Authur entered his third stationer’s shop of the day, with a growing feeling of despair. Perhaps Charles had been right when he’d offered to make the inquiries himself. But, since there was no telling what he might find at the end of the journey, he had wanted to do the leg work himselfAnd he’d discovered that there was indeed a Lady Gwen Lewis, aged three and twenty, daughter of Sir Anthony, but that neither had been seen in years. Sir Anthony had run through the family fortune after the death of his wife, and was,rumored to have ran off to the continent like a filthy coward, or quietly put a bullet through his brain. What remained of the family goods had been sold at auction years ago, but the daughter had not been present. There was no known family, although one would have expected to hear of an aunt or female relative of some kind to step forward and claim the girl. The name Lady Danbury did not appear in any of the accompanying records, nor was it familiar to those questioned.H

Supper that evening was a very different affair than breakfast had been. After a short nap, she had composed herself and returned to the kitchen to confront the cook. The woman had been wary at first, but when she was told that she might choose her own ingredients and order what was needed to undo the artificial famine created by Mrs Martha, she seemed most happy with the change.Gwen, at Parton’s insistence, allowed her hair to be dressed and changed into her only decent gown for supper.The gown was a burgundy satin that had been much more fresh fifteen years ago, when it had been one of Lady Danbury’s ball dresses. They’d cut down the puffed sleeves, removed large amounts of skirt to hide the worn spots and managed, by trimming the train and adding some lace from another gown, to create something almost presentable.Archie met her at the dinner table and kissed her hand. ‘Enchanted as always, my dear. You look lovely this evening.’ He looked over his shoulder at the destruction on

Gwen looked up at the workman on the ladder and resisted the intense urge to supervise him. The removal of the old hangings was not her job. Or the cleaning of the chandeliers, for that matter. But it had been so long since some of the household chores had been attended to that the process had been difficult and after the damage done to the dining-room silk she’d felt the need to take an active part in most of the major jobs. It was only eleven o’clock and she was already exhausted. And itchy, as though a thin layer of grime covered her body. The staff had been cleaning for a week and she noted with satisfaction, the improvement was beginning to show. When and if her errant husband chose to return home, he would be well pleased.‘Not still working in here, are you?’ Archie had come up from behind her, spinning her around to face him.‘It needs to be done,’ she said and stepped out of his grasp. ‘The house was really neglected.’ She complained ‘It needs cleaning, certainly, but not b

Authur looked at the house in surprise. Not what he had expected. Not at all. He’d imagined a quiet cottage where two ladies might spend their years in modesty, waiting for an improvement in position. Polite poverty.There was nothing polite about his new wife’s old home. It was poverty, pure and simple. Smaller than the homes of his tenants and packed in between other similar houses. He strode to the door and knocked.The woman who answered dropped a curtsy, but looked at him with undisguised suspicion. ‘Lost your way, my lord?’‘Lady Elizabeth Danbury?’She glared back at him. ‘The “Lady” is long retired from her profession, and you’d best seek your amusements elsewhere.’‘If I could see her, please.’ Authur requested politely ‘Come to get a look at her after all these years? What are you, then? The son of one of her clients, come to be initiated? A bit old for that, aren’t you?’‘I beg your pardon.’ He demanded ‘You take my meaning plain enough. Get yourself off, in every sense o

Gwen was screaming. It was odd, he thought, that he should know her voice. They’d been together so briefly. Butit was her, he was sure. Screaming in terror. He tried to run to her, but the ground turned to mud beneath his feet, sucking at his boots and dragging him downward.‘Authur! Help me! Authur! Please don’t let me die.’ Her voice trailed off as though she was losing the strength to call him.He fought. Fought the sensation of sinking and the fear that at any moment the treacherous ground would close up and swallow him. There was a branch beneath his hand and he closed on it and hauled himself forward out of the mudand towards the place where he knew she must wait for him.He jerked awake, panting and stared around the room. He was in bed in his townhouse in London. There was no mud, of course. He was not even wearing boots. And he could not,hear his new wife because she was miles away in ThornHill.It was folly to place too much credence in dreams. They were not omens of the f