knowledge that, over the years, you have not been completely lacking in female companionship. Or are you about to tell me that your liaisons with certain married ladies of the county was just another ploy to frighten away prospective Lady Darvills?" "I can see that with you it would be foolish to pretend any such thing, for clearly you would never believe me." He shrugged. "But you must be aware that there are many people who marry not for love, but for convenience, and wh o then agree discreetly to go their separate ways. These ladies — and I assure you there were not as many as Lynn legend would have you believe — were glad of my company for a few hours, as I was glad of theirs. Our liaison in no way affected their marriages. But in any event, all that is in the past now." Mariella bent to relace her boot. "Why so?" she enquired softly. "Because I have met the woman I want to marry."

Clara! Mariella tugged fiercely at the laces, drawing up the ends into a viciously tied knot. He must mean Clara Melton. Although she believed Lord Darvill when he said there had never been passion between himself and Sarah, nevertheless she had witnessed his fascination at the Melton ball, when he had first set eyes on Clara and no doubt remarked on her physical similarity to his childhood sweetheart. Clara was, it was true, a docile and silent girl, at first glance lacking the spirit of adventure which Lord Darvill had found so wanting in Sarah. Yet, Mariella reasoned, Lord Darvill does have the most extraordinary ability to bring out hidden characteristics in people, as I know only too well. George has told me many times how much he admires my sweet, docile nature. Until I came to Lynn I truly believed myself to be a most unassuming girl. Yet when I am in the company of Lord Darvill, I do not feel unassuming at all. I feel as you do when you take off your bonnet, and let the wind stream through your hair — so free, and full of elation, full of the joy ofliving. So if Lord Darvill can have this effect on me, it is not impossible to imagine the same thing happening to Clara. Perhaps, from their very first meeting, he observed hidden depths in her which everyone else had failed to notice. "You are very silent," remarked Lord Darvill. "Are you not curious to know the name of the woman I love?" Mariella rose to her feet and said distantly, "Not particularly. Though, naturally, I wish you every happiness. Meanwhile, I am conscious that my fiance will be extremely curious to know why I have been away so long." He laughed. "Come now. You are longing to know the name of the woman I want to marry. Admit it!" "I will not. I promise you I have no interest in the matter." "Oh yes you have." "I have not\" "Can you look me straight in the eyes and say that?" "With no difficulty at all," flared Mariella, turning to face him. But when blue eyes met blue . . . met, and held, she knew she could never be untruthful with this man. Of course she wanted to know! And he, as usual, had read her mind like an open book. How maddening, how infuriating, how downright aggravating he was! How dare he make her dance to his tune in this manner?

How dare he send her into such a turmoil of restless desires and longings? She loathed him for disrupting her life so. He had no right. None at all! "Shall I tell you her initials?" enquired Lord Darvill. "No!" blazed Mariella. And then, goaded beyond endurance by his teasing tone, she bent down, picked up a handful of snow and flung it at him with all her might. The snowball disintegrated immediately on contact with his broad shoulder. But Mariella did not wait to see more. Taking one look at his face as he shot to his feet, she turned and fled down the chestnut-lined Walk. She knew it was impossible to escape from him. The path was snowy and still treacherous, and he was taller, stronger and more athletic than she. Nevertheless, she ran on, willing herself to move faster until, inevitably, she felt his hands around her waist and he spun her round to face him. "You didn't seriously believe I'd allow you to get away with that, did you?" he demanded, in a tone which left Mariella in no doubt about what he intended to do next. She was powerless to resist as his lips met hers in a kiss that transported her into realms of rapture she had never believed existed. For a moment, she felt stunned by the intensity of his passion but then, dizzy with desire, she yielded herself to him, fired by his masculine strength and the longing for him that pulsed through every vein within her. She yearned only to remain in his embrace for ever, to be swept along to eternity on the torrent of ardour which possessed and inspired them both. When at last he released her she stood with her head resting against his shoulder, bereft of words, her mind in a turmoil of joy, elation and guilt. Lord Darvill's arms tightened around her. She knew it was madness to allow him to continue to hold her thus, but she could not will herself to move. Then he said, "Tell me, Mariella, is that how your fiance kissed you on your betrothal day?" She could not answer him. As the silence lengthened between them, he tilted her face up to his and told her, "What you received from Lord Stanley on the day of your engagement was a proprietorial kiss. It signified ownership. Possession. Nothing more. I may be wrong, but somehow I do not think so. I believe there was all the difference in the world between your betrothal kiss and that which has just passed between us. Am I right?"

She nodded. Yes, yes of course he was right! Never with George had she known such rapturous stirrings of desire which had inflamed her in Lord Darvill's embrace. When George had kissed her, she clearly recalled that she had felt a draught on her neck from the open window. Yet here she was with Lord Darvill, on this cold January day and she had been conscious of nothing but the heat of her desire, and his. She could well imagine that should Lord Darvill choose to embrace her in the midst of an icy, howling gale, she would be unaware of the raging weather, oblivious to everything but this man, and the passion of his kisses. "You know what this means, don't you?" he asked, running his hands through her golden hair. "No. I don't know what anything means any more," whispered Mariella, conscious only of his hands, his presence, and her longing for him. He laughed. "It's what I have been trying to tell you for the past half hour. That to which you so stubbornly refused to listen. I love you, Mariella. And I want you to marry me.” Mariella felt as if she had been spun off the earth, and was floating in some mysterious world, amidst a blaze of stars. Lord Darvill wanted to marry her. He loved her. Could it really be true? Or was he merely playing a cruel joke? Yet one look at his handsome face confirmed that he spoke not in jest. He had eyes only for her, and the expression in them was such a complex mixture of tenderness and desire that Mariella caught her breath, and could only murmur helplessly: "But I am engaged to Lord Stanley. Had it not been for Aunt Emilia removing to Lynn, we should have been married by now." "Praise be to Aunt Emilia," smiled Lord Darvill. Then he went on, in a serious tone, "You know in your heart that you are not suited to Lord Stanley. As I said before, he has many sterling qualities, and will no doubt make some other girl an admirable husband. But you are not that girl. And you are most certainly not the girl he imagines you to be." "It is only with you that the more impetuous side of my nature comes to the fore," said Mariella. "You often provoke me so much that it is as if a fire is kindled within me, making me feel a different person from the girl who is Lord Stanley's fiancee."

"And which of the two Mariella's do you feel happiest being?" asked the Earl. "The docile, submissive fiancee, or the free spirit that you feel with me?" Mariella traced a pattern in the snow with her boot. She knew that for the rest of her life — whoever that life was spent with — she would always associate snow with passion. For had she not been goaded into throwing the snowball at Lord Darvill, his kiss, and their ensuing conversation would never have happened in quite the same thrilling way. "Can't you see that if you marry Lord Stanley, you will be wedding him under false pretences?" said Lord Darvill. "You may imagine that it will be easy to maintain your demure demeanour whilst you are married. But it will not be easy at all. Because, little by little, your true spirited self will emerge. You will find it increasingly difficult to repress all the wonderful fire and defiance within you. And this, in its turn, will have a most unsettling effect on Lord Stanley. He will, quite naturally, be most distressed to discover that the girl he married is changing into someone quite different." Mariella found it impossible to argue with Lord Darvill's logic. She knew if he talked to her thus for much longer, she would allow him to persuade her to anything. As if reading her thoughts, he took her arm and began to lead her down the final stretch of the Walk. "Come now," he ordered quietly, "I have said quite enough for one day, and I can see you are in a state of shock. You will need time to think over what I have said, and come to your decision." "I was under the impression that you had already made my decision for me," said Mariella. He smiled. "Ah no. I have simply presented certain arguments to you. I have told you that I love you, and that I want more than anything else in the world, to marry you. But the decision is yours. You must decide whether to break your engagement and stand by my side as my wife." Mariella sighed. "If this were a novel, you would simply sweep me off and marry me without delay!" He laughed. "Don't think I'm not tempted! But despite the passion and the love I feel for you, I am a civilised person, Mariella. I have no intention of clubbing you over the head and forcing you to marry me. You must want to marry me, with all your heart and soul. For marriage is forever, and a

lifetime is a long period to harbour lingering doubts or regrets. Marriage, after all, is based on mutual trust. There must be no shadows between us." Trust. She knew to what he was referring. The rumours surrounding his father's death, and his refusal to confirm to her whether or not it was his finger on the trigger that fateful night. She decided that she must try one more time to get to the bottom of the matter. "Since trust is so important between us, will you not trust me by telling me what happened on the night your father died?" He looked suddenly weary, raising his hand to his brow. "It is not because I do not trust you that I cannot tell you," he replied gravely. "But my lips are sealed on the matter, because I am not at liberty to speak of that night. I am aware that this is a very unsatisfactory answer, Mariella, but it is the only one I can give you." They had reached the end of the Walk. He stopped by a tall lime tree and took her hands in his. "Go now, and think on what I have said. I realise that I am asking you to have great faith in me, because of my silence over my father's death, but there are times when it is necessary to take someone on trust — and this is one of them. Remember that I love you, and that if you marry me, the wonderful free spirit trapped within you will be released, and will have full rein. There will be companionship, and laughter, and a great deal of passion between us. If this is what you want, then come to me, and tell me. And I shall then take the necessary steps to end your engagement to Lord Stanley." He kissed her lightly on the brow, gazed deep into her eyes, then turned and walked away. Feeling extremely shaken, Mariella stood watching until he turned the corner, and then a smile touched her lovely face. How typical of the man, she thought, not to look back. He had declared himself. He had made his feelings and desires crystal clear to her. And now, resolutely, he was walking away, leaving her alone to make the most agonising decision of her life. But there was no time now to think on these recent and most dramatic events. However much she longed simply to wander along the Walks and ponder on all that Lord Darvill had said to her, she knew that she must hurry home to the White House, where her fiance would be awaiting her. On entering the drawing room, she was relieved to be informed by Aunt Emilia

that Lord Stanley was just awakening from a long sleep and had no notion that Mariella had been out at all. "And how did you find Nanny Phipps?" asked Aunt Emilia with a smile. Mariella looked blank for a moment. Nanny Phipps? Oh, but surely her encounter with the charming old lady must have taken place years ago, for so much had happened to her since then! It is as if, mused Mariella, I left this house as one person and have now returned, a mere few hours later, with a new identity. This feeling was intensified during the evening. Lord Stanley declared himself fit enough to join the ladies in the drawing room for a light supper. He then beat Mariella at backgammon, after which he expressed a desire for Lady Henlow to read aloud to them all. Mariella, seated on a velvet upholstered chair on the other side of the fireplace from her fiance, marvelled that neither he nor Aunt Emilia had sensed any change in her. Can't you see, she wanted to scream, that everything has changed? I have changed! This afternoon, the most devastating, fascinating man I have ever known took me into his arms and kissed the breath out of me. He loves me, George, and wants to marry me! Now what have you to say to that, George, Lord Stanley? She could well imagine what George would say. Preposterous . . . absurd . . . blackguard . . . rumours . . . murderer. "Surely you are not seriously informing me that you could love such a man, Mariella?" And this, indeed was the question Mariella found it impossible to answer. Did she love Lord Darvill? How was one to tell what love truly was? If anyone had asked me a month ago if I truly loved my fiance, thought Mariella, I should have put my hand on my heart and answered yes. But was I mistaking gratitude for love? And then again, George was so positive in his assumption that of course I should marry him, and in my turn, I have in the past found it comforting to allow George to make all important decisions for me. But Lord Darvill is quite different. He tells me that I am free, and that I must choose. The decision is mine alone to make. But how am I to arrive at that decision? Did he not realise how much his declaration of love surprised me? Never for one moment had I imagined that a man such as he, so dashing, with such a commanding presence, and the most eligible bachelor in the county — that he should want to marry

me, Mariella Ward! I still cannot quite believe that it is all really true. But he is not a man to say one thing and mean another. Incredible though it may seem, Lord Darvill loves me. He is sure. If only I were as sure as he, and not consumed by such agonies of self doubt! If I marry George, my life will be safe, and settled, and predictable. I shall always know what to expect. Whereas marriage to Lord Darvill would, I imagine, be a constant pageant of fresh experiences and surprises. She remembered what he had said. There will be companionship, and laughter and a great deal of passion between us. Passion. Mariella looked across at George who was staring sober-eyed into the fire as he concentrated on Lady Hen- low's measured tones while she read from Lives of the Saints. George, Mariella acknowledged with a sigh, was not a passionate man. With him she would know none of the dizzying rapture that had inflamed her when she was in Lord Darvill's embrace. At the memory of that kiss, a blush tinged her cheeks and gradually, every inch of her began to burn for him. She longed once again to feel his strong arms around her, his warm mouth on hers and that current of desire that made her oblivious to everything and everyone in the world but him. That kind of longing — is that what is meant by love, wondered Mariella? Or is the affection I feel for George, is that a more reliable kind of love? Mariella dearly wished there was someone in whom she could confide, someone with the wisdom to help her come to a decision. But who could she go to to confess that, as an engaged girl, she had allowed Lord Darvill to kiss her and propose marriage to her! Why, even Aunt Emilia would be shocked at such a notion and certainly, if word ever reached George's ears, the ensuing uproar would be talked about for years to come in Lynn. On the other side of the fireplace, George raised his head and smiled at her. The smile wrung Mariella's heart. How could I possibly tell him that I cannot marry him, she agonised, when he needs me so much? He is accustomed to me, and used to having me by his side. Breaking our engagement would cause him such shame amongst his family and the London elite. How could I inflict that on a man who has been so good and kind to me? But having acknowledged this, another part of Mariella urged her to leave her chair, quit the house and run straight into Lord Darvill's arms. Never mind the scandal and outrage. Safe in the knowledge of Lord Darvill's love, Mariella knew she could take on the world — and win.

"What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?" wondered Mariella as she tossed restlessly in bed that night. How was she to decide? As morning broke, her thoughts were still as confused as ever. But then, most unexpectedly, the matter of whom she should marry was taken out of her hands, and in the most dramatic fashion.

8 The following day, Lord Stanley decided that what was required to finally restore him to sound health was a breath of fresh air. Accordingly, he and Mariella took the carriage down to the riverside, with the intention of taking a gentle walk there for a half hour or so. The snow was thick upon the ground with the waters of the river glazed by thick ice. Mariella had still not lost her sense of enchantment as she gazed on the scene. She loved the different sights and sounds engendered by this weather . . . the muffled sound of the carriage wheels, the squeak of her boots in the snow, the reeds by the river iced with frost. Her eyes sparkling in the cold bright air, she remarked to Lord Stanley: "Isn't it fascinating how the snow produces such a changed scene? It blots out so many familiar landmarks, and then the drifts of snow pile up and effect a new landscape all of their own." Lord Stanley was not impressed with her observations. He was taking this wintry walk solely for the benefit of his health, just as he had come to Norfolk in the first place solely because it was Mariella's duty to be at her aunt's side. But the sooner the walk, and the entire Norfolk episode were over the better. He looked gloomily up at the sky: "Still clear and sunny, dash it." "But George, it is a beautiful day!" protested Mariella, drawing his arm through hers as they negotiated a frozen puddle. "Although there is little warmth in the sun, it is

still cheering to see it, and we are well wrapped up and protected against the cold." "I have no objection, as such, to the sun, my dear. It is simply that I should welcome the arrival of rain clouds as a herald of a rise in temperature, and a thaw. For once the snow and ice melt, and the roads become clear again, I intend us to return to London without delay." Mariella pulled the hood of her cloak round her lovely face to hide her stricken expression. She did not want to go back to London. She didn't want it to thaw. Ever. For since the snow had come, and changed the appearance of the landscape, Mariella had also sensed a great change in herself. The snow had cut them off from the outside world — not just from other towns and houses, but from traditional, accepted values and customs also. In this new, frosted white landscape, Mariella felt reborn, and free, as if she were living in a time all of her own, untouched by the harsh realities of the outside world. But she feared that once the thaw came, this treasured sense of elation now within her would melt with the snow. With the roads reopened, the real world would intrude upon her again, dragging her back into the suffocation of its hectic embrace. She glanced at her fiance, fearful that he might have caught a glimpse of her face, and been able to ascertain something of her thoughts. But Lord Stanley was gazing far ahead, to the bend in the frozen river. "What the deuce is this approaching?" he muttered. It was indeed a most novel sight. On the ice was an ingeniously constructed wooden raft, with upright poles supporting a thick, enclosing canopy. The device was being drawn along the ice by means of long ropes, attached to a pair of horses, one on either bank. Mariella laughed. "My, how ingenious! But I wonder who, or what, the ice-raft is conveying?" "It is certainly a most remarkable mode of transport," admitted Lord Stanley. Mariella said excitedly, "See, there is a small landing jetty just at the back of us. Do let us wait to see who emerges from beneath the canopy!" "Mariella, it is not seemly to be observed gawping."

"Oh, but we need not be standing there, staring. What is to prevent us just happening to wander past just at the appropriate moment? Oh please, George!" For once, Lord Stanley's curiosity overcame his natural sense of propriety. Slowly, the pair sauntered back towards the jetty, standing aside as the rider on their side of the bank moved past them, and drew the ice-raft towards the landing stage. The rider dismounted, and after tethering the tired horse, walked towards the raft and hesitantly stretched out a hand towards the canopy opening. Mariella watched with mounting anticipation. Why, she thought, the man is approaching the canopy as if it contains a dangerous wild animal. Oh, just what, or who is in there? Her question was soon answered. Before the man could touch the canopy, it was wrenched impatiently aside. And out from the raft emerged not a wild animal, but someone Mariella recognised, with horror, as being equally dangerous. "Ah, there you are, George," declared an imperious Lady Stanley to her astonished son. "I take it you received my message?" For a moment Lord Stanley stood as if paralysed, unable to believe that his mother was here, in Norfolk, and had arrived in such an unorthodox manner. Then he recovered himself. He hurried forward, bowed, kissed her hand said jerkily, "I received no message, madam. It was purely by chance that Mariella and I were strolling by the river this morning. I am delighted to see you, of course, but had believed it would be impossible for you to come due to the roads from London being impassable." Lady Stanley smoothed her thick fur-lined cloak over her ample form and remarked, "You should know by now, George, that London and the south usually enjoys more clement weather than the eastern counties. The roads were difficult, but negotiable all the way until we reached those dreadful Fenlands. Then my wretched coach driver gave up, and said the snow was too thick for us to proceed further, and I would be obliged to put up at some appalling inn. The Black Swan thought Mariella with a smile, remembering her first night on the Fens, and how the masked Lord Darvill had forced them to turn back and spend the night at that same inn. She came forward, curtsied, and greeted Lady Stanley. The older woman afforded one of her rare smiles,

"Ah, Mariella dear. How pretty you are looking. And how is Lady Henlow, your aunt?" "In excellent health, thank you Lady Stanley," murmured Mariella. Lady Stanley turned and gave her maid instructions about the removal of her personal belongings from the raft. "The remainder of my baggage will be brought on in my coach as soon as the weather improves," she informed Lord Stanley. Taking her arm, he assisted her towards his carriage. "Mother, I confess I am still confused about your extraordinary mode of transport to Lynn. However did this come about?" Lady Stanley settled herself on the upholstered seat of the carriage with a sigh of relief. "It was not, I assure you, the most comfortable of journeys. As you know, even in London I am in almost constant pain with my back, though of course I am not one to complain." Mariella turned away, and busied herself re-tying the cord on the window curtain. I am not one to complain, indeed! Why, reflected Mariella, in the time I have known Lady Stanley not an hour has passed without her drawing attention to one ache or pain or another. And this despite the fact that her physician informed George that his mother was as sound as a bell and would undoubtedly live until she was ninety! "But the ice-raft," Lord Stanley pressed on. "How did you hit on the idea of that?" Lady Stanley waved an airy hand. "Oh, it was not a notion that would have occurred to me. Residing in London one is not, of course, aufait with these novel forms of countrified transport. No, it was one of the men of the militia who devised the ice-raft for me." "The militia!" exclaimed Mariella and her fiance in unison. Lady Stanley frowned. "Mariella, do not raise your voice in that manner. It is most unbecoming in a young lady. And it affects my poor head most dreadfully." Mariella subsided into silence, but a nudge from Lord Stanley reminded her to murmur demurely, "I am so sorry, Lady Stanley. I do hope your head is not too painful?"

"I am accustomed to pain," Lady Stanley informed her, in a martyred tone. Then she continued, "The Fens were swarming with militia, moving along the frozen river on skates. I regarded it as something of an amusing sight, until one of them had the impertinence to stop my carriage before we reached the inn, to ask who I was, and the purpose of my journey." "They asked you such a question?" Lord Stanley sounded astounded. "Naturally, I gave them short shrift and demanded to see the officer in charge." Lady Stanley shuddered as the carriage juddered over some hard-packed snow. "He was most civil, and apologised for inconveniencing me. It appears that they suspected some French spies of hiding out in the Fens, and a raiding party had been organised to seek the frog rogues out." "French spies?" queried Lord Stanley in alarm. "But what would they hope to achieve out in the Fenlands of Norfolk?" "Very little I assume apart from dreadful chills in these appalling conditions. But then I have always considered the French to be a highly unintelligent race," replied Lady Stanley dismissively. "However, I informed the chief officer that I had no intention of residing at a common inn, and that it was essential for me to be conveyed to King's Lynn with the minimum delay. At first he seemed strangely reluctant to provide the necessary assistance, but after I had expressed my opinions once more, in somewhat forceful terms, he became most agreeable and sent his men to fashion the ice-raft. I made a particular note of his name, and informed him that you had the ear of important people at the Palace and in Parliament, and that you would see he was well rewarded for his trouble." "Yes indeed, Mother. I shall attend to the matter immediately on my return to London." Lady Stanley now turned her attention to Mariella. "You are looking in excellent health, my dear." She sighed. "My, how I envy you! May you never know the trial of being in constant suffering. But as I look on you, I can see that the excellent report I had on you from Lady Melton was indeed justified." "Lady Melton has been in contact with you?" asked Lord Stanley in surprise.

"Why, yes. Shortly after I received your message informing me of your urgent desire to marry in King's Lynn, another letter arrived from Lady Melton. Such a sweetly written note, expressing her distress on behalf of you both that cruel fate had prevented your nuptials. She expressed great warmth and affection for Mariella, such admiration for the way she had come to Norfolk out of duty to her aunt. And I realised then how much happiness it would give to you both to be married in King's Lynn without delay. But naturally, I could not abide the notion of not being present at my elder son's wedding! So, I arose from my sick bed, and set forth to join you. Now I am here. We are all re-united. And you will be delighted to hear that you may proceed, George, to arrange for your wedding to take place at the earliest opportunity!" There was no need for Mariella to say a word. George, as was his custom, said everything that was necessary to his mother. It was agreed that the wedding would take place a week hence, on Friday, at St. Margaret's church in Lynn. Mariella gazed from the carriage window. The snow was still thick and hard upon the ground. But for her, she realised, the thaw had begun.

★★★ "I shall, of course, require apartments consisting of a bedchamber, and a sitting room for my own private use," Lady Stanley informed the couple when she was seated in the most comfortable chair by the drawing room fire of the White House. "And because I suffer so with my back, it is essential that my mattress be extremely soft, so that it does not jar my spine." Lord Stanley swallowed, and said uncomfortably, "I deeply regret, Mother, that such accommodation is not available in this house. Naturally, I should be happy to give you my bedchamber, as I could most certainly remove to Lord Egremont's, but the room is not large and possesses no private drawing room." Lady Stanley glared. "But this is highly inconvenient, George! Do you mean to tell me that I have endured the most terrible journey, at heaven knows what grave risk to my health, and am now informed that there is no where to lay my head?" Mariella waited for Lord Stanley to reply, but for once he seemed lost for words. With the lengthening silence thre-

atening to become explosive, Mariella said hesitantly, "Since Lady Melton was so kindly moved to write to you, I am sure she would be delighted and honoured if you indicated that it would please you to reside with her during your stay in Lynn. There is ample room at Melton Hall, and I have no doubt that Lord and Lady Melton would feel privileged to have you as their guest." Lord Stanley nodded. "Why, Mariella, that is an excellent notion!" He turned to his mother. "Melton Hall is but a short distance away, so we shall be enabled to be in constant company with one another. If you find the plan agreeable, I will call on Lady Melton personally and ask her to make ready for your arrival." "Very well," Lady Stanley agreed graciously. "And I should be glad if you would mention that I am not partial to the colour green, so I should be obliged if Lady Melton would reserve my apartments with that in mind." "Yes, Mother." "And footstools. My drawing room must have an adequate supply of footstools." "Yes, Mother." After the departure of her son to Melton Hall, Lady Stanley enquired of Mariella, "Your aunt is not at home?" "She will be returning shortly, I believe," replied Mariella, though in truth she was in total ignorance of her aunt's whereabouts. Mrs Gordon, the housekeeper, had informed her that Lady Henlow had departed an hour earlier, in something of a flurry, but had given no indication of her destination, or the time of her intended return. Lady Stanley shivered, and drew her embroidered shawl closely round her shoulders. "Conscious though one is of your desire to do your duty by your aunt in accompanying her to Norfolk, nevertheless, I can understand that the visit must have been a severe trial for you. No doubt you have missed London exceedingly?" This was so far from the case that Mariella found herself quite unable to murmur the reply Lady Stanley clearly expected. Fortunately, their attention was diverted by the sight of Lady Henlow hurrying home past the drawing room window. Mariella felt suddenly concerned as she glimpsed her

aunt's expression. Unaware that she was being observed, Lady Henlow looked tired and drawn. Full of remorse, Mariella hurried to greet her. It has been a difficult time for my aunt, Mariella realised, first removing to Lynn, then this wintry weather, and latterly George struck down with his chill and needing so much attention. In the hall, she quickly informed her aunt of Lady Stanley's arrival, and went on, "My dear aunt, why did you not tell me that you had calls to make? Then George and I would most naturally have left you the carriage to save you walking the streets through the snow." Lady Henlow took her arm and said soothingly, "Do not fret yourself. It was merely that I realised I had run out of pink embroidery silk, and I assure you I enjoyed the stroll in the fresh air to the shops. Now come. I must make Lady Stanley welcome." Lady Stanley was most gracious towards Lady Henlow, informing her that much though it would have pleased her to reside in the charming White House for the duration of her visit, she had in fact already made tentative arrangements to stay with Lady Melton. At the mention of Lady Melton's name, Mariella was reminded that Lady Stanley had mentioned receiving a letter from that lady urging her that the wedding between Lord Stanley and Miss Mariella Ward should take place without delay. Whyever should Lady Melton have been moved to write in such terms, pondered Mariella. It was, quite clearly, no insignificant letter, for like Lord Stanley, Lady Melton must have been put to considerable trouble to arrange with a special messenger to have the note conveyed over the icy roads to London. So just what was Lady Melton's purpose in seeking my wedding, mused Mariella, as the footman brought in refreshments for the White House guest. Surely it is not still in her mind that Lord Darvill should marry Clara? Has Lady Melton received private intelligence of the Earl's interest in me, and be seeking to thwart his intentions by bringing me to the altar with the least possible delay? Mariella was aware that Lady Melton could have no notion of what had passed between her and Lord Darvill on the deserted snowy Walk near the Red Mount. She could not know that the Earl had declared his love for her, and his desire to marry her. A blush tinged Mariella's cheeks as she recalled the passion of the Earl, and her own rapturous longing for him. But sternly, she put such beguiling memories aside, reminding herself that such

thoughts had no right to take possession of her, especially when she was in the presence of her fiance's mother! It occurred to Mariella that Lady Melton, or one of her associates, might have observed her driving in the Earl's carriage to Darvill House on that enchanting day when he had taught her to skate. This might have triggered the suspicion in Lady Melton's mind that there was a dangerous attraction between Miss Ward and the Earl. But why, wondered Mariella, should it be of such concern to Lady Melton if the Earl is attracted to me? Morally, of course, it is wrong for an engaged girl to be seen unchaperoned in the company of another man — especially a man with such a celebrated reputation as Lord Darvill! Yet Lady Melton had proved that she was not above saying one thing with a great sense of moral outrage, and then behaving with quite different principles. This had been proved conclusively to Mariella by Lady Melton's attitude towards the Earl. In her initial conversation on the subject with Lady Henlow and Mariella, she had been bristling with indignation and horror at the Earl's alleged behaviour. Nevertheless, that had not prevented the lady from inviting the Earl to her ball — a ball which happened to be held in honour of the young, pretty and unmarried Clara Melton. Despite all her public display of outrage at the Earl, Mariella was convinced that Lady Melton would like nothing more than to see her niece married to the most eligible bachelor in the county. But why, wondered Mariella. Of course, the Earl was dashing, handsome and rich. If one set aside the rumours surrounding him, he was quite obviously a catch for any girl. Yet something within Mariella warned her that if she was right about Lady Melton's intentions for her niece, then there was another, deeper reason involved. What that reason was she could not fathom. It was instinct alone that told Mariella that Clara Melton was being used as a pawn in a devious, and possibly dangerous game devised by Lady Melton. And what of Clara herself? What were her feelings and emotions towards the Earl? This Mariella had no sure way of knowing. Clara was such a quiet, reticent girl — so often spoken for by Lady Melton — that it was difficult establishing what thoughts, if any, were present in that serene, dark haired head. Certainly, however, Clara had seemed well disposed towards the Earl. At the dinner at the White House, she had talked for a long while with the Earl and had seemed pleased that he had made a special point of urging her to attend the Frost Fair. So, concluded Mariella, it seemed

likely that Clara was an innocent, but accomplice in Lady Melton's conspiracy.

not

unwilling

Mariella found that as she was thinking, she was gazing into the fire, the glowing embers and the flames reflecting on the polished brass fire dog. She looked around the drawing room, with its deep rose curtains, the attractive water colours, the elegant, though comfortable furnishings, and her dear aunt, sitting at her petit point as she conversed with Lady Stanley. Mariella gave herself a little shake. What am I doing sitting in this familiar, reassuring room and torturing myself with sinister notions of conspiracies? Has the strange, snowy landscape outside affected my powers of reason in some manner? Lady Melton is a respected member of the Lynn elite. I confess I can summon little warmth towards her, but that is no reason to imagine uncharitable thoughts about the lady. Naturally, as far as Clara is concerned, she would like her niece to make a good match. And it is highly unlikely that she would regard a man with Lord Darvill's dangerous reputation as a suitable husband for Clara. As for her letter to Lady Stanley, it may have been prompted by nothing more than the urge to enliven Lynn society with a grand wedding. During the winter months, when travel is difficult, people in a small town like Lynn naturally become a little jaded with one another's company. A society wedding, and all its attendant excitement would no doubt give a boost to everyone's spirits. Mariella, it transpired, was not the only person in the drawing room dwelling on the prospect of her wedding. For the past half hour, Lady Stanley had been giving Aunt Emilia a detailed and exhaustive account of her perilous journey from London. No detail was missed, no slight forgotten. Every surly innkeeper, every jolt of the carriage, every aching bone and throb of the head was remembered and recounted. Having been obliged to say little during this account, besides "Oh dear," . . . "How distressing" . . . "My, how I feel for you Lady Stanley," Lady Henlow at last looked up from her petit point and remarked, "I assume that you have come to Lynn on route to your family estates in Derbyshire, Lady Stanley. But I hope you will not be moving on too soon." "Moving on?" rasped Lady Stanley. "Indeed not. Why, no one in their right minds travels any further north than this at this time of year. No no, I have come, my dear Lady Henlow, to attend the wedding of my son and your niece at St Margaret's Church, next Friday."

Lady Henlow's embroidery silks fell to the floor. "Oh, my dear aunt, what a shock we have given you," smiled Mariella, hurrying to retrieve the pink and gold silks. "Why . . . why yes, I am a little taken aback," admitted Aunt Emilia. "It was just that I had it fixed in my foolish old mind that you would be married in London, Mariella. But of course, now I think of it, a Lynn wedding would be enchanting. And St Margaret's is the most delightful church. I was christened there myself, you know and — " "There will be much to do, and too little time to do it in," interrupted Lady Stanley. "Because of my wretched ill health, I shall be obliged to leave most of the arrangements for the nuptials to you, Lady Henlow. But have no fear. I shall be most happy to offer you the benefit of my guidance and advice. It will not be as grand as a London wedding, of course, but nevertheless I imagine that the wedding of George, Lord Stanley, will be the most anticipated, and talked abut event that this little town has experienced for decades!" "To be sure," replied Aunt Emilia sweetly, "everyone in Lynn has become extremely attached to my beautiful niece in the time she has been here and there is no question that she will make the most enchanting bride that Norfolk or London has ever seen!" Lady Stanley's piercing blue eyes swept over Mariella, making her feel like a schoolgirl guiltily hiding the ink stain on her fingers. "My son's future bride is the most lovely girl," conceded Lady Stanley, "and I have no doubt that beneath that pretty head lies a sober consciousness of her good fortune in marrying into such a wealthy and well respected family. I have no doubt that she will do her utmost to present herself on her wedding day in a manner that will bring nothing but credit on her new family." "The wedding gown!" gasped Aunt Emilia, casting aside her embroidery. "We have only a week, Mariella! There is no possibility of us having a suitable gown ready in such a short time. The material must be chosen, the dressmaker selected, then there will be all the fittings, the embroidery…”

"Lady Henlow, I should be obliged if you would refrain from raising your voice in that alarming manner," instructed Lady Stanley, her hand raised to her brow. "There is, I assure you, no cause to distress yourself over the matter of the wedding gown. Mariella was fitted for her gown before she left London,

and I have brought the dress with me. All that is required is a final fitting, and the embroidery.” Aunt Emilia sat back in her chair. "Oh, that is such a relief. How wise of you to show such forethought, Lady Stanley. And the wedding is to take place next Friday? Oh dear, I do hope the church is available on that day. If a christening, or another wedding has already been arranged at St. Margaret's — " "Not available?" queried an astounded Lady Stanley. "Whatever can you mean, Lady Henlow? Why, my son's wedding will be the biggest event in St. Margaret's history. Naturally, there can be no question of one being inconvenienced by previous arrangements at the church." " N o . . . no of course not," said a flustered Aunt Emilia. She turned to her niece, "And what of the remainder of your trousseau, my dear? I believe you mentioned that Lord Stanley was anxious for you to travel north for your Wedding Tour. You will require warm clothes, for Spring comes late to the northern counties of England." Before Mariella could reply, Lady Stanley said, with some asperity, "Of course there is no question of the couple venturing off up north in this dreadful weather. It is unthinkable." "With respect, ma'am," ventured Mariella nervously, "I believe that George has this intention very much in mind. If you recall, we were originally to have been married in London earlier in January, and it was arranged that we should travel north for our Wedding Tour." "Nothing of the sort was arranged," declared Lady Stanley with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I do recall my son mentioning it, but it was something I intended to advise him against. No, no. After your wedding, we shall all three return immediately to London and set about establishing your household. My son has, as you know, an extremely fine touch but it is a bachelor residence and will require an experienced feminine touch to make it suitable for the residence of Lord and Lady Stanley. I know exactly what is required, and you may rest assured Mariella that I shall give you every assistance in the matter — as much as my delicate constitution allows, of course." "Thank you, Lady Stanley," whispered Mariella, with a heavy heart.

Lady Stanley was scrutinising the furnishings of the drawing room. "I take it you have now settled well in Lynn, Lady Henlow, and no longer require the presence of your niece?" "If you need me aunt, then naturally I will stay," Mariella said softly. "I am sure Lady Henlow appreciates that you have fully performed your duty towards her," Lady Stanley informed the golden-haired girl. "Oh yes indeed," smiled Lady Henlow, "I am most grateful to both Mariella and Lord Stanley for their great kindness towards me. I am happy to say that I feel, once again, quite at home in Lynn. My only feeling of disquiet concerns this house. I have grown greatly attached to it, but unfortunately, it can never really be mine as I am only permitted to rent it from Lord Darvill." "Darvill?" frowned Lady Stanley. "Isn't he the rogue who shot his father and caused his poor mother to flee abroad with grief?" "It is only rumoured that the tragedy occurred as you have described," said Mariella, more sharply than she had intended. "There is no evidence, and nothing has ever been proved." But Lady Stanley was not accustomed to hearing properly the utterances of her sons' brides. She continued, as if Mariella had not spoken, "A disgraceful affair. I recall it all now. How appalling for you, Lady Henlow, to be obliged to rent your house from such a blackguard. I shall speak to my son immediately upon his return and we shall arrange alternative accommodation for you." "That is most kind," murmured Lady Henlow, "but I should not dream of putting you all to such inconvenience, when there will be so much for everyone to do attending to the far more important arrangements for the wedding." "That is so. My son's wedding must take priority," agreed Lady Stanley. "But I do feel for you, living in such a small house. When the weather improves, no doubt you will be seeking larger accommodation." "No doubt I shall be obliged to seek alternative accommodation," said Lady Henlow wistfully, "but to own the truth, I find this size of house suits me perfectly. I have no need

of vast, draughty saloons and long dark corridors. I love the White House because it is so light and airy, and there is a special atmosphere to it which is hard to describe but which always makes me feel welcome and at home as soon as I enter the front door." Lady Stanley stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. Then stirring restlessly in her chair, she demanded, "Why is George taking so long at Melton Hall? He has been away an unconscionable time." "No doubt he wishes to satisfy himself that Lady Melton has everything arranged for your comfort," suggested Mariella. She was forced to confess to herself that the prospect of her fiance's return, and the continued discussion about arrangements for her wedding filled her with foreboding. And that is all wrong, she realised. Why, the day one is married is one of the most special days in a girl's life. I should be filled with excitement and anticipation. I should be grateful that Lady Stanley has travelled all this distance to attend, and that so many people are preparing themselves to take so much trouble on my behalf. Instead, I am sitting here in my aunt's drawing room, feeling almost sick with despair. Dulled at the notion of marrying George next Friday and travelling immediately back to London in the company of his mother — who will then devote herself to instructing me on the proper organisation of my household. It need not be like this, she thought. There is an alternative. I do have a choice. All I have to do is slip away from the house, and make my way to Lord Darvill's residence. And by that one action, my entire life would change. Lord Darvill loves me. He has expressed a desire to marry me. Even now, Mariella could not quite believe that this was true. That such a man as he, who aroused such fires of passion within her, should want to make her his bride! But do I love him, wondered Mariella in anguish. Oh yes, he arouses in me a desire so rapturous that I am left weak, and trembling, and breathless. But is this love, or am I merely fascinated by Lord Darvill and flattered that he should be paying court to me? Am I playing with fire in continuing to harbour such fancies about this attractive man? She closed her eyes, willing her mind to clear, to assist her to reach the right decision. Should I go to him, she

prayed, or should I take the safer path and marry George? My future life, my happiness is at stake. It is the most vital decision I shall make in my life. But I am obliged to make it alone, for there is no one who can help me! If only, she thought, if only I could see Lord Darvill again, to talk to him and explain my dilemma. He is an experienced and understanding man. Surely he would realise that it is placing too much of a burden on my young shoulders to expect me to make such a decision so quickly and so totally alone? If he truly loves me, he must tell me so again, and persuade me beyond all doubt that my happiness lies in his arms. Fired with resolve, Mariella stood up, preparing in her mind the excuse which would afford her time to slip quietly from the house. But before she could speak, the drawing room doors opened to admit George, Lord Stanley. "My, you have been a very long time," complained Lady Stanley. "Every bone in my frail body is aching after my dreadful journey and I think it is too bad of you to take so long arranging my accommodation." "I am sorry you have been inconvenienced," said Lord Stanley gravely, "but I was obliged to stay longer than I intended at Melton Hall, owing to some serious intelligence which has just come to light." Aunt Emilia's face was ashen. "Why, what has happened? Tell us, quickly!" Lord Stanley said soberly. "It concerns three French spies who were today apprehended by the militia out on the Fens. It transpires that they were not working alone but were receiving vital intelligence from a person with power and influence in King's Lynn." "A traitor within our midst!" exploded Lady Stanley. "Feeding valuable information to the enemy! But who is this person, George? Are there any clues to his identity?" "A certain person has been observed at various times, and especially after nightfall, out on the Fens," said Lord Stanley. "That person is none other than Lord Darvill, and he is now wanted by the authorities for questioning on the matter." "That scoundrel Darvill!" exclaimed Lady Stanley. "But why do the militia not march up to Darvill House and arrest the man?"

"He is not at the house," replied Lord Stanley with asperity. "Lord Darvill, in fact, cannot be traced at all."

9 A score of questions, accusations, and denials sprang to Mariella's lips, but in the present company she was powerless to utter any of them. Who had seen Lord Darvill out on the Fens? And why should it be assumed that his presence in that strange, watery wilderness denoted sinister activities with the three French spies? Why, wondered Mariella, were people always so eager to jump to conclusions about Lord Darvill? They assumed, although there was no evidence to prove it, that he had shot his father. And now they were assuming that he was collaborating with the enemy. This Mariella knew to be impossible. From her conversations with the Earl she believed him to be a staunch patriot, a man who had travelled widely, had seen much, but who had come home to England, recognising her as the country above all others. Lady Stanley turned to her hostess and declared, "Did I not advise you, Lady Henlow, to remove from this house at the earliest opportunity? Oh, to think that you are residing in a property owned by a traitor to our country. My blood runs cold at the thought." Aunt Emilia was looking extremely shaken. "Who was it who so frequently observed Lord Darvill out on the Fens?" she asked. "Sir James Linton," answered Lord Stanley, pulling the bell and requesting the footman to bring in some brandy. "But what was this man Linton doing out on the Fens himself?" queried Lady Stanley. "From what I have observed of the Fens, they are an extremely inhospitable place. Is Linton's evidence reliable?" "I believe so," nodded Lord Stanley. "We have dined together and he seemed a quiet, reliable sort of fellow. Not one given to spreading false, malicious rumours. He has an interest in old churches, and it was this that took him out into the countryside at unsociable times of the night."

Mariella was consumed by suspicion. If Sir James Linton was also frequently out on the Fens, why was no one connecting him with the three French spies? Why did the accusing public finger always point at Lord Darvill? Lady Henlow seemed of the same frame of mind. "Presumably, Sir James can furnish dates and times of these mysterious sightings of the Earl on the Fens?" "Unfortunately not," frowned Lord Stanley. "Having informed Lords Melton and Egremont of his suspicions, Sir James has now removed from Lynn to continue his church researches elsewhere. Regrettably, the landlord at the Vine Inn failed to secure a forwarding address for Linton." Aunt Emilia's eyebrows rose. "But how very strange for the man to disappear into the blue like this, just at such a crucial moment. Were I the authorities, I should want to question Sir James further on the matter." Lord Stanley sipped his brandy, and said testily, "I assure you, there is no question of any guilt being directed at Sir James. I pride myself on being an excellent judge of character and although I confess I could never understand why Linton wanted to spend his time sitting in old churches in the dark, nevertheless, I estimate him to be a sound fellow." Mariella's thoughts flashed back to yesterday, when she had entered the Red Mount chapel and heard Lord Darvill shout, Have I not given you warning enough? Or will you force me to take steps to ensure that you stay out of my sightl Then, on recognising her, he had apologised, saying he had heard the door open and imagined her to be someone else — someone who was here a few minutes ago and with whom, I confess, I crossed swords quite sharply. At the time, Mariella had jumped to the conclusion that Lord Darvill was referring to a recent quarrel with Clara Melton. But now she was convinced that the Earl's protagonist had been none other than Sir James Linton. What had passed between the two men? Something of a serious nature, evidently, to judge by Lord Darvill's furious reaction when he imagined Sir James to be returning to the chapel. Oh, thought Mariella with a wry smile, had I been but ten minutes earlier arriving at the Red Mount, I should have heard all that passed between them. I might have been in a position now to present proof that it is Sir James, and not Lord Darvill who is guilty of treason! "Trust Darvill to do the cowardly thing and run away when he's wanted for questioning," declared Lord Stanley.

"It does seem to point to his guilt," agreed Lady Stanley, waving an arm as an indication that she required her son to assist her to her feet. "I take it that all is satisfactorily arranged with Lady Melton, George?" "Indeed yes. She is greatly looking forward to receiving you at Melton Hall." "Then kindly accompany me there in the carriage. If I do not have some rest soon I fear my bones will never stop aching." Once they had gone, Mariella turned to her aunt, eager to discuss in less inhibited company the latest dramatic event concerning Lord Darvill. But Lady Henlow, still white faced, was sitting slumped in her chair. Concerned, Mariella ran to her side. "My dear aunt! Whatever is wrong? Are you ill . . . in pain?" Lady Henlow smiled, and took her hand. "No, no, child. I am merely suffering from what you might uncharitably describe as a surfeit of Lady Stanley. If you will excuse me, I shall not join you for dinner. I shall ask Mrs Gordon to have some supper sent up to me later on a tray." "Would you like me to sit with you for a while?" asked Mariella gently. "Can I fetch you some cologne or a cold compress for your head?" "You are very kind, my dear, but all I need is a little peace and some rest. Then I shall be as fit as a fiddle tomorrow, I promise you." As the doors closed behind her aunt, Mariella sat alone in the flickering firelight, her mind in a whirl over the events of the past two days. So much had happened. Her long talk with Lord Darvill, and his proposal in the snowy Walk near the Red Mount . . . the extraordinary arrival of Lady Stanley and the sudden plans for Mariella's wedding next Friday . . . and now Lord Darvill was wanted for questioning in connection with the three captured French spies. Never let anyone say, she thought wryly, that life in this English market town is ever dull! ★ ★*★ Nor could the days that followed Lady Stanley's arrival in Lynn be described as tedious, as the White House, and Mariella in particular, were plunged into a whirl of activity for the wedding. The beautiful white velvet wedding dress was

carefully unpacked, and the final fittings were arranged. Lynn's most skilful dressmaker and embroiderer were summoned to the White House for frightening interviews with the demanding Lady Stanley, who called every day to ensure that all the preparations were running smoothly. She also supervised the invitation list and Lady Henlow's powers of diplomacy were strained to the limit when she discovered that a distinguished member of the Lynn elite — Lady Sewel — had been omitted from the list because of a twenty-year feud with Lady Stanley. Finally, Lady Henlow won the day over the matter, but Lady Stanley sought revenge by insisting that Lady Sewel be placed behind an obscuring pillar in the church. Mariella saw little of her fiance at this time. When he had collected his mother each day, and escorted her from Melton Hall to the White House, Lord Stanley then took refuge with Lord Egremont at his club. Never one to tolerate easily the presence of many women, he found the additional "female twittering", as he put it, of discussions about the wedding quite unbearable. Lord Egremont, although understanding, was nevertheless openly amused at Lord Stanley's attitude. As they sat together over a game of backgammon in the safe, masculine environs of Stowe's, Lord Egremont remarked, "Sometimes, Stanley, it occurs to me that you're the sort of fellow who should remain a bachelor all his life. Personally, I rather enjoy the company of the ladies." "I can bear it when they confine themselves to the drawing room," said Lord Stanley, leaning back in the deep leather armchair. "But when they roam all round the house, discussing trivia about dresses and whether waists are up or down this season, I lose patience with them. There's no peace with women around." "I hope for your sake then, that your future wife does not bear you a family of daughters," laughed Lord Egremont. "For there will surely be no peace for you then!" Lord Stanley dimly remembered hearing exactly the same remark from Lady Henlow. It appalled him that Egremont could display the same illogicality of thought as his fiancee's soft-headed aunt. Naturally, Mariella would bear him fine, healthy sons. Apart from all other considerations, reflected Lord Stanley, with a daughter there was the necessity of ensuring that she made a good match . . . and then there was the additional disorganisation upon the household caused by all her wedding preparations. Bad enough suffering it all for

one's own wedding, thought Mariella's fiance, enduring it time and again for one's daughters.

without

Lord Egremont said, "You're a dashed lucky fellow to be marrying the beautiful Miss Ward. You'll be the most envied man in the county at your wedding, of that you can be certain." "Mariella is certainly everything I have ever desired in a wife," agreed Lord Stanley. "I have known her family, of course, for many years, and I confess I find her dependency upon me most touching. It is a great responsibility too, of course. One is so conscious of the need to protect her from all the harsh realities of life." Lord Egremont looked sceptical. "Mmm. Fine sentiments, Stanley. But how, in time, do you intend to protect her from one of the greatest realities a woman has ever to face?" "Just what are you blethering about, Egremont?" "Her confinement," said Lord Egremont equably. "You can hardly bear her children for her." Lord Stanley downed his port in one gulp, and immediately despatched a footman to fetch him another. "Dash me, Egremont! I escape from that infernal house to get away from all this female talk, and now here in my own club I find you talking like a cod-eyed midwife!" "It was just a recent conversation I had that suddenly came to mind," replied Lord Egremont, quietly moving his backgammon pieces to an impregnable winning position under cover of Lord Stanley's outrage. "We were discussing the advisability of keeping women over-sheltered and protected. The man I was in conversation with remarked tha this was not always a good thing, for in times gone by, when we went off to the wars, it was the gentle sex who stayed behind to protect our castles against invaders." "I do not live in a castle," said Lord Stanley heavily. "I have a house, in London, and the only threat of invasion is when a tile blows off the roof and the rain gets in." But Lord Egremont, mellow after a great deal of port, and his winning move at backgammon, was not to be halted. "No, the point being made was that surely it is unwise to protect women to such an extent that when they are faced with the reality of child bearing, or a distressing event like the death of a loved one, they fall to pieces because they have not been given the benefit of our training in enduring — "

Angrily, Lord Stanley brushed the backgammon pieces to the carpeted floor. "Just who has been filling your mind with such nonsense, Egremont?" "Ah," said Lord Egremont uneasily, "well I must confess that this conversation arose during a discussion with Lord Darvill." "Darvill!" exploded Lord Stanley. "That bounder! How dare you sit here and parrot the opinions of a man is not only a murderer, but shortly to be tried for treason as well." "When, and if he is caught," Lord Egremont reminded him, "I take it there is still no sign of the scoundrel?" Lord Stanley shook his head. "The authorities are convinced that he is still somewhere in Lynn. With the roads impassable out of the county, he cannot have run far." "Mmm. And yet Sir James Linton, too, appears to have disappeared without trace. Strange that two men should be capable of vanishing, both at the same time, in such a small town as Lynn. One would have thought that someone, somewhere would have caught sight or sound of them." Lord Egremont shrugged. "Perhaps Darvill and Sir James are in league." Lord Stanley was beginning to feel extremely irritated with Lord Egremont. Lord Stanley was accustomed to others agreeing with, and endorsing his own opinions. He did not take kindly to those who seemed intent on being argumentative. In truth, Lord Stanley was feeling most uneasy about Sir James Linton's disappearance, and the matter of Darvill's involvement with the three French spies. Once the lines of communication with London were restored again, Lord Stanley feared that the matter of the spies might become a national scandal. Questions would be asked in the House. And answers would be expected. Lord Stanley, as a senior member of the House of Lords would be called upon to give his account of the mysterious events in Lynn this January. And if it transpired that Sir James Linton, far from being the good fellow they had all taken him for, was in fact actively involved with the French spies, then Lord Stanley would find himself in a very difficult position indeed. Sir James had dined with him both at the White House and at his club. And on the day of the Frost Fair, Lord Stanley clearly remembered Sir James seeking him out on the river bank, and engaging him in what had at the time seemed a most stimulating discussion about the possibility of a French invasion, and the steps England was taking to counter such an event.

Lord Stanley's blood ran cold as he recalled how unguarded he had been when talking of military matters with Sir James. Having the ear of many important people in London, Lord Stanley was naturally privy to certain secret military intelligence. Frantically, he searched his mind, trying to recall exactly what he had told Sir James. No hard facts, certainly. Lord Stanley was too careful for that. But had Sir James been able to read between the lines, and gauge more than Lord Stanley realised about England's defences against the French? No, decided Lord Stanley, a scapegoat must be found. And what better candidate for the role than Lord Darvill? Because of the rumours surrounding his father's death, an air of suspicion already hung around Darvill. And from Lord Stanley's point of view, all Lynn would testify to the fact that right from the moment when he had first set eyes on the bounder, at the White House, he had felt that the man was a thorough rogue. Additionally, reasoned Lord Stanley, there was the fact that Darvill had been seen out on the Fens, at a time of year when no right-minded person would set foot there. And, most damningly of all, there was the matter of Darvill's sudden disappearance. That, above all else, must provide strong proof of the blackguard's guilt in the matter of the three French spies. Yes, reflected Lord Stanley, Darvill must without doubt be pinpointed as the guilty man. He must be found. And soon. Restlessly he turned to Lord Egremont. "What is being done to discover the whereabouts of Darvill? Has a house to house search been instigated in Lynn?" "Naturally, that is the most obvious solution," said Lord Egremont, moving his leg to allow a footman to retrieve the scattered backgammon pieces. "But at the moment, the matter of the spies is one of great delicacy. Lord Melton feels, and I agree, that for the moment the affair should be contained within the elite of Lynn. If we organise a house to house search for Darvill, every common peasant in Norfolk will get to hear of the matter. And although communications to outside counties are difficult, word is bound to filter through to London. This would cause great alarm in the capital, and I have no doubt that the Prince Regent would personally send his aides to conduct a thorough investigation. Lord Stanley shuddered. In view of his fears over Sir James Linton, intervention at this juncture from London was the last thing he wanted. That, on top of all the fury of

arrangements unbearable.

for

his

wedding

would

make

life

totally

He closed his eyes and concentrated his thoughts. If I were Darvill, he wondered, where would I go? Where would I hide? It is merely a matter of application, decided Lord Stanley. If I think long enough and hard enough, I shall track the scoundrel down. The question of Lord Darvill's disappearance was much on Mariella's mind, too. At first, when she had learned that he had vanished, she had assumed that his absence would be merely temporary — that he was involved in business on the far reaches of his estate and had not realised that the authorities wished to speak to him. But as the days passed without sight or word from him, her anxieties deepened. Why had he chosen to disappear at such a time as this? Not for a moment did Mariella believe him to be involved with the French spies. The notion was absurd. Yet to vanish now obviously increased suspicions in people's minds — suspicious which could be instantly banished if only Lord Darvill were here to answer the preposterous accusations against him. Once more Mariella felt herself to be in isolation. Her Aunt Emilia flatly refused to discuss the matter, saying she had quite enough to worry about with the arrangements for the forthcoming wedding. And Lord Stanley and his mother were so antagonistic towards Lord Darvill that the mere mention of his name was sufficient to send them both into towering rages. As Friday — her wedding day — approached, Mariella grew more and more melancholy. As if in a dream she had attended fittings for her gown, bought items for her trousseau, written the invitations, and listened to George instructing the St. Margaret's church organist on his choice of music for the service. With the snow still piled up hard and white along all the avenues and streets of Lynn, it seemed to Mariella that she was still living in an unreal world, a world where she remained unthreatened by reality. But as she went to bed on her wedding eve, she acknowledged at last that she could pretend to herself no longer. Brushing her long golden hair, she admitted that she was wretchedly, desperately unhappy. She, who should be filled with excited expectation, was sitting before her glass unable to meet her eyes in the reflection for fear of the misery she would see there. Tomorrow she would be a bride, and walk back down the aisle on the arm of one the wealthiest men in England. And

then, weather permitting, they would be returning to London, where she would be feted in her new position as one of the capital's social elite. Without doubt, a glittering future lay ahead of her. A safe future. Between them, Lord Stanley and his mother would give her guidance on what to wear, what to think, how to act and how to run her household. Nothing would be unpredictable, or left to chance. Angrily, Mariella flung down her hairbrush. Why, oh why, she stormed to herself, has Lord Darvill disappeared without contacting me? Surely he must realise my need to talk to him again, to be reassured of his love for me and his desire to marry me? Oh yes, he said the choice was mine, and that I must come to him once I had made up my mind. But that was before the arrival of Lady Stanley, before we realised that my wedding to George was so imminent. Surely, if Lord Darvill is still in Lynn, he must have heard that the wedding is to take place tomorrow? Everyone in Lynn, from the highest born to the lowest, knows about my wedding. Why, then, if he truly loves me, has he not taken steps to ensure that I do not reach St Margaret's tomorrow? If he really loved me, would he still permit me to marry another man, a man who he has declared in the strongest terms to be unsuitable for me? And now he has disappeared, making it impossible for me to contact him. I am left here, helpless and in such a quandary. For yes, I admit, I feel miserable at the notion of marrying George. There is no passion between us, no true love, and never will be. And all the material advantages in the world can never make up for that. But what am I to do, wondered Mariella desperately. I have not the courage to go alone to George, and tell him I cannot marry him. He would point out — and he would be right — that I am casting aside not only his protection, but a sound financial future too. I am an orphan, with no money of my own. I cannot, I dare not cast George aside without first talking to Lord Darvill and reassuring myself that he meant all he said that day in the Walk by the Red Mount. Mariella still was not capable of deciding whether or not she loved Lord Darvill. All she knew was that every inch of her burned for him — for the touch of his hands on her shoulders, his mouth upon hers, the sound of his voice, the feeling of passionate recognition which swept over her whenever she was in his presence. He would haunt her, she knew it, for the rest of her days. Yes, she would marry George and return with him to London. As a member of the respected Stanley family, she would be drawn into a glittering social whirl. But there would be times, especially when the snow

lay thick and white upon the ground, casting an enchanted brilliance upon the world, when she would seek only her own company. And walking through the snow, under the frost-spangled trees of London, she would think on this time in Lynn and mourn the man who had told her he loved her, but who had not come back to claim her. She gave herself a little shake, then, and slid into bed. You are marrying Lord George Stanley at St Margaret's church at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon, she reminded herself. The eyes of all Lynn will be upon you and if you do not fall asleep soon you will make a hollow-eyed, drawn and extremely un-radiant bride. It felt hot in her chamber, and she knew she was feverish. Nevertheless, after tossing and turning for a while, Mariella soon fell into a deep slumber. It had, after all, been an exhausting week for her, and her body was claiming the rest it knew it desperately needed. She was awoken as dawn was breaking by a tremendous crash. Instantly awake, she felt not frightened, but full of joyous anticipation. It was Lord Darvill, she knew it, hammering at the door to sweep her away with him! He had learned that Lord Stanley, as was proper, was spending the night before his wedding away from the White House, residing with Lord Egremont. With George absent from the house, they would be saved the necessity of an ugly scene, with Mariella being pulled first one way and then the other as the two men vented their fury on one another. Pulling on her wrap, Mariella ran to her bedchamber door, her heart singing he has come, he has come! The house, as was to be expected, was suddenly alive with activity, servants rushing about below, and voices raised in alarm. Mariella alone felt perfectly calm. She stood quietly at the top of the stairs, and as the housekeeper hurried up towards her, Mariella's lovely face was serene, as she waited to be informed that Lord Darvill demanded her presence downstairs. Mrs Gordon always a conscientiously early-riser, was fully dressed. Smiling reassuringly, she hurried up to the girl standing with the glorious golden tresses lying free across her shoulders, and said, "My, what a thing to happen on your wedding morn, Miss Ward! But I assure you, there is no cause for alarm." This was not the reaction Mariella expected at all. She would have anticipated that the entire household would be in disarray at the sight of Lord Darvill kicking down the

front door. She said tentatively, "The noise, Mrs Gordon. I was awoken by an enormous crash. . ." "I confess, when I heard the noise I imagined that the French had invaded and were firing cannon at the house," admitted Mrs Gordon. "But then one of the stable boys told me that it was just the snow melting, and falling off the roof." "The. . . the snow?" said Mariella faintly. Mrs Gordon placed a motherly arm around the girl's shoulders, and led her back to her bedchamber. "Bless you, my dear. You have been so immersed in all the exciting preparations for your wedding that you have not noticed that the thaw has set in. There was a great deal of snow upon the roof, you know, and when it melts and slides off it sounds as if the entire house is falling down!" Mariella felt faint with disappointment. "Are you sure, Mrs Gordon, that it was just the snow? For a moment I imagined that there might be someone banging at the door." "Anyone attempting to do any such thing would I fear have been caught in a deluge of snow from the roof," said Mrs Gordon lightly. "But the servants are outside now, clearing the snow away from the house, and I assure you that if by chance there had been a caller, they would have notified me of the fact." She saw Mariella back into her room, and then hurried away downstairs. Strange the fancies that affect young girls on their wedding morns, thought Mrs Gordon nostalgically. Why whoever could Miss Ward have imagined to be calling here, when dawn has only just broken over Lynn? Mariella stood at her window, watching the servants shovelling the heaps of slush away from the house. The snow was no longer a pristine white, but mucky now, and beginning to melt into puddles of dirty water. He has not come, she thought dully. And she knew now, for sure, that he never would. Their enchanted white landscape had gone, and with it had melted the promise of all they might have been to one another. "Goodbye," whispered Mariella. "Goodbye, Lord Darvill, wherever you are. God keep you, and save you. And although we shall never meet again I hope sometimes, when Lynn is laced with snowflakes, that you will think of me — as I shall be thinking of you."

With a heavy heart, she returned to bed. When the maid came to draw her curtains at eleven o'clock, the sunlight streamed into the room. "What a beautiful day for your wedding, Miss Ward!" exclaimed the maid. "Yes," said Mariella gravely. "It is a long time since we have felt such a warm sun." The little maid ran back to the kitchen and reported, "Miss Ward is looking lovelier than ever this morning. And so serene she is! I'm sure if it were my wedding day I'd be leaping about the place, quite unable to contain my excitement!" "That just shows the difference between you and Miss Ward," said Cook knowingly. "Of course a lady of quality like Miss Ward wouldn't go shrieking round the house on her wedding morn. Ladies like her are at all times tranquil and restrained." "Something you could do with a touch more of," put in Mrs Gordon, lightly slapping the maid's hand as it stretched out for one of the cream filled fancies lying on Cook's marble slab. Mariella would hardly have described herself as serene. Serenity indicated a measure of contentment and she hardly felt that. No, her mood was one of quiet acceptance. The decision over whom she should marry had been taken — or rather, made for her. And in a sense, it was a relief that some decision had been arrived at and that she would no longer torture herself day and night, with her agony of self doubt. She breakfasted alone in her room, and then Aunt Emilia and the little maid came in to help her dress. Lady Henlow, in a delightful shade of lavender blue, seemed to Mariella to be looking rather tired, but when she questioned her aunt about her health, the older women smiled and said that if she was looking pale it was merely the excitement of the day. And then Mariella was fully dressed, ready for her wedding. The white velvet gown fitted to perfection, sweeping down into a full skirt which was delicately embroidered at the hem. Gazing at herself in the mirror, Mariella felt unreal, as if tomorrow she would wake up and find that what she was experiencing now was all an incredible dream.

But the arrival of Lady Stanley and Lord Melton was clearly no dream. Lady Stanley's querulous tones floated up: ". . .just a short distance from Melton Hall, but what an appalling journey through all the slush. I fear, Lady Henlow, that the change of air here in Lynn is seriously affecting my less than robust constitution. A drop in temperature often makes for an impure atmosphere, with chills and agues as the inevitable result. . ." Slowly, Mariella descended the stairs to the drawing room. It had been arranged that she would travel to the church in the company of Ladies Stanley and Henlow, escorted by Lord Melton. Lord Stanley, accompanied by Lord Egremont, would travel separately to St. Margaret's. Indeed, thought Mariella, George must at this very moment be at the church, waiting for me. A smile touched her lips as she wondered whether he was anxious, worrying in case she would arrive late. Lord Melton came forward and took the bride's hands. "My, how enchanting you look, my dear. Quite the loveliest bride I have seen in years." Lady Stanley nodded. "You are a great credit to us, Mariella." She frowned. "I do hope the organist was paying proper attention when I spoke to him yesterday. I gave him clear instructions that when you walk back up the aisle, he is to play at a stately, measured pace and not rush. There's nothing worse than wedding processions being stampeded into an unseemly gallop because the fool of an organist — " She broke off as a loud commotion was heard in the hall. Then Lord George Stanley, dressed in his wedding clothes, stormed into the drawing room. "George!" exclaimed Lady Stanley angrily. "What are you doing here? We were just about to leave for the church." "And besides," quavered Lady Henlow. "it is unlucky for a bridegroom to see his bride before they meet at the altar on the day of the wedding." Lord George gazed round at them all and then declared grimly, "There will be no wedding at St. Margaret's this day!"

10

The blood drained from Mariella's face as, numb with shock, she stared into her fiance's accusing brown eyes. Lord Stanley did not merely sound disappointed; there was bitterness, too, in his tone. He has found out, thought Mariella frantically. He has discovered that Lord Darvill has been paying attention to me. George knows that Lord Darvill kissed me in the Walk by the Red Mount and such is his sense of betrayal that he had cancelled our wedding plans! Now Mariella experienced a strange conflict of emotions. On the one hand, there was relief that the wedding was not to take place. But on the other, was a wave of sick terror about her future. George, she knew, was an uncompromising man. Having found her guilty of dallying with another man, he would not only cast her aside without mercy, but he and his mother would most surely take it upon themselves conscientiously to inform all London of Mariella's scandalous behaviour in Lynn. Her reputation would be besmirched and there would be little chance of any other respectable man asking her to be his wife. Mariella raised a hand to her throbbing head, and swayed dangerously before the fire. Instantly, Lady Henlow was at her side, drawing her onto the sofa and exclaiming, "Poor Mariella! Why, she is as white as her wedding gown! Such a shock for the girl. Such a dreadful shock!" Lord Melton commented in a reproving tone, "Somewhat tactless of you to break the news so badly, Stanley." "And you have yet to explain, George," said Lady Stanley imperiously, "the meaning of your dramatic announcement. Just why, pray is the wedding not to take place?" Mariella sat with downcast eyes, unable to look at George. Why, or why, she thought, did I allow myself to be taken in by Lord Darvill? He flattered me, charmed me, told me he loved me, and then callously abandoned me. And I, foolish girl, was so much in his thrall that I allowed myself to jeopardise the secure future which George offered me. Just seven days ago, I was in torment at the prospect of being obliged to decide between two men. Now I have lost both of them and the years ahead look bleak indeed. "I beg your pardon for not relaying my intelligence to you in a less direct fashion," said Lord George ponderously, "but the sight which confronted me at St Margaret's church put me into a state of extreme agitation."

"What sight, man?" demanded Lord Melton. "I arrived at the church for my wedding," Lord Stanley informed them grimly, "and found St. Margaret's under two feet of water!" "You mean that it is flooded!" exlaimed Lady Stanley. "And on this of all days. How extremely inconvenient!" From Lady Stanley's tone, it was evident that given the opportunity, she would have words with the Almighty personally on the subject. Lord Melton smacked his hand against his breeched thigh. "Dash me. Why did it not occur to me as soon as this thaw set in? Melton Hall, and you here in the White House are on higher ground, but St. Margaret's is low lying and has frequently been flooded in the past." "That is so," nodded Lady Henlow, "I remember it happening when I lived in Lynn as a child, and of course the church took days to dry out properly." "Not just the church, but all the surrounding houses as well," remarked Lord Melton. "Being flooded out is the most distressing experience for people. It's not just the drying out and mopping up, but everything within the flooded house smells musty for a long time afterwards." Mariella, with the colour returning to her face now that the true reason for the postponement of the wedding had been revealed, suddenly noticed her aunt's stricken expression. "Aunt Emilia! Are you unwell? Shall I ring for some brandy?" For a moment, Lady Henlow seemed unable to speak. Distraught and restless, she fluttered about the drawing room, and then stammered as she rushed to the door, "Nanny Phipps! She lives in Priory Lane just by St Margaret's. If the church is flooded, then poor Nanny will have her house under water as well. I must go to her and offer her assistance!" "I will accompany you," offered Lord Melton. "There will be many in the same plight and of course it is our duty to assist the townsfolk in their hour of need." When Lord Melton had departed with Lady Henlow, Lady Stanley informed her son, "You will kindly drive me back to Melton Hall, George. I assume that you have already stationed Lord Egremont at the church to advise arriving guests of the postponement of the wedding?"

Lord Stanley nodded his assent. "I will gladly accompany you, Mama, but I am concerned about leaving Mariella on her own at such a distressing time." "Mariella had best take off her gown and go to bed," instructed Lady Stanley, "and in the meanwhile I shall make alternative arrangements so that your wedding may take place in the near future. Come now, George. I confess, I am extremely wearied by the day and if I do not rest soon then I fear that my delicate constitution will suffer a severe setback." Mariella was, in truth, glad to be left alone for a while. Taking Lady Stanley's brusque advice, she slipped out of the wedding gown and lay down on her bed, listening to the drop of melting snow from the rooves and trees of the town. She felt anxious about Nanny Phipps, and was glad that Lady Henlow and Lord Melton had gone to help the old lady who, Mariella realised, must be feeling extremely frightened if the water was lapping through her little house. Mariella dozed for a while, and when she awoke it was to the sound of her aunt lighting the lamp in her bedchamber. A tray had been laid beside the bed, set with soft-boiled brown eggs, thin slices of bread and butter and Cook's excellent almond tart. "We shall be dining late tonight," said Lady Henlow, drawing the curtains and coming to sit on Mariella's bed. "I have released all the servants from their household duties in order that they may help the victims of the flooding in the lower lying areas of the town." Mariella was hungry and tucked with relish into the food so thoughtfully provided by her aunt. "How is Nanny Phipps?" she enquired. "As I feared, her house is under water but it is too early to tell yet how much damage has been done to her furniture. But Nanny herself is showing great fortitude. When I arrived with Lord Melton we found her waiting calmly in an upstairs room, with her precious marmalade cat in her arms. Lord Melton instructed one of the fishermen to bring up a boat, and he rowed Nanny and the cat to the safety of higher ground." "But where will she live until her house has dried out?" asked Mariella.

Lady Henlow paused for a moment, and then replied, "She will be accommodated at Darvill House. Lord Darvill's steward brought a letter to Lord Melton. In it, Lord Darvill requests that all homeless victims of the flood be taken to reside at Darvill House until their own homes are habitable again." Mariella almost choked on the almond tart. "Lord Darvill! But where is he? Where did the message come from?" "The Steward at Darvill house has no notion," said Aunt Emilia. "The note was left at Darvill House by night, with written instructions from Lord Darvill that it should be passed without delay to Lord Melton." Mariella felt suddenly alive again. So Lord Darvill was still in the vicinity of Lynn! But where? How had he evaded capture for so long? She finished the almond tart and remarked, "How typical of Lord Darvill, with all his other troubles, to be so aware of the plight of the townsfolk during this dreadful flooding." "Yes indeed," said Lady Henlow absently, "I found it most touching that he talked not of his own problems, but was concerned only for those who suddenly found themselves homeless." The golden-haired girl stared at her. "He talked. . . Aunt Emilia, are you telling me that you have been in conversation with Lord Darvill . . . that you know where he is?" Lady Henlow flushed in the lamplight. "No, no, my dear. Of course not. You must have misheard. . ." But Mariella knew her aunt well enough to be aware that the agitated gestures, along with the tremble in the voice, indicated that she was not speaking the whole truth. Taking her aunt's hands, Mariella said urgently, hardly able to contain her excitement, "Aunt Emilia! You must tell me the truth. I shall be utterly discreet, I promise you! Please speak plain to me. Have you see Lord Darvill?" Lady Henlow hesitated. Then, with a deep sigh, she nodded her head. "Oh Mariella, I can't tell you what a strain it has been keeping this intelligence to myself! It will be such a relief to share the burden with you." Mariella waited while her aunt composed herself, and then went on. "Last week, just before it was announced that Lord Darvill was wanted for questioning with regard to the three French spies, I received an urgent message from Nanny Phipps,

asking me to call on her immediately. I was not surprised to find Lord Darvill sitting in her parlour, for I knew her to have a high regard for the Earl. But then the Earl told me that he had received advance intelligence that the authorities would soon be looking for him, and that it was necessary for him to go into hiding for a while." "So he has been at Nanny Phipps's all this while!" exclaimed Mariella. "My, no wonder you were concerned today when you learned that Priory Lane was flooded." Lady Henlow nodded. "Thankfully, the Earl had the foresight to insist that Nanny Phipps should inform me that she was hiding him at her house. If any emergency should occur, he said, he wanted to be sure for his own peace of mind that Nanny should not have to cope alone. He knew me to be discreet, so that was why I was told about the little conspiracy, right from the beginning." "But why did Lord Darvill have to go into hiding?" asked Mariella. "If he is innocent, as I believe him to be, why is it impossible for him to face the authorities, and answer their questions about the spying charge?" "Oh dear," said a flustered Aunt Emilia, "this is all highly confidential, Mariella. You must promise not to breathe a word of what I am about to tell you." "Of course I promise," whispered a wide-eyed Mariella. "Well," said Lady Henlow, "the Earl explained to me that the three French spies are not French at all. They are Englishmen, who have been trained in speech, appearance and mannerism to appear like Frenchmen. As you know, the government are worried that the French are about to renew hostilities against the English, and so the three spies are to be sent into France to try and gain important information about secret military preparations taking place there." Mariella looked perplexed. "But if they are English men, and not French spies, why is everyone in such a lather over them? And why is Lord Darvill wanted for questioning in connection with the matter?" "Because the men have been so well trained that the authorities in Lynn have not yet realised that they are English," replied Aunt Emilia. "They were, in fact, trained for this mission by Lord Darvill."

Now Mariella understood! Those mysterious trips to the wild Fenlands. . . his unexplained absences from home, when it had been assumed that he was involved in business to do with his estate. All the while, as the rest of Lynn indulged in winter sports, and heaped rumour upon rumour upon his head, Lord Darvill was engaged in important work for his country. Single-handed, and in dangerous conditions of utmost secrecy, he had trained three Englishmen to appear to be so genuinely French, that even now, even under interrogation from the authorities, no one had been able to penetrate their disguised nationality. It said a lot for the courage of the three men. But it also said a great deal for the man who had trained them to such a peak of perfection. She said thoughtfully, "How did it happen, then that the three supposedly French spies were discovered? Surely Lord Darvill would have been the only person in Lynn to be aware of their presence out on the Fens?" "That is so. Or was so for a long period of time, for as you know, few people from Lynn brave the desolate Fen- lands during the winter months. But one man did wander abroad there recently," said Aunt Emilia. "Sir James Linton!" exclaimed Mariella. "When it was assumed that the spies were French, I suspected Sir James of being the Englishman who was alleged to be passing them vital secrets. But now I see that it was different. On an expedition to view one of the Fenland churches, he must have caught sight or sound of the three men, talking French, in their hideaway cottage. And perhaps, on more than one occasion, he saw Lord Darvill in the same vicinity. Correctly, he connected the spies with Lord Darvill. But for the wrong reason." Lady Henlow moved across to the door, opened it, and glanced down the empty corridor. Then satisfied that their conversation was not being overheard, she returned to Mariella's bed and continued, "You were right about one thing, Mariella. Sir James Linton is not all he seems." "He. . . he is a criminial?" stammered Mariella. "No no," Aunt Emilia reassured her. "He is an agent employed by the government to keep watch on the activities of certain important towns outside London. Lynn, you see, although not a large place, is vital to the defence of the nation because it is a port. Sir James's task was to ensure that everything was running smoothly in Lynn so that if there was an invasion, the town would be prepared."

"So his interest in churches was entirely unfounded," breathed Mariella. "He certainly did not know as much about the subject as he pretended to," agreed Lady Henlow. "A fact which Lord Darvill speedily ascertained. He realised that Sir James was an undercover agent, and that his alleged interest in churches gave him the perfect excuse for wandering around the countryside at strange times of the day and night." The Red Mount, thought Mariella. That day when I entered the chapel unawares, Lord Darvill assumed me to be Sir James. Can it be that Sir James, wrongly suspecting Lord Darvill of treason with the three French-speaking men, had confronted him with his theories? Lord Darvill, unable to break his own cover by admitting the truth, had become angry at Sir James for his meddlesome interference. Sir James, piqued by Lord Darvill's lacerating tongue, had reported what he knew to the authorities who had then arrested the three "spies" and declared that Lord Darvill was wanted for questioning also. She said slowly, "I understand now. Lord Darvill has gone into hiding whilst he tries, quietly, to clear from the authorities' minds the cloud of suspicion that hangs over him." "That is so," said Aunt Emilia gravely. "For Lord Darvill to come out into the open and tell the truth about the mission of the three men would ruin months of hard work and preparation. What Lord Darvill has done is send a messenger speeding to London with instructions to speak to the Prince Regent personally. It is believed that Sir James has also made his way back to London. As soon as he is found, he will be interviewed by the Prince's aides, and I imagine, given a good dressing down for his bull-headed behaviour. And it is to be hoped that one of the Prince's aides will come personally to Lynn to clear Lord Darvill's name and allow the missions of the three men to go ahead in France. But of course, until the men are safely back in England, with their dangerous mission completed, only a handful of the most discreet people in Lynn will be allowed to know the truth about the spies, or of Lord Darvill's vital part in the whole affair." Mariella sat with her mind in a whirl as she digested all these surprising and exciting facts. That all this should have been happening right before her eyes, and yet she had been blind to it!

"But Lord Darvill!" she exclaimed. "He was hiding at Nanny Phipps's, but her house is now flooded. Where is he now to conceal himself?" Aunt Emilia was silent, concentrating on adjusting the wick of the lamp. "Come now, Aunt," said Mariella softly. "You must know where he is!" "I. . . well there was only one place where Lord Darvill could go in safety," said Aunt Emilia a trifle apologetically. "Clearly, with all the hustle and bustle around Priory Lane, with gangs of men helping people move from their waterlogged houses, it would be impossible for Lord Darvill to escape from Nanny Phipps's house unnoticed. So we decided that the best thing would be for him to hide here, in the dry cellar of the White House!" "He is here!" Mariella almost screamed. Lord Darvill was here, almost within touching distance! It took every ounce of her control not to leap from her bed and rush down to the cellar, to have him answer the questions that had tormented her so over the last week. But she forced herself to remain composed before her aunt. Lady Henlow was carrying burdens enough with all that she knew about Lord Darvill's whereabouts, and his involvement with the three spies. It would be too much to expect her also to share Mariella's secret about her conflict over whom she should marry. Then a thought struck her. "But Aunt Emilia. You said that Lord Darvill could not leave Priory Lane without being detected. How then, have you contrived to smuggle him into the cellar of the White House?" "There is a tunnel," said Lady Henlow in a matter-of-fact tone, "between the cottages in Priory Lane, and this house." Mariella smiled. She knew now why, during her own conversation with dear Nanny Phipps, the old lady had been so knowledgeable about the secret undergound passages that riddled Lynn. She must have been aware that underneath her very own house was a mysterious secret passage! "Of course, many of these tunnels came into being during the Civil War, so I have been told, when Lynn held out for the King against Cromwell and his men." "Nanny Phipps knew of the tunnel, of course," said Aunt Emilia, "and when Lord Darvill first went into hiding at her

house, it was agreed that if the house was searched, or there was any emergency, the tunnel to the White House would provide an excellent escape route." Aunt Emilia paused as she heard voices downstairs. "Ah, that is Lord Stanley returning. I must go to him and explain why dinner will be later this evening. I think it would be best if you remained here to rest, Mariella, after the strain of the day, so I shall suggest to Lord Stanley that it would be more comfortable for him if he dined at his club this evening." Left alone, Mariella leaped out of bed and restlessly whirled around the room. It seemed incredible, inconceivable that Lord Darvill was actually at this moment just three floors beneath her! And how extraordinary that there was an undergound tunnel linking Priory Lane with the White House. But how many people knew about it, wondered Mariella anxiously. There were many such passages in Lynn, the most celebrated being the tunnel from the Red Mount to the chapel at Castle Rising. Surely, if a full scale hunt were to be mounted for Lord Darvill, the underground passages of Lynn would be the obvious places for the men of the militia to search? Unless, of course, the men could be dissuaded from venturing underground because of the strange legends that were attached to the tunnels. Mariella remembered the story of the drunken fiddler who had never returned from his foray into the Red Mount tunnel. Could it be that Nanny Phipps had told many people in Lynn the story, deliberately embroidering its more sinister aspects, in order to make them fearful of exploring the tunnels in the search for Lord Darvill? The more Mariella considered the matter, the more intrigued she became by the whole conspiracy. How brave of Nanny Phipps and Aunt Emilia to shield Lord Darvill, especially in the face of all the dreadful rumours that abounded about him. Had the militia called at Priory Lane, Mariella could well imagine Nanny Phipps sitting in her cosy parlour, with the marmalade cat on her knee, confounding the militia with tales of her young days in Lynn, whilst meanwhile the man they sought was almost just a heartbeat away, in the next room! And then there was Aunt Emilia. How we have all misjudged her, realised Mariella. George has said to me often that her woolly-mindedness irritates him beyond words. Certainly, in many respects she gives the impression of being frail and somewhat helpless in the face of the practicalities of life. But this is not so at all! To imagine, that during this past week she had endured the arrival of Lady Stanley with all the attendant fuss; then the hectic preparations for the wedding. And all the while, she was in league with

Nanny Phipps, wondering minute by minute whether Lord Darvill was discovered. Surely, if he had been discovered in the Priory Lane cottage, the situation would have been grim indeed for Nanny and Aunt Emilia? Quite apart from the severe interrogation they would have undergone at the hands of militia, the uproar in the Stanley family would have been fearful to behold. Which is why, of course, it was impossible for Aunt Emilia to confide in me, mused Mariella. She chose to bear her secret alone, rather than risk implicating me in the wrath of my future husband's family. A wry smile touched Mariella's lips as she contemplated the irony of the situation. For the past week, both she and Aunt Emilia had been tormented by private conspiracies involving the same man. But such was our natural instinct to protect the other, that each of us kept resolutely silent unwilling to place on the other's shoulders a burden that would be difficult to bear in continued silence. But the most courageous of them all, of course, was Lord Darvill. For how long, Mariella wondered, had he been venturing out into the cold, inhospitable Fenlands in order to train the three spies? What he had achieved was no mean feat. First, to train the men to speak French like natives, without a telltale trace of an English accent. And then to inculcate them into the singular flavour of France, so that in gesture, appearance, mannerism they were to all intents and purposes French rather than English. He would have had to teach them not just to speak as Frenchmen, but to think as Frenchmen also. And all this had to be completed not just under a shroud of secrecy, but in the depths of winter, when they had probably even been fearful of lighting a warming fire in their hideaway in case the smoke was observed by prying eyes. Not only that, thought Mariella, but whilst Lord Darvill was performing this vital service to his country, many of his compatriots in Lynn were casting terrible aspersions upon his character, blackening his name and delighting in every opportunity to fuel the flames of the intrigue that surrounded him following his father's death. How tempting it must have been, on many many occasions, for Lord Darvill to attempt once and for all to douse the rumours by hinting at the work he had been chosen to do for his country. The task of training the three men was not one which anyone could perform. It requires certain, very special qualities. Obviously, the man concerned must be well travelled, and familiar with every aspect of France. He must also be an inspirational figure, a born leader of men, capable of instilling in his pupils the confidence and the will to

learn. He would need boundless patience, too, for people learn at different speeds, sometimes needing gentle encouragement and at other times a sharp poke in the back! Mariella smiled as she remembered how Lord Darvill had taught her to skate, giving her confidence when she needed it, but then quietly encouraging her to strike out on her own. But most of all, of course, the man chosen for this mission would need to be a person of unimpeachable discretion, someone who could be relied upon not to reveal the secret under any circumstance whatsoever — whether it be under the influence of drink, or the threat of interrogation and torture. Orders had come from the highest in the land to find such a man. And the man they had chosen for the task was Lord Darvill. Mariella experienced a rush of pride and admiration as she thought of the handsome, dark-haired Earl. The same man who had held her in his arms, and told her he loved her and wanted her to marry him! And yet, and yet, there still remained the vital unanswered question. Lord Darvill must have known that her wedding was arranged this day, at St. Margaret's. Why then, oh why, had he made no move to prevent her from arriving at the church? If he truly loved me, Mariella told herself for the hundredth time, he would have moved heaven and earth to stop the wedding. Just a word, a brief note relayed by Aunt Emilia would have been sufficient. Oh, how much that would have meant to me! All my doubts and fears would have been resolved. But he said nothing. He made no move. And the plain fact is, that the reason I am not now titled Lady Stanley is not because of any intervention by Lord Darvill, but simply because the thaw came and the church was flooded. Even Lord Darvill, brilliantly ingenious though he is, could not have ordained such a timely thaw and flood! Mariella burned with impatience. I must speak to him, she decided. As he is so near, within the very walls of this house, I should never forgive myself if I let the opportunity slip to converse with him, and discover once and for all the truth of his feelings for me. To be sure, if I do not, then I shall berate myself for the rest of my days. I must know. And only he can tell me. The bedchamber door opened to admit Lady Henlow. "Lord Stanley has departed for his club," she declared. "He informed me that his mother is not at all well after the dramatic events of the day and he will be calling on her at Melton Hall tomorrow to enquire whether she requires the attendance of a physician."

Mariella listened attentively to her aunt's words. Twenty four hours ago, she would have taken at face value Aunt Emilia's urging of Lord Stanley to dine at his club "because you will be more comfortable there." Now, however, Mariella was beginning to appreciate Lady Henlow's tactful way of arranging matters to suit herself. Clearly, she wanted Lord Stanley and the servants out of the way tonight in order that she might install Lord Darvill safely in the cellar, and make him as comfortable as possible. Still fired with her resolve to speak to Lord Darvill about the matter closest to her heart, Mariella said, "I appreciate that there is much to be done for our secret guest before the servants arrive back from helping with the flood damage. Naturally, I wish to do all I can to help you, Aunt. Shall I slip into the kitchen and prepare some food for Lord Darvill?" "That will not be necessary," replied Aunt Emilia firmly. "I wish you to stay here in your room, Mariella, and not involve yourself in any matters concerning Lord Darvill's presence under our roof. I am glad that I have told you about the matter, for now you will understand when I am absent at unexpected times attending to our guest and if any of the servants, or Lord Stanley appears to find anything amiss, you will be in a position to make the necessary excuses for me. But apart from that, I should prefer it if you would forget that I have ever spoken of the matter." "But Aunt!" cried a dismayed Mariella, "Of course I must help you. It is too much to expect you to harbour alone a man who is wanted by the authorities. The strain upon you will be too great. And I can be of good assistance to you. I can find reading matter for the Earl, to while away his solitary hours. And he is bound to become somewhat lonely spending all this time by himself. I would be only too happy to play backgammon with him or chess or — " "No!" insisted Lady Henlow, with a vehemence that took Mariella's breath away. "I will not have you involved, Mariella. It is too dangerous." "It is dangerous for you, too!" asserted Mariella. "Yes" said Aunt Emilia calmly. "But I am not engaged to be married to Lord Stanley. I am well aware, as is all Lynn, of the antipathy Lord Stanley feels towards Lord Darvill. And my conscience would not permit me to encourage you to enter into a conspiracy against your fiance — playing

backgammon with your fiance one minute, then slipping downstairs to consort with his sworn enemy the next." "But Aunt Emilia it would not be like that at all!" exclaimed Mariella wretchedly. "You do not understand!" "On the contrary. I understand only too well," said Aunt Emilia with considerable feeling. Then, as if reading her niece's mind, she went on, "I am the only person in the house with the keys to the cellar. And those keys will remain with me day and night. I give you fair warning, Mariella, if I so much as see you anywhere in the vicinity of the steps leading down to the cellar, I shall be very angry indeed!" Mariella's shoulders sagged. Who would have believed that Aunt Emilia could display such stubborn resolution? Nevertheless, as her aunt left the room, and Mariella sipped the warm drink she had brought, she resolved to defy Lady Henlow. I have no choice, reasoned Mareilla. My aunt, for the best of motives, has forbidden me to speak to Lord Darvill. But my aunt does not know the whole story. If she knew that Lord Darvill had declared his love for me that day at the Red Mount, and that I have been in a turmoil ever since, then she could not in all heart have imposed such cruel restrictions on me. She would understand how imperative it is for me to see the Earl. I have no choice. And sadly, I have no choice but to deceive my dear aunt. Tonight, when all the house is asleep, I shall enter Aunt Emilia's room and take the keys to the cellar. But Mariella was given no opportunity to do any such thing. For Aunt Emilia, who knew more than most people supposed about the determined nature of her niece, had taken the precaution of slipping a sleeping draught into her warm drink. When Lady Henlow had assured herself that Lord Darvill was comfortable in his secret hideaway, she made her way up to Mariella's room. Softly, she pushed open the door, and smiled as she saw that the golden-haired girl was sleeping soundly.

11 Nor was Mariella, over the next few days, allowed any opportunity to converse with the secret visitor at the White House. Lady Stanley, declaring herself to be overwrought to

the point of collapse, had retired to her bed at Melton Hall and Mariella's presence was requested there daily. Then when her duties at Melton Hall were completed, Lady Henlow suggested that it would be a kind gesture if Mariella offered her assistance to the flood victims. Although the thaw was complete now, and the water had begun to abate, there was still the dispiriting task of drying out homes and furnishings. Mariella, her heart touched by the desperate plight of the townsfolk, was a constant visitor to the flooded area, offering advice, assistance, food and warm drinks to all those who were struggling to make their homes habitable again. Returning wearily one afternoon to the White House Mariella was surprised as she entered the front door, to hear a great commotion upstairs. "Heavens, Mrs Gordon," she remarked to the housekeeper, "from the tramp of all those booted feet upstairs one would imagine that the French invasion has already begun!" Mrs Gordon managed a wan smile at Mariella's jest, but clearly she was extremely agitated. "It's the men from the militia, Miss Ward. They are under orders to carry out a thorough house to house search for Lord Darvill." Mariella paled, but realised that it was essential for her to retain her composure, lest the merest tinge of a blush should make Mrs Gordon — or worse, the men from the militia — suspicious. Sweeping offher bonnet, Mariella said carelessly, "There is no cause to alarm yourself, Mrs Gordon. The men will have completed their search in a few minutes and since, obviously, they will not find Lord Darvill hiding under any of the beds, they will soon be on their way to the next house." "I am not so sure of that, Miss Ward," murmured Mrs Gordon. Mariella went very still. Was the housekeeper hinting that she was aware of the secret visitor in the dry cellar? Had Aunt Emilia been careless, and let something slip? Mrs Gordon went on, "The captain told me that they'd been ordered to look in every room and every cupboard, even those which are locked. If no keys are available, they are to force the locks. Now Miss Ward, our cellar is kept locked at the moment and Lady Henlow has the keys. But she is away from the house and I am fearful of what she will say if she returns and discovers that I have allowed the militia to break down

the cellar door. I shall be held responsible for the damage. But in truth, I know of no way of stopping the men!" "It is essential that they should not be stopped!" declared Lord Stanley in ringing tones as he strode through the front door. Flinging his gloves down onto the hall table, he continued, "Naturally, there is no question of Darvill being found here. But it is important for the men of the militia to be observed conducting a thorough search of the house, in order that we may set an example to the rest of Lynn over this extremely serious matter. I myself persuaded Lord Melton that the hunt for Darvill must be brought out into the open. Since Darvill wrote that letter to Lord Melton, making it clear that he was aware of the flooding, it is obvious that the bounder is still within the city walls. And if a house to house search doesn't flush him out, then I don't know what will!" It took every ounce of Mariella's self control to prevent herself from visibly shivering with fright. Lord Darvill was trapped! If he heard the militia men breaking down the cellar door, his first instinct would be to escape along the tunnel leading back to Priory Lane. But Mariella had spent the afternoon down at Priory Lane and knew that every house there was teeming from top to bottom with helpers assisting in the mopping up and drying out operation. If Lord Darvill showed his face there, he would be speedily observed, identified and exposed. With Aunt Emilia away from the house, I am the only person who is aware of the acute danger Lord Darvill is in, she realised. I must act — and quickly! Thinking fast, and assuming an expression of wide eyed innocence, she turned to her fiance. "But George, I was under the impression that Lord Darvill has already been sighted, this very afternoon!" Lord Stanley seized her by the shoulder and demanded urgently, "What do you mean, Mariella? Are you telling me that you have yourself set eyes on the rogue?" "No, no, of course not. I have been occupied assisting the flood victims. It was merely that I overheard some of the men talking, and one of them mentioned that a man who fitted Lord Darvill's description had been observed boarding one of the boats in the dock." "Boarding a ship!" exclaimed Lord Stanley. "Dash me, that was one escape route which I had completely overlooked."

Mariella murmured guilelessly, "Those ships are bound for the Baltic, are they not? Oh dear. It would surely be an almost impossible task to trace Lord Darvill if he managed to escape to the lands of the north." She found she was addressing Lord Stanley's back as he bounded up the stairs calling to the captain of the militia to report to him immediately. Within minutes, to Mariella's heartfelt relief, the militia men had come clattering down the stairs and led by Lord Stanley were rushing away toward the dockland area of the town. Shortly afterwards, Lady Henlow arrived home and once the doors were closed upon them in the drawing room, Mariella told her of the danger Lord Darvill had been in. "God bless your presence of mind, my dear," said Lady Henlow. "So the danger is averted?" "Yes, Aunt, but for how long?" asked an agitated Mariella. "When Lord Darvill is not found on any of the ships in the dock, then the house to house search will begin again, and the militia men will be back here!" "No, I think not," said Lady Henlow thoughtfully. "Remember, there are hundreds and hundreds of houses in Lynn and the men know full well what an age it will take to search them all thoroughly. They will bother no more with the White House, especially as, with Lord Stanley so frequently here it would not be considered feasible for us to be habouring Lord Darvill." "But we should warn Lord Darvill. We should tell him what has happened," pressed Mariella. Aunt Emilia gave her a level look. "Later, when the household has retired for the night, I will speak to him and advise him of the day's events. But as for you, Mariella, I think it best that you put the matter right from your mind, and forget that Lord Darvill is in such close proximity." But Mariella could not forget. How could she? There was not a minute of the day when her thoughts did not turn to him. She feared for his safety. She was concerned about his well-being during these anxious days when he was forced to be a fugitive. And there were so many questions which she wanted to ask him, which only he could answer. She was determined that she would speak to him, despite her Aunt Emilia's equal determination not to give Mariella any opportunity to do so.

Mariella was a shrewd girl, and had soon realised that the warm drink which Lady Henlow brought her now each night contained a mild sleeping draught. Mariella felt no resentment against her aunt for this duplicity. No doubt I should do the same if I were in her position, thought Mariella. But Aunt Emilia is not in possession of all the facts. She believes that she is doing me, as the fiancee of Lord Stanley, a service in preventing me from meeting Lord Darvill whilst he is under the White House roof. In truth, of course, Aunt Emilia is causing me great heartache and turmoil. And as I cannot explain this to her, I must take matters into my own hands to ensure that I do not let slip the opportunity to ask Lord Darvill if his feelings for me have remained unchanged since that day at the Red Mount. That night, when Lady Henlow brought her the drink, Mariella waited until her aunt had left the room, and then she tipped the liquid into a bowl of flowers on her toilette table. She felt a little anxious about the flowers, hoping that the sleeping draught in the liquid would not make them wilt in a telltale fashion in the morning! Soon the house fell silent. Nevertheless, Mariella forced herself to curb her impatience, to allow her aunt time to fall into a deep slumber. Dear Aunt Emilia, thought Mariella. She must be exhausted after all the secret activity in which she has been involved over the past week. She imagined that she was coming home to Lynn to live a quiet, retired life — never dreaming that within a month of her arrival she would be plunged into an intrigue concerning the three spies and Lord Darvill which is of grave national importance! Softly, Mariella pulled open her bedchamber door and made her way down the corridor leading to her aunt's apartment. She shivered, and pulled her wrap tightly around her. The house felt cold but Mariella decided that it must be the excitement of the prospect of meeting Lord Darvill again which was causing her to tremble. Pausing at her aunt's door, she slowly turned the handle. The door, she knew, would not be locked for Lady Henlow was afraid of fire, and had declared it dangerous for people to lock themselves in bedrooms at night. She stepped into the room and pushed the door ajar behind her, lest the draught from the open door should wake her aunt. Mariella had not, of course dared to light a candle and she hoped that her aunt would have left the cellar keys on her bedside table. To be obliged to search the room in pitch darkness would be an almost impossible task.

Lightly, she moved to her aunt's bedside. Lady Henlow was sleeping soundly, with the curtains drawn tightly round the bed. Carefully, Mariella ran her hands over the bedside table, repressing a cry of triumph as they alighted on something cold and hard. The cellar key! A minute later, she was outside her aunt's room, her face alight with expectation. She lit a candle to guide her way, and then ran down the stairs, through the kitchens until she reached the short flight of steps that led to the cellar. Her heart was beating wildly. In just a few moments she would be face to face once more with Lord Darvill! How surprised he would be to see her. But he would understand, surely he would, how imperative it was for her to speak to him. In order not to alarm him, she knocked softly on the cellar door to indicate that it was a friend, rather than an enemy, who waited without. Then she inserted the key into the lock, turned it, and swung open the heavy door. Holding her candle aloft, she saw that Aunt Emilia had contrived to turn the cellar into a comfortable abode for Lord Darvill. A day bed, heaped with cushions and blankets was pushed up against one wall, and there was a table, chair and a heap of newspapers and current periodicals. But of Lord Darvill himself there was no sign. Mystified, Mariella advanced further into the room. "Lord Darvill!" she called softly. "It is I, Mariella!" Her words met only with silence. Mariella was beginning to feel a little afraid now. Was Lord Darvill playing a joke on her? Was he hiding there, somewhere in the darkness, amusing himself over her agitation and fear? "I — I must talk to you," she whispered hesitantly. "If you are here, please make yourself known to me!" She inched her way forward, expecting at every moment to feel his hand on her shoulder, his breath on her cheek. But at last, she was forced to recognise that Lord Darvill was not present. Mariella's fear fled, to be replaced with anger. What was happening? Surely Aunt Emilia could not have deceived her over the necessity to hide Lord Darvill within the White House? For a moment, it crossed Mariella's mind that Aunt Emilia might be playing a dangerous double game, convincing Mariella that Lord Darvill was taking refuge in the cellar, when meanwhile he was safely ensconced at another location.

She shook her golden head then, impatiently. No, such thoughts were fanciful and unwise. Clearly, Lord Darvill had been here. But now he had gone. No doubt Aunt Emilia had advised him of the militia's visit, and he had gallantly decided that he could not run the risk of incriminating Lady Henlow if he were discovered by the militia within her house. But where could he have gone, wondered Mariella anxiously. In the candlelight, her eye alighted on a small door which she guessed led to the tunnel joining the White House with Priory Lane. She could not resist swinging it open, and peering down into the gloom of the passageway. And as she gazed, her last hope faded. Lord Darvill was not there. All that the tunnel contained was darkness and spiders. Feeling crushed with disappointment, Mariella made her way back upstairs, and returned the key to her aunt's bedside. Back in her bedchamber, she gave her hair a hundred vigorous strokes in an attempt to relieve her sense of frustration. Suddenly, everything in the world seemed set to thwart her. She was angry at herself for not taking matters into her own hands days earlier and seeking out Lord Darvill then, the moment she received the intelligence that he was present in the White House. Now he had gone, and she had lost her chance! Desperately cold now, she threw herself into bed and drew the covers tightly around her. When she awoke the following morning, her first impression was one of great emptiness. For a moment, she could not imagine why. Then she remembered that Lord Darvill had gone — to a destination unknown. At least while he had been present in the house, even though Aunt Emilia had forbidden her to speak to him, Mariella had gained a sense of reassurance from his closeness. But now all she felt was a swamping, chilling loneliness. Later that morning, as she and Lady Henlow were enjoying a cup of hot chocolate together, Lord Stanley burst into the drawing room and banged the doors hard behind him. Lady Henlow raised her eyebrows in mild reproof at his abrupt entry, and enquired, "Is something amiss, Lord Stanley?" He warmed his hands before the fire and said grimly, "I have just heard that the authorities are no longer concerned to interview Lord Darvill about his involvement with those three French spies. The house to house search has been called off and Darvill is to be questioned no further on the matter."

"Indeed?" said Lady Henlow with a calmness much envied by Mariella. She herself felt filled with joy, which she was sure must be obvious on her face. Lord Stanley, however, was clearly too obsessed with the matter of Lord Darvill to notice the expression on anyone's face. Hurling a log to the back of the fire, he said furiously, "I am advised by Lord Melton that instructions were issued by none other than the Prince Regent himself that the matter of the spies was not to be made public and, in particular, that Darvill's name was not to be connected with them." "The Prince Regent!" exclaimed Lady Henlow. "My, how exciting. I had no notion that Lord Darvill was so highly thought of." Lord Stanley grunted. "Highly thought of? Indeed, Lady Henlow, I fear that our beloved Prince has been sadly misinformed about Darvill. Why, it is obvious to any of us here in King's Lynn that Darvill has been giving military secrets to the spies. But the Prince, of course, is a hundred miles distant and cannot be aware of all the true facts." "You are probably right," said Lady Henlow in a soothing tone, picking up her petit point. "But all's well that ends well. I am glad that the matter is finally resolved and we can all continue leading our normal lives once more." "Resolved? Indeed no, the matter is not resolved at all, certainly not to my satisfaction!" exploded Lord Stanley. "I am convinced that Darvill is implicated in this affair and the moment I return to London I intend to seek an audience with the Prince to advise him of my suspicions." "No doubt you would be failing in your duty if you did not do so," said Lady Henlow, again in that soothing tone. "But meanwhile, you have your own affairs to attend to here in Lynn. I hear that St. Margaret's church is thoroughly dried out now so you will be able to go ahead with your wedding plans." "Ah yes, the wedding," said Lord Stanley. "There is no question, now, of our nuptials taking place in King's Lynn." Lady Henlow looked aghast. "You will not be married in Lynn? Oh but why, Lord Stanley? I was so looking forward to the event!"

"Firstly, because it is imperative that I return to London without delay in order to apprise the Prince Regent of my suspicions regarding Lord Darvill. And secondly, because my mother's health has seriously deteriorated since her arrival here and she is anxious to return to the capital. Now that the weather has improved there is nothing to delay our removal to London." He turned to Mariella and patted her hand. "So you shall have your London wedding after all, my dear!" Mariella sat frozen in her chair, her elation at the news of Lord Darvill's safety speedily dispelled into gloom at the notion of quitting Lynn. "I. . . I shall require several days to prepare for the journey, George," she said, thinking that this at least would give her the opportunity to slip away and visit the Earl at Darvill House. "Several days? No, no, we must leave immediately. Today!" announced Lord Stanley, rising to his feet. "Your baggage can be sent on, Mariella. Mama is anxious to quit Lynn and I see no reason why we should not set forth for the capital this very afternoon." "Oh but that is quite impossible!" exclaimed Lady Henlow, her earlier composure in disarray as she dropped her embroidery silks on the floor. Lord Stanley looked at her keenly. "And why so, Lady Henlow?" With fluttering hands she pushed back the fronds of silvery hair from her brow. "Because. . . because tomorrow is my birthday and I had planned a special celebration dinner. Just a family affair, you know, nothing elaborate. "Oh but of course we could not leave you on your birthday!" cried Mariella. She turned to her fiance and said urgently, "George, it would be heartless to desert Aunt Emilia on such a day!" Lord Stanley looked confused. "I can never understand why the female gender makes such a to do about birthdays! Why, I can scarcely remember when my own birthday falls." "It is in June, George," smiled Mariella. "Ah yes. So it is." Then his eyes narrowed and he said sharply to Lady Henlow, "As I recall, we discussed the matter one evening over dinner, and I am sure that I recall you saying that your birthday fell also in June, on the same day as mine."

"Oh no, you must be mistaken," laughed Lady Henlow. "Why, one date no lady ever forgets is the date of her own birthday. Although, vain creatures that we are, we are apt to a loss of memory over the matter of how many birthdays we have celebrated! I recall a Lady Minton in Lyme Regis who would gather her great-grandchildren around her knee, and insist that she had seen no more than thirty nine summers! And then there was Lady — " "Naturally we have no wish to distress you with our sudden departure," interrupted Lord Stanley, "but I cannot accept that a birthday is good reason to delay our return to London." Lady Henlow's eyes filled with tears. "But my niece, my dearest Mariella! Who knows when I shall see her again? London is so far away, and I am no longer a young woman. . ." "Oh George!" exclaimed Mariella. "You cannot be so heartless as to insist that we depart immediately! What difference can one day make, especially when our being here at Aunt Emilia's birthday dinner will mean so much to her." Lord Stanley was no match against the pleading of the two ladies. With a heavy sigh he spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Very well. We shall delay our departure until the day after tomorrow. But once we are on the road I shall instruct the driver to proceed with the greatest possible speed to the capital!" "Yes, George," whispered Mariella. "Of course. I am sure that both my aunt and I are most grateful to you." When Lord Stanley had retired to the masculine peace of the library, Mariella could not resist turning the subject nearest to her heart. "So, Aunt Emilia. Lord Darvill is safe and no longer under danger of arrest. I am most relieved to hear it." Lady Henlow nodded. "Yes, I understand that a personal aide of the Prince Regent arrived in Lynn, most secretly, yesterday and gave the word that Lord Darvill was in no way publicly to be connected with the spies, or questioned about the matter." Mariella attempted to keep her voice carefree. "I imagine, then, that he is no longer in hiding within the White House." "No, he departed last night," said Lady Henlow, resuming work on her exquisite petit point sampler. "But he has not gone straight back to Darvill House. Today he is at a secret

rendezvous, discussing the matter of the spies with the Prince's aide." Mariella felt so consumed with a restless impatience that she could scarcely keep still. With their departure from Lynn delayed, she had hoped to be able to slip away to Darvill House to see the Earl this afternoon. But once again, he had unwittingly thwarted her plans. But surely, she reasoned, after his rendezvous with the Prince's aide today, Lord Darvill must return home tomorrow. And I, in my turn, must find an excuse to absent myself from the White House for a few crucial hours! The following day, Mariella was indeed provided with an excuse to allow her to leave the White House — yet such was its nature, that she was given no opportunity to come even within sight of Darvill House. "I shall be occupied today, making arrangements for our departure," Lord Stanley informed her during the morning. "As Mama is still unwell, I should be most obliged if you would visit her at Melton Hall and attempt to provide her with some diversions. I shall drive you there myself, and collect you later this afternoon in good time for you to change for your aunt's birthday dinner." At Melton Hall, incarcerated in Lady Stanley's stuffy bedchamber, Mariella felt as if she had been clapped in irons. Lady Stanley lay in bed, wanting one moment to play piquet, the next to read the newspaper. . . then she desired the newspaper to be read to her. The light in the room was too harsh. . . too gloomy. Yes, she would try to eat a little chicken. . . no, the chicken was too salty and would Mariella ask Cook to send her up some beef, very thinly sliced, with the mildest of mild horseradish sauce. . . For two pins Mariella would have made the most desperate of excuses and run away to Darvill House. But she had no means of transport. The Meltons were out paying calls in their carriage and the stableboys, taking advantage of the dry weather, had taken all the horses out for a lengthy exercise spell. Mariella was trapped. Lord Stanley arrived, as he had promised, at four and escorted Mariella home, pausing on the way to buy Lady Henlow a birthday gift of a delightful pearl pendant. The birthday dinner at the White House was a pleasant, though quiet affair, tinged for the two ladies with an understandable degree of sadness. They retired early to bed and by ten o'clock the following morning Lord Stanley was standing at

the front door, chafing to be off. But their departure was delayed until the afternoon, for Lady Melton had gone to call on Nanny Phipps and was late returning home. Lady Stanley, of course, could not allow it to be put about Lynn — and thence to London — that she had been so lacking in good breeding as to effect her departure without personally thanking her hostess for her kind attentions during her stay. But at last, the whole party was assembled, and after a tearful farewell to her aunt, Mariella seated herself in the carriage and prepared to look for the last time on the town she had grown to love so much. Lord Stanley, for his part, fell instantly asleep as if willing himself to wake up and find himself back in London, and shared nothing of Mariella's sadness as they passed through the south gate onto the road which would lead them towards the Fens. Lost in her own thoughts about the wild, untamed beauty of the mysterious Fenlands, Mariella did not think to remark on the way darkness appeared to be falling early. Even when the driver stopped to light the coachlamps, and urged the horses to a greater speed, Mariella remained in a world of her own. She did not want to think of London, and her marriage, and all that lay ahead. She wanted to stay here forever, amidst the network of waterways with the tall rushes swaying in the wintry breeze. Lady Stanley, complaining of the draught, asked for the blinds to be drawn. So none of them noticed the sudden change in the landscape outside. But the driver, trying to guide the horses through a blinding white blizzard, wiped the snow from his eyes and cursed. Within an hour, the snow lay thick upon the ground, and there was no sign of the blizzard abating. He pulled up the horses, got down from his seat and tapped on the coach door. Lord Stanley was furious at being woken up, and even more angry when he viewed the drifts of snow. "The wind is driving it right into my face, Sir and I can't see to guide the horses safely. As there's no sign of the blizzard abating, may I suggest that we stay at the Black Swan inn for the night?" said the driver. Left to himself, Lord Stanley would probably have refused outright, and insisted on them driving on. But Lady Stanley, huddled in furs, gave a low moan. "I must lie down, George — even if it is at that dreadful inn. Besides, if the driver cannot see properly, it could happen that the horses will run amok and we will all be tumbled into the ditch."

And so it was that for the second time, Lord Stanley and Mariella found themselves paying an unexpected overnight visit to the Black Swan inn. With the sudden inclemency of the weather, they were not the only travellers crowding into the inn that night, and to Lord Stanley's irritation, he found that the supply of good rooms was severely limited. The landlord was compelled, of course, to assign Lady Stanley the best room in the house, but Mariella found herself in a small chamber above the main tavern. When they had dined and retired, Mariella found it impossible to sleep, partly because the weather had now turned freezing cold, and partly because of the noise and carousing coming from the tavern below. Even when most of the men had fallen into a drunken stupor, there still remained a few, garrulous and speaking with the raised raucous voices typical of those who have imbibed too much ale. Mariella tried to stop her ears to their loud talk, but suddenly she heard them mention a name which made her sit up in bed, listening attentively. ". . .sup up, friends, the night is young and I feel a rich man. The floods in Lynn were bad for some, but I made a pretty penny out of it. Paid a tidy sum I was for helping to clean up St Margaret's church. Dry as a bone it is now, ready for the wedding a few days hence." "That would be the gentleman from London — Lord Stanley, is it?" "No, he's departed back to the capital with his pretty fiancee. But don't fret. Our womenfolk are not to be deprived of a grand society wedding. Have you not heard that Lord Darvill is to be wed?" "Now there's news indeed! Why, he's one of the richest men in the county. Who is to be his bride?" "The beautiful Melton girl. Lady Clara. My wife says they'll make the most handsome couple the county has ever seen. . ." Mariella clutched the side of the bed, willing herself to remain still. Yet every instinct within her urged her to rush downstairs and demand of the men in the tavern, "Is it true? Are you sure? Oh, you must be misinformed, it can't be true!" Lord Darvill to marry Clara! But he said he loved me, thought Mariella in anguish. That day at the Red Mount, when he kissed me and declared his love for me — surely he could not have been deceiving me? How could he do this to me? How could he

ask me to marry him, and then go away and propose marriage to Clara Melton? Despite the freezing temperature in the room, Mariella felt feverishly hot. Dipping her hands into the water jug, she splashed the cold water over her face and throat as if to quench the fire raging within her. Clara wed to Lord Darvill! Clara in his arms, raising her face for his kiss, sighing with rapture as she waited for this most passionate, most intimate embraces. I cannot bear it Mariella screamed to herself. I cannot abide to imagine them together. And why? Because I love Lord Darvill. Gone were the doubts, the anxieties and fears which had clouded her judgement before. Such was her pain at the notion of Lord Darvill marrying Clara, that Mariella knew without a shadow of doubt that this was the man she belonged to, body and soul. He could not marry another girl! He was hers. She loved him! But you have lost your chance, Mariella, you foolish girl she thought bitterly. He told you he loved you. He asked you to marry him. And instead of rushing into his arms you hesitated. You should have known, from the moment his lips touched yours and you melted into his arms, that you were in love with the Earl. But still, you dillied and dallied, and now you have lost him to Clara Melton. He will marry Clara, and you will return to London and marry George. No! Mariella tossed restlessly in the bed. I cannot marry George. I do not love him. I never have loved him, I realise that now. I was accustomed to him protecting me and guiding me and I mistook that for love. I feel affection towards George of course, but it is as nothing compared to the overwhelming, passionate desire I feel towards Lord Darvill. The test is this: I can imagine George marrying another girl, without any heartache. But the notion of Lord Darvill pledging his troth to another sends me into an agony of despair. He cannot truly love Clara. I do not believe it. Somehow, she has duped him into this marriage. Oh, if only I had not hesitated that day at the Red Mount! But knowing me to be an engaged girl, he gave me the choice. Come to me when you are sure, he said. And events conspired against me, making it impossible like star-crossed lovers for us to be in contact. And now he is to marry Clara, and not me!

Every time she whispered the name Clara, it was like a stab wound to Mariella. All through the night she lay awake, torturing herself as she imagined the pair together. Lord and Lady Darvill, so happy in their elegant home. The beautiful Lady Darvill, her portrait hanging at the top of the stairs. The handsome Lord Darvill, striding past his wife's portrait and into her bedchamber, sweeping her into his arms and covering her face, her throat, her bosom in kisses. "No!" cried Mariella, leaping from her bed. "No, no, no!" I love this man. Every inch of me yearns for him, burns for him. Clara shall not have him. I shall return to Lynn without delay and win him back. There is time, for the wedding is not for a few days hence. Yes, I shall win him back. It is I whom he shall marry, not Clara Melton! Fired with resolve, Mariella threw back the curtains. Outside, dawn was breaking, casting an enchanting pearly glow over the crisp white snow. But for once, the beauty of the scene was lost on Mariella. She stood stricken with dismay as she regarded the snowed-up roads and iced-over waterways. Until the next thaw came, it would be impossible for anyone to leave the inn. She was trapped here, until the thaw. But that, as she well knew, could well be a week away. And Mariella did not have a week. For Lord Darvill was to be wed in three days hence.

12 For a moment, despair engulfed her again. But then an image of Lord Darvill appeared before her. . . rugged, handsome, dashing, with those sapphire blue eyes that sent desire raging through her. She tossed back her golden hair. "I won't be beaten!" she vowed. "Neither snow nor ice shall prevent me from going to the man I love!" Already, a plan was beginning to formulate in her mind. But first there was the matter of George to be dealt with. Clearly, she could not just vanish from the inn without advising him that their engagement was broken. She knew she should face him direct, but it was still very early in the

morning and he would be sound asleep. It was bad enough, reasoned Mariella, for any man to be woken and informed that his fiancee was leaving him, but George was always like a bear with a sore head in the mornings, and would take the news particularly ill. He would rant, and rave, and storm. Lady Stanley would no doubt also be awoken to lend George family support. Suppose, thought Mariella in horror, suppose they take it upon themselves to lock me up, imagining that I have temporarily lost my reason? No, she decided, I can run no risks of that nature. Too much lies at stake. My whole future is at stake! I cannot allow George and his mother to thwart my plans. Hurriedly, she pulled her writing materials from her portmanteau and sat down to write: My dear George, This letter is so very difficult to write, and I can well imagine how angry you will be when you read it. But I owe it to you to speak plain. After much thought and heartache I have realised that I would not make you the worthy wife you deserve, and so I cannot return to London with you. I must own that there is another in my life, who has captured my heart, and by the time you read this I shall be on my way to him. Please forgive me, George, and believe that I am most grateful for all the support you have given me. I know you will think me foolish and headstrong and I am only sorry that I can never be the kind of wife that you desire. I remain, affectionately, Mariella.

It was not, Mariella had to admit, the most elegantly phrased letter but in the short time available to her, it was the very best she could compose. There is no point, she thought, in accusing George of being over-protective, dull and pompous. He cannot help being as he is. Far better for me to take the blame upon myself and emphasise that I am not worthy of him. She had hesitated over whether to name Lord Darvill as the man she loved. But such was the antagonism Lord Stanley felt towards the Earl that Mariella felt it would be better not to add fuel to the flames of George's fury at this state. Hopefully, by the time he discovers the truth, he will be a hundred miles away in London, and I shall be married to the Earl! Mariella also suspected, that upon his return to London, George would not be devoid of female company. During her time

tending Lady Stanley at Melton Hall, Mariella had been surprised to hear that at the time of his engagement to her, George had, in fact, been expected by many in the capital to announce his betrothal to another lady. "But instead, he chose you," Lady Stanley told her. "Lady Selina Torrington was most upset, and I hear that she still carries a torch for George to this day." I wish you both well, George and Selina, thought Mariella, slipping on her ermine-lined cape. Making her way downstairs, she asked the innkeeper if he would kindly pass her letter to Lord Stanley when he awoke. Then she walked round to the kitchens at the back of the Black Swan. Despite the earliness of the hour, the kitchens were already a hive of activity with the ranges lit and the air full of the tempting aroma of baking bread. Ignoring the astonished stares of the kitchen staff, she approached a dark haired scullery maid who was of the same height and build as herself. A brief conversation ensued, ending with both girls smiling happily, and the delighted scullery maid slipping Mariella's bright silver piece into her pocket. Five minutes later, Mariella was sitting on a log by the side of the frozen dyke, enjoying a hearty breakfast of fresh baked bread and a wedge of sharp cheese. She knew she would need the nourishment, for she had a long and arduous task ahead of her. She scattered the remaining bread crumbs for the birds, and then pulled on and laced up the scullery maid's skates. As she had anticipated, they fitted perfectly. As she stepped onto the ice she could imagine the outraged arguments of Lord Stanley, had he been awake, and aware of what she was intending to do. "Are you mad, Mariella? Are you seriously trying to tell me that you intend to skate along the frozen waterways, all the way back to King's Lynn? Have you any notion how far it is?" "No George. I know that a good skater can cover a mile in four minutes. It will take me much longer than that, of course, for I am a novice skater and I shall require frequent rests. But the task is not impossible, especially when you are as determined as I!" Then Lady Stanley's challenging voice floated across the ice: "You have the impertinence to tell me that you are

leaving my son, and all that an alliance with the illustrious Stanley family has to offer you, in favour of a man whom it is rumoured murdered his father?" "I don't believe those rumours! Not a word. With my own eyes I have witnessed Lord Darvill displaying tenderness, sensitivity and great affection for his fellow creatures. Besides, would the Prince Regent himself have singled out Lord Darvill for an important mission if it were true that the Earl had killed his father in cold blood?" "Mariella! I insist that you listen to me!" "Mariella! How dare you behave in this wayward, headstrong fashion!" No, thought Mariella, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. No, I won't listen to you, George. For at last I have found the sense and the courage to listen only to the message of my heart! Redoubling her efforts, she skated furiously on, until the angry echo of the Stanley voices faded away, far behind her. She kept the hood of her cape pulled up, both to protect her ears from the stinging cold, and to shield her eyes from the bright sun. Aware that she was a far from expert skater, she knew it was important not to try to travel too far and too fast in each burst, thus tiring herself out. Accordingly, she set herself targets. She would skate to the next bend, or to the next tall clump of rushes, and then she would stop and have a rest. Despite the freezing temperature, she was tingling with warmth. The sky was clear and blue, and she knew there would be no more falls of snow that day to hinder her progress. During her stay in Lynn, Mariella had been enchanted with the snowy landscape, but now she regarded it with a special affection. Had it not been for the sudden blizzard of snow, she thought, I should have been halfway to London by now. We would not have put up at the inn, and I would never have learned of Lord Darvill's intention to marry Clara Melton. Clara. Mariella refused to allow the girl to intrude into her thoughts. It is not, she reasoned, that I have anything against Clara personally. In truth, she is a quiet, pleasant enough girl. Indeed, before I realised the strength of my feelings towards Lord Darvill, I recall being quite amiably disposed towards Clara. But now everything has changed! I love the Earl, and Clara must be regarded in the light of

a rival. Well, I will fight you for him, Clara! I will fight to the last breath in my body. As Mariella skimmed across the ice, she thought what a joy it was now she was no longer in a turmoil of indecision over which man to marry. I took too long making up my mind, she admitted. That was my own foolish fault, and now I am paying the penalty. But at least my mind is no longer clouded with doubt. I know I love Lord Darvill. Why, if it were not for the exertion of skating, I should sing and dance for love and joy! It was late morning when a tired, but elated Mariella espied the church spires of Lynn rising before her. Five minutes previously, she had feared that her aching legs would prevent her from skating any further. But now, with Lynn in sight, it was suddenly easy to increase her speed to cover the last mile into the city. As she stepped onto the bank, she saw that the water carrier was passing, with his horse and cart. "Oh please," she called, "may I beg you to take me to the White House. I have no boots with me, and walking over cobbled streets in skates is not an easy feat!" The water carrier laughed, and courteously assisted Mariella aboard his cart. "It's not every day I have the privilege of conveying a beautiful lady. But then, it's been quite a morning for strange sights." "Indeed," murmured Mariella, settling with relief onto the creaking seat. The man cracked his whip. "Aye. As I made my first round this morning I came across a gentleman wandering about in the snow. Foreign, he was, and quite crazed with cold. He'd come across the Fens in last night's blizzard and wearing just breeches and a fancy braided coat. Half frozen to death, he was, so I took him to the Vine Inn and told the landlord to give him food and a warm bed." Bed, thought Mariella, as a wave of fatigue swept over her. Oh, how lovely it would be to sink beneath a cosy goose down quilt at the White House! But she knew this was impossible. It was essential that she journeyed on to Darvill House without delay. She could sleep later, when her crucial reunion with Lord Darvill was satisfactorily concluded. As she bade farewell to the friendly water carrier, and mounted the steps of the White House, Mariella wondered how

to explained her unexpected return to her aunt. She knew if she told Aunt Emilia the truth about her love for Lord Darvill, the lady would insist on Mariella sitting down and telling her the entire romantic tale from beginning to end. But Mariella had not, at the moment, the time to spare for explanations. They would come later. Yet, clearly, something must be said to satisfy Aunt Emilia. One could not depart one day with one's fiance for London, and return the next bereft of boots, luggage and a future husband! But luck was on Mariella's side, for Mrs Gordon informed her that Lady Henlow was out shopping in Lynn. Highly relieved at this reprieve, Mariella hurried upstairs to change. Because of their speedy departure from the town, many of her clothes were still at the White House, waiting for the maid to pack them up and send them on to London. Anxious though she was to reach Darvill House, Mariella nevertheless took the time to choose her attire with care. Naturally, she wanted to look her best for Lord Darvill, especially as he would now be comparing her with the rival Clara. After some thought, she selected a simple dress of deep lavender velvet, that toned with the violet of her eyes. She wore no jewellery, apart from a gold locket, and brushed her hair into a froth of curls. The fresh air of the morning's exercise had lent an attractive glow to her matchless complexion and her lovely eyes were sparkling with anticipation, excitement and love. As she regarded the radiant girl in the mirror Mariella knew she was ready for what lay ahead. She would win him back! She had no doubts of that. Throwing a deep blue coat around her slender shoulders, she asked for a horse to be saddled for her. And then, in brilliant sunshine, she set off through the snowy streets of Lynn towards Darvill House. As she passed through the massive gates of Darvill House and began the ride up the long curving drive, she could not repress a wry smile as she gazed on the frozen lake where Lord Darvill had taught her to skate. If he had not done that, she realised, then I should not be here now for there would have been no means available for me to escape from the Black Swan inn. Her heart was thudding with excitement as she reined in her horse outside the front doors. Oh heavens, she thought, suppose he is not at home? Perhaps he is at Melton Hall,

with Clara! Can I have journeyed all this distance for nothing? But the footman who came to take her horse informed her that Lord Darvill was at home, in the library. As she swept down the magnificent hall behind the second footman who would announce her, Mariella was so nervous she was shaking from head to foot. In just one more minute's time she would be face to face once more with the man she loved. How would she feel when she was once again within touching distance of him? And, more important, how would he react to her unexpected arrival? "Miss Mariella Ward, my lord." Lord Darvill, who had been standing at the window, spun round as the footman made his announcement. As he regarded the golden-haired girl framed in the doorway he went quite still, as if he had seen a ghost. Then his eyes darkened, and he strode towards her. "Mariella! My God. I feared I would never set eyes on you again!" In a second, Mariella had covered the distance between them and was in his arms. On the long journey across the wild Fenlands, she had rehearsed many times the words she would say at this moment. But now she was here, in his embrace, with his face against hers, she found herself saying in an impasssioned rush: "You told me to come to you, when I knew I loved you. You said the choice was mine. George tried to take me away— we were to be married in London — but last night I knew I could not wed him! It is you I love with all my heart and all my soul!" And then he breathed the words that Mariella had longed to hear. "Ah, Mariella. My one love. My only love!" Exultant, she raised her lovely face for his kiss. But he seated himself in the large leather armchair, and slipping off her cloak, drew her down beside him near the fire. He ran his hands through her hair and then tenderly traced the delicate lines of her face. "So much has happened since I saw you last, that day at the Red Mount. Did you imagine, when I was obliged to disappear from public view in Lynn, that I had abandoned you?"

She nodded. "I knew not what to think! Events happened so quickly and so dramatically. When I heard that you were wanted for questioning in connection with the three spies, I knew of course that you were innocent and not guilty of any kind of treason. What I could not understand was why, when you must have heard I was to be married to George at St. Margaret's, you did not come and spirit me away. Even you could not have known that the church would miraculously be flooded on my wedding day." He smiled, and encircled her with his arms. "It was a time of great torment to me, too. I wanted to talk to you, to convince you that I had meant every word I said when we were together at the Red Mount. But because of this unfortunate affair with the three spies, I was obliged to go into hiding until I could send word to London asking the Prince Regent to intervene. And I dare not send a message to you through Lady Henlow. I was worried enough about her being involved in the intrigue. Had she known of our love for one another, I feared that she would be unable to keep the intelligence to herself and would have let something slip in the wrong quarters." "Yes, I understand," whispered Mariella. "But I should never have allowed you to marry Lord Stanley," he said forcefully. "If the church had not been flooded and prevented the ceremony, then I should have arrived at the White House and carried you away." "But — " Lightly, his hps brushed her mouth. Then, laughing softly, he went on, "The ironical thing is, that in seeking to protect Lady Henlow — for obviously, if she did let anything slip about hiding me at the White House, then the consequences would have been serious for her, too — I was overlooking the natural intuition you ladies seem to have for being very well aware when two people are in love." Mariella's eyes widened. "Do you mean to tell me that my aunt knew of our love for one another?" "Yes. I think she knew it even before you did, Mariella!" "Oh do not tease me!" implored Mariella "Deep down, of course I knew I loved you. I realise that now." Why else, she thought, would I have been so intrigued and fascinated by every word, every action of Lord Darvill's right from the first moment I met him? "But I was engaged to George, and accustomed to being swept along by whatever he desired."

"Poor Lady Henlow," smiled the Earl. "She told me yesterday of her ploys to try and keep you in Lynn for as long as possible. Even down to pretending it was her birthday, so you had to stay one more night. And then Nanny Phipps joined the conspiracy, by delaying Lady Melton for hours at her house when the lady was paying a call." "George was furious!" laughed Mariella. "But Lady Stanley flatly refused to leave Melton Hall until her hostess had returned." Lord Darvill took her hands in his. "And you, Mariella. Having been taken away by your fiance for your wedding in London, what made you come back?" " I . . . I was at the inn and. . ." but Mariella's pride would not allow her to mention Clara. "I realised that I loved you and that I could not live without you. I had to come back." Then looking into the flickering flames of the fire, she enquired, "But why did you let me go with George? You said that if St Margaret's had not been flooded, you would have carried me off to prevent the wedding. Yet you did not prevent me leaving Lynn with George." He was silent. She turned, and looked into his eyes, and what she saw there made her blood run cold. When he spoke, his voice was low and full of emotion. "Mariella, I love you more than life itself. You are everything I have ever desired in a women. Were I free to do so, I would sweep you off this very day and make you my bride, my wife." " I f . . . if you were free?" whispered Mariella. A heavy sigh escaped him. He closed his eyes for a moment and then continued, "That day on the Red Mount, when I asked you to marry me, yes, I was free then. But since that day, events have conspired against me. . . against us. I love you, Mariella. But I cannot marry you." Through frozen lips Mariella forced herself to ask the question: "You are to wed another?" "Yes. Clara Melton is to be my bride." "Clara!" Mariella gazed at him in anguish. "So it is true! But how can you marry her, when you do not love her. It cannot be. No it cannot!"

Scalded with fury and jealousy, she beat her fists against his chest, willing him to retract his words, to tell her that Clara Melton was not to be his bride. Lord Darvill clasped her to him, and said gravely, "I blame myself, Mariella, for not telling you of this the moment you entered the room. But when I saw you at the door, all reason fled from me and it was impossible not to hold you in my arms." Angrily, Mariella pushed him away. "You are playing with me! How can you do this! One moment you say you love me. And yet you insist that you are to marry another!" He sat back in the deep leather chair and regarded her magnificent blazing eyes in the firelight. "Yes, you are right to be angry, my beautiful golden-haired girl. But I promise you, this is no game. I only wish it were." He stood up, and crossed to the cut-glass brandy decanter standing on the walnut side table. Pouring two measures, he handed one glass to her. "Come drink. You wiH need something to sustain you, for the story I have to tell you is not a pretty one." Mariella shivered despite the warmth of the brandy and the heat of the fire. She did not wish to hear what he was about to tell her. She only wanted time to stand suspended as it had been five minutes ago, when he had clasped her in his arms and told her she was his one love, his only love. Restlessly, Lord Darvill paced the library floor. Then he said, "To put it in a nutshell, my love, I have no choice but to marry Clara. For you see, her aunt, Lady Melton is blackmailing me. After you left for London she came to me and told me that there was no question of my chasing after you, and bringing you back here as my bride. Which, of course, is what I fully intended to do." "But how can she blackmail you? Is it something to do with the three spies?" asked Mariella fearfully, already unable to believe her ears. She had, admittedly, never greatly liked Lady Melton, but that the lady should be capable of blackmail! The idea seemed too preposterous to countenance. Lord Darvill shook his dark head. "No, it is nothing to do with the spies. The whole matter goes back to the dark and dreadful night when my father died. As you know, there had been much speculation in Lynn as to what really happened and I myself have been under suspicion of my father's murder."

"Yes, I had heard that," said Mariella. "In fact, as I recall, I first heard of it from Lady Melton herself!" "That does not surprise me," said Lord Darvill with a wry smile. "It has been in Lady Melton's interests to fan the flames of the rumour, and not to let the subject become forgotten." "In her interests? But why?" asked an intrigued Mariella, sipping at her brandy. "Because she knew that if she ever wished to use certain facts against me, things would look very black for me indeed if she had managed to sustain, over the years, a climate of suspicion surrounding my father's death, and my involvement in the tragedy." A dreadful sense of foreboding settled over Mariella. What certain facts'? And, more importantly, just what was Lord Darvill's role in the events of the night his father died? Lord Darvill stood by the fireplace, his handsome face grave as he began, "It is an open secret in Lynn, indeed in all Norfolk that my father and I were never on the best of terms. I despised him, because of the disgraceful manner in which he treated my mother. She was a gentle, kind, virtuous woman and very beautiful in her youth. Everything, you might imagine, that a man would desire in a wife. But my father was consistently rude and surly towards her." "Why then, did she marry him?" enquired Mariella softly. "Oh," replied Lord Darvill with a bitter smile, "my father could charm the birds from the trees when he set his mind to it. And it was necessary that he set his mind to it when he was courting my mother, for his father had gambled away much of the family fortune and it was essential that he wed a rich heiress. But once he had captured my mother, and her money, and made them both his own, he proceeded to treat her shamefully." "Were there. . . other women?" asked Mariella astutely. He nodded. "I was seven years old when I discovered my father in the hay loft with one of the laundry maids. That was just one instance. I regret to say that there were many, many more. My mother knew, of course, and was deeply hurt. But if she

broached the subject with my father, he would become violent and attack her." "He beat her?" exclaimed Mariella in horror. "As I grew older, and stronger, I would of course intervene and there would be ugly scenes between my father and myself. Many many times I urged my mother to leave him. But she would not. She believed that marriage was for ever, and at heart I think she imagined that one day, miraculously, he would change. And then, to make matters more difficult, the morning after one of these scenes he would be pitifully contrite, swearing that it would never happen again, he loved her to distraction and promised he would reform. And she believed him, because she wanted to. Mariella set down her glass, her lovely face full of distress. "But surely everyone in Lynn must have been aware of what was happening here at Darvill House?" "Seemingly not," replied Lord Darvill. "My mother, being staunchly loyal, never breathed a word of her un- happiness. And the servants, too, having been with the family for years, retained a loyal silence. Oh, I have no doubt that tales of my father's dalliance with the laundry maids were common knowledge, but since my mother never appeared publicly to be upset by these liaisons, everyone assumed that she was happy to turn a blind eye to them, and that they were totally unimportant to her." "But of course they were not unimportant," said Mariella with feeling. "I am sure if my husband were unfaithful to me, I should murder both him and the woman with my bare hands!" An almost unnatural silence settled over the library at Mariella's passionate declaration. Then Lord Darvill said quietly, "Yes. In the final event, that is precisely what my mother was driven to try and do." A score of questions sprang to Mariella's lips, but she had the wisdom to remain silent. This was the first time, she reasoned, for many years that Lord Darvill had spoken of his father's death. Clearly, it was a painful subject for him and it was important that she remain silent and allow him to tell her the story in his own time. He pushed back a lock of dark hair, and went on, in a low voice, "I was not present all the time at that final, tragic

confrontation between husband and wife. I had been out on the estate. Returning home, I heard raised voices in the Blue Saloon. Then a pistol shot rang out. I raced into the Blue Saloon and found my father dead on the floor, my terrified mother holding the pistol in her trembling hands and a lamp overturned, with the curtains already aflame." The Earl poured himself more brandy and continued, "I gathered that my mother had come upon my father and one of his mistresses and finally, had become so angry that she had seized a pistol from the nearby gun room, and shot him." "What about the other woman?" asked Mariella softly. "She had escaped through the open window. It was the draught from the window, in fact, which fanned the flames and caused part of the house to be completely destroyed. But that came later. My immediate concern was for my mother. I took the gun from her, and almost threw her out of the window, instructing her to go at once to Nanny Phipps's and await my instructions. Eventually, from there, we arranged for her to travel to Italy, where I knew she would be safe. I laid the gun down beside my father, and when the servants came rushing in I told them that he had committed suicide. Few people believed me, of course, but they could never prove otherwise." "And of course," murmured Mariella, "you could never reveal the truth for fear of implicating your mother." "Yes, it was of course vital that she should be shielded," said the Earl. "And up to now, I have succeeded in doing so. But somehow, I suspect through one loose-tongued servant, Lady Melton has got wind of what really happened that night. She is threatening to alert the authorities, and have my mother brought back from Italy for questioning and, possibly, to stand trial for my father's murder. Obviously, I cannot allow her to do this. Apart from the horror of raking up the past, my mother is now old and frail and would never survive under such public scrutiny. I could not permit her to be put to such an ordeal." Mariella forced out the words: "So in return for her silence, Lady Melton is offering you her niece Clara as a bride." "Yes," said Lord Darvill with a bitter laugh. "I enquired of her, or course, why she was so anxious to align her family name with mine. And she informed me, with great candour, that it is because she desires possession of the White House."

"The White House?" exclaimed a perplexed Mariella. He nodded. "It is, as you know, a tradition in my family that my bride should be the person who decides who should reside at the White House. As Clara Melton is so easily influenced by her aunt, it would be an easy task for Lady Melton to persuade her niece to hand the White House keys over to her." "But why would she want the house?" enquired Mariella. "Melton Hall is one of the most impressive residences in the county, and the White House is tiny in comparison." "I have my suspicions over why she should want the house,'' said Lord Darvill,' 'but it would be wiser if I did not voice them just yet." He looked across at Mariella and saw that her golden head was drooping with fatigue. Instantly, he was at her side. "My dearest girl, you are exhausted," he said tenderly. "And I was so overwhelmed to see you that I did not ask by what means you made the journey through snow and ice from the Black Swan inn." "I skated," murmured Mariella drowsily, exhausted both with lack of sleep and the drama of her reunion with the Earl. "You skated! Oh Mariella, you brave, wonderful girl." "Oh, I was not the only person to battle my way through," said Mariella, her head falling onto his broad shoulder. "The water carrier told me of a man, a foreigner, wearing colourful but most unsuitable clothes who was so crazed with the cold he was barely conscious when the carrier kindly conveyed him to the Vine Inn." Her voice tailed away then, and she fell fast asleep. So it was that she missed observing the expression of elation and love in the Earl's handsome face. Lightly, he picked her up in his arms, and kissed her gently on the mouth, with such a tender passion that Mariella stirred in her sleep, and smiled. Then he carried her upstairs, and instructed his housekeeper to watch over her until she awoke. There was no rest, however, for Lord Darvill. Whilst the woman he loved fell into a deep slumber, he called urgently for his horse and galloped off at dangerous speed through the snow towards Lynn. ★★★

Mariella awoke to darkness — both in the chamber where she lay, and in the depths of her soul. The housekeeper lit the lamps, and hurried away to fetch some food, but Mariella knew she would be unable to touch a morsel of it. Lord Darvill was to marry Clara! She had heard it from his own lips — the same lips that Mariella yearned so rapturously to claim for her own. But what choice has he, she thought desperately. Lady Melton is blackmailing him, threatening to expose his mother to public humiliation if the Earl refuses to marry her niece. Mariella sank back on the pillows, her eyes filled with tears. "I believed that I could win him back," she whispered. "But despite his true love for me, he cannot, in all honour, marry me. I have no choice but to swallow the bitter pill of defeat!" She covered her face with her hands, blotting out the bleak future that lay ahead of her. What would become of her? She could not return to London and face the fury of George, Lord Stanley. But equally untenable was the prospect of remaining in King's Lynn, in close proximity with the man she loved but who had been obliged to marry another. And Aunt Emilia, fretted Mariella. What will she do when Lady Melton achieves her mysterious objective of gaining possession of the White House? Oh yes, there are other houses in Lynn, but Aunt Emilia has grown so attached to the White House, she will be most distressed when she learns that she must leave it. Which means, of course, that in all conscience I cannot leave Lynn. I must stay during the spring, and help her find another house. Spring! Mariella could imagine the apple blossom coming into bloom and the fresh green leaves unfurling on the chestnuts and limes in the lovely Walks of Lynn. But she knew that however long she remained here, she could never stroll amongst the leafy glades of the Red Mount without feeling that her heart was about to break. Always, she would think back to that enchanted time when the bare branches were spangled with frost, and Lord Darvill had taken her in his arms and told her of his love for her. Downstairs, she heard a door slam. Mariella hastily dried her tears, expecting to hear Lord Darvill's tread on the stairs. But when the chamber door opened, it was not to admit the Earl. . . but a blazing-eyed Lady Melton. She gave Mariella no chance to speak, but wrenched the girl from the bed and dragged her out through the door. "How dare

you return to Lynn like this, you meddlesome little minx!" she hissed. At the bottom of the stairs, Mariella finally found her voice. "Have you lost your mind, Lady Melton? Release me this instant!" "Oh no," said Lady Melton menacingly, "you are coming with me, my girl. Somewhere where the Earl will be unable to find you, until after his wedding to Clara!" Mariella writhed as the older woman's sharp nails dug into her arm. "Why should my presence in Lynn be of such concern to you, Lady Melton?" Lady Melton laughed, bitterly. "Do you think I am unaware that Lord Darvill is passionately in love with you? It shows in his eyes every time he looks at you. And do you think I don't know that you were planning to encourage him to flee from England, to take you to Italy to be wed?" "But — " "I am no fool, I tell you!" shrieked lady Melton. "You were planning, all three of you, to go into hiding in Italy. You, Lord Darvill, and his murderess mother. But you shall not have the opportunity. For I shall lock you up in one of the cottages on my estate until Lord Darvill is safely married to Clara!" Convinced now that Lady Melton had lost her reason, Mariella drew breath to summon the servants to her assist ance. But at that moment the front door burst open and Lord Darvill stood before them. He seemed composed, and not at all surprised to find two society ladies grappling with one another in the middle of his hall. "Come into the drawing room," he said, quietly but firmly. "There is something I wish to say to you both " Such was the authority in his tone, that Lady Melton released Mariella and swept into the Gold Drawing Room ahead of Lord Darvill. Seating herself on the sofa, she demanded in a scornful tone, "Well, Lord Darvill? What new ploy have you dreamed up to try and thwart your marriage to my niece?" Lord Darvill, leaning easily against the mantel, informed her, "This morning, a messenger arrived in Lynn, carrying an important document. Because of the inclement weather he was unable to deliver the document to me immediately, and was taken to the Vine Inn to recover from his exhaustion."

The foreigner the water carrier told me about, thought Mariella. He was a messenger! But from where? And from whom? Lord Darvill drew from his pocket a thick piece of parchment, which he handed to Lady Melton. "You will see that this is a signed confession from my mother, admit ting that she shot my father." Both ladies gasped. Mariella in amazement, and Lady Melton in triumph. "But how considerate of you to play right into my hands, Lord Darvill, and provide me with a signed confession of your mother's guilt!" Lord Darvill smiled, but as he regarded Lady Melton, the smile did not reach his eyes. "Permit me to explain a little of the background of this confession, Lady Melton. Some time ago my mother wrote from Florence and told me that she was considering marrying again, to a most distinguished Italian Count. She said that if she did remarry, there was something important she intended to do, connected with the tragedy of my father's death. When I learned today of the arrival of a foreigner in Lynn, I guessed him to be a personal messenger from my mother, and her new husband, the Count." Lady Melton yawned. "I cannot imagine why you consider that your mother's latest romance should be of any interest to me, Lord Darvill." "Oh, but it is of great moment to you," said Lord Darvill, his voice edged with ice. "Firstly, because by marrying an Italian my mother has put herself outside the jurisdiction of English law. She insisted on writing her confession both to clear her own conscience, and to protect me from the rumours that had reached her alleging that I had murdered my father. But despite the confession, because she is married to an Italian, she cannot be brought back to this country to stand trial, or for any other reason, against her will. Secondly, Lady Melton, if you take the trouble to read her confession, you will see that she describes the events of the night my father died. How she entered the Blue Saloon and found her husband in an intimate amorous embrace with another woman. And she names that woman. . ." Mariella screamed in alarm as Lady Melton, her face distorted with fury, leaped forward to hurl the confession onto the blazing fire. But Lord Darvill was too swift for her. In one movement he wrenched the precious piece of parchment from her grasp, and threw her back onto the sofa.

"Yes," he said contemptuously, "it was you, Lady Melton, whom my mother found in my father's arms. You were there when my poor distraught mother pulled the trigger of the pistol, and conscious of the scandal that could result, you hastened to escape through the window. But in your haste, you knocked over the lamp, which in its turn caused the fire which set so much of the house ablaze." As if in a daze, Lady Melton rose to her feet. "I... I must return home," she murmured distractedly. Brusquely, Lord Darvill took her arm and ushered her out into the hall. He did not return immediately, but Mariella could hear his lacerating tones and shivered as she imagined the tongue-lashing that Lady Melton was receiving now her devious plans had come to naught. She sat down on the sofa of the beautiful Gold Drawing Room, where in daytime the tall windows overlooked the lake where Lord Darvill had first taught her to skate. On this winter's evening, however, the silk curtains were drawn, and the elegant sofa was pulled up near the log fire At last, Lord Darvill returned, looking grave, but satisfied. "She has gone. And I am confident that she will never publicly mention the matter of my father's death again " Mariella said thoughtfully, "I can well see w h y L a d y Melton would no longer wish your father's death to be a matter of public debate. But is Lord Melton aware of her liaison with your father?" "I believe not," replied Lord Darvill. "Certainly, he is not aware of his wife's other activities . . . activities which light on Lady Melton's anxiety to take possession of the White House." Mariella could not begin to imagine what was coming next. "Lady Melton," Lord Darvill told her, "is one of the few people who knows of the passageway linking the White House with Priory Lane." "But if she knew of its existence, why then did she not direct the militia there when they were searching for you? She must have suspected that you would avail yourself of the tunnel leading to your very own property!" "She dare not admit to knowing the tunnel existed," said Lord Darvill "because she was determined that, once she had

gained possession of the White House, the tunnel would be used for purposes of which the authorities would strongly disapprove. Lady Melton, in short, is the person in Lynn who has been giving information to our enemies, the French." "She has been spying for the enemy!" exclaimed Mariella. "Yes, for many years. Remember, influential men come to dine at her table, and by artless questioning, she has gleaned much valuable military intelligence from them. It was known in London, of course, that someone in Lynn was passing information to the French, and that is why Sir James Linton was despatched here, to try and unearth the traitor." "Instead of which, he stirred up a hornet's nest by meddling with your own work, training the Englishmen who were to be sent, under cover, into France." "Yes, that was what I was so furious with him over that day at the Red Mount chapel," confirmed Lord Darvill. "I had been suspicious of Linton for some time, since in fact, I dined with you all that evening at the White House. For a man allegedly knowledgeable about, and interested in, all aspects of churches, he made several slips, the most serious being his declaration that Dr. Burney was the organist at St. James's in Lynn. In fact, a man of his professed knowledge should have been aware that it was St. Margaret's church where Dr. Burney was the organist." Mariella sank back on the sofa cushions, her mind in a whirl. "What will happen to Lady Melton? Will you have her arrested?" Lord Darvill's eyes darkened. "I have given the lady a good tongue-lashing and told her that for the sake of her husband, and family, I will keep silence. But only on condition that in future she confines her activities outside the realms of treason. I believe now that she will behave herself. I was extremely severe with her." Mariella could well imagine. Lord Darvill, as she knew, was capable of great tenderness. But he was not a man who took lightly to being crossed — or blackmailed! "I wonder why she sought to betray her country in that dreadful manner," Mariella mused. The Earl shrugged. "I believe, in her youth, she had an unrequited passion for a Frenchman. And she has never lost her romantic affection for France."

"And Aunt Emilia," murmured Mariella. "Now she will be able to stay at the White House she loves so much." "But of course," smiled Lord Darvill. "As Lady Darvill, it will be your right to decide who lives there." He drew her into his arms. "As Lady Darvill you will have many pleasant decisions to make, Mariella. Would you like to travel?" She gazed at him with shining eyes. "Oh yes, yes! To Europe of course and, oh, do you think it would be possible for us to voyage to the New World?" He laughed, and stroked her golden hair. "Now we are together, my love, everything is possible." Together. Mariella trembled with happiness as she contemplated the wonderful life that lay ahead of them. But she knew that however far they travelled to distant lands, she would always be glad to return to England, to this splendid house which she would soon have the right to call home. Here, with the man she loved, was where her true happiness would always lie. "Do you remember," she whispered, "the night when we first met?" "How could I ever forget?" he murmured. "But most of all I remember how I longed to sweep you into my arms and make love to you." Mariella caught her breath as she read the passionate message in his eyes. As he tilted her face up to his, with joy in her heart she abandoned herself to his love, and the rapture of his kisses.

_________________ Scan&editbycmarlowe