Felicity's Folly

Belgrave House www.belgravehouse.com Copyright ©1997 by Marilyn Clay NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

FELICITY'S FOLLY Marilyn Clay

Chapter One "Excellent, Philips! Lord Maitland's references are excellent!" "Yes, madam. I should say he is perfect." "Indeed, he is.” Felicity Rhoades reread the letter she had only today received from the Earl of Maitland's solicitor in London. “He appears to be exactly the sort of person I wished to attract to Rhoades Arbor. Mr. Featherstone says the gentleman has recently returned to England from the Peninsula; that he sold his commission in the army and is desirous of a month of complete rest before taking up his new duties." "He sounds perfect, indeed, madam.” Though Philips's tone and demeanor bespoke that of a butler, his dress this morning more closely resembled a workman; rough breeches and a soiled shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Presently, he was engaged in securing the top of a pie-crust tea table to its base. “Placing an advertisement in the London Times in order to attract boarders was quite a good idea of yours,” he added conversationally. "It is just as I have maintained since the beginning, Philips, there are not nearly enough respectable establishments in the country that cater to the needs of Quality. One could hardly expect an earl to put himself up for an entire month at a common roadside inn. Here, he need never fear rubbing shoulders with undesirables. I daresay, my idea is at last taking hold.” Despite the fact, Felicity added to herself, that her brother Robert thought she had windmills in her head. True, setting up housekeeping on one's own was brazen enough for an unmarried lady of three and twenty, but to actually “enter trade” was, according to Robert, nothing short of scandalous. “This scheme of yours is utter rubbish, Felicity! You will lose your entire inheritance, and upon trying to re-enter society, you will be shunned by everyone of consequence. Is that what you wish?" "How do you propose I make a living for myself now that I am a widow?” Felicity had demanded of him the last time the two of them attempted to discuss the matter. "You could do as any well-bred young lady does. Marry again." "I have been married once,” Felicity reminded him icily, “and I have no intention of ever doing so again." Robert glared at her. “Your marriage could not have been so bad as all that." "You do not know the half of it,” Felicity muttered. “I thank God every day that I bore the man no children, otherwise I should be obliged to also bear his name. And that is something I refuse to do!" Robert's eyes, the same arresting shade of clear blue-green as Felicity's, narrowed. “You are the outside of enough, Felicity. Just what exactly do you propose to call yourself now?" "I am Mrs. Rhoades." Robert shook his head with derision. “When you could be Lady Newbury. The only one in the family to have a valid claim to the honor and instead of reveling in your good fortune, you choose instead to turn your back on it and walk away. You are completely over the edge, Felicity." "I am no such thing!" "Well, it isn't right. And neither is what you propose doing with Newbury Farm. William would rise up from the grave and bring a halt to the proceedings straightaway if he knew what you intended!"

"Well, my former husband can have no say in the matter now, can he?” And neither can you, she had nearly added, but out of respect for her elder brother, she refrained. “What I do with my very own property and my share of our inheritance is my business and well you know it." The discussion had ended, as it always did, at an impasse. Reflecting now on the events that had brought her to this point in her life, Felicity's stomach churned afresh. She could do as she pleased now. And, it was not as if the freedom to do so hadn't been a long time coming. William had been dead four long years, during which time Felicity had dutifully tended his ailing parents. When they had at last passed away, she had removed to her brother Robert's household in time to witness the death of his young wife as she gave birth to twin boys. At once, Felicity had stepped in to become both nursemaid and mother to the tiny babies. Then, just over one year ago, within weeks of one another, her own parents had been carried away, and soon after that, Robert had remarried. On her own at last, Felicity had decided to remove again to the property she had inherited from her husband's meager estate, Newbury Farm, and with the small sum left to her by her parents, to refurbish the once grand manor house to her own liking. Her plan was to take in boarders. Oh, not the common variety. Rhoades Arbor was to be a respectable establishment, a sort of country retreat for select members of the upper class who perhaps did not have access to a rural home. Seated before the newly polished little writing desk in one corner of the drawing room, Felicity gazed about the spacious room with pride. Her renovation project was nearly complete. All except the west wing. Which, with the money she'd realize from the Earl of Maitland's month-long stay here, she would be able to complete to satisfaction. She couldn't be happier, she thought, her blue-green eyes travelling over the freshly painted and papered drawing room. Its lovely row of mullioned windows overlooked a restful expanse of newly clipped green velvet lawn, the view extending over the rolling meadow to the small pond in the dell. "The house and grounds look vastly different than they did when we first came here, do they not, Philips?" "You have worked very hard, madam." A warm smile curved Felicity's lips. “I could not have done it without your help, Philips." When she had hired Philips, a large man with a muscular build, she had not looked too closely at his references, or questioned him too greatly as to why he was unemployed at the moment. Though Philips professed to have once been a gentleman's gentleman, and before that, a butler, he had proved far more capable than that. Felicity knew she would need a man to help with the heavy work, clearing away two decades of vines and undergrowth from the fruit orchards and the berry arbors, and repairing dilapidated fences, broken shutters, and whatever else she came across that needed fixing. And, when she finally opened Rhoades Arbor, she would, of course, need a butler. Philips suited perfectly. "You have proved far more talented than I could have hoped, Philips,” she said. “You are a true jack-of-all-trades. And a friend." She emitted a pleased sigh. “Soon we shall reap the harvest from all our hard work.” She turned again to the crisp sheet of linen paper in her hand. “To think, the Earl of Maitland himself wishes to spend an entire month at Rhoades Arbor. It is more than I could have hoped for.” Her eyes rapidly scanned the page again. “I wonder if he saw active duty on the Continent, or perhaps he was wounded, and that is why he is seeking rest." "I couldn't say, madam." Felicity did not hear the butler's reply, already she had taken up pen and paper and was busy composing a letter of acceptance to the earl's solicitor, Mr. Feather-stone, in London.

**** In London, Preston Ross, the sixth Earl of Maitland, alighted from his carriage in front of his solicitor's office and walked across the cobbled flagway, only slightly aware of the prick of pain in his upper thigh —a bleak reminder of the gentleman's final day of active duty on Spanish soil. Ironic, thought Lord Maitland, that after surviving a full ten years of service without a scratch, he had, on his very last day, sustained what could have been a crippling injury. Intent upon stealing the British officer's horse, a French deserter had tried to run his bayonet through Maitland's leg. Maitland, refusing to surrender his steed, had successfully warded off the attack, but upon observing the raw anguish in the man's eyes, he had given in to a rare urge to spare the fellow's life. Later, he had chastised himself for such a blatant display of weakness, though he took a modicum of comfort from the fact that one less name would now be added to the growing list of war dead. It was time, Maitland believed, that the fighting on both sides came to an end. At eight and twenty, he was weary of endless skirmishes, of plotting new maneuvers, of leading his men into battle. It was this weariness that, at last, convinced him to sell his colours and retire to his family's country seat in Berkshire. Just enough energy remained within him to put the once grand estate to rights again. Afterward, Maitland looked forward to settling down to enjoy the privileged life that was his birthright. "Afternoon,” Lord Maitland said, nodding to the young clerk perched on a stool behind the counter in Mr. Featherstone's office. "Good afternoon, your lordship, Mr. Featherstone is expecting you." "I am in no hurry,” Maitland returned quietly. He was, after all, already a man of leisure. Truth was, however, he rather missed having the army's rigid rules and regulations to adhere to. Discipline was good for a man's soul. It protected him from the hurtful side of life, from giving in to weaknesses, from raw, unbidden emotions whose only function was to rip a man's heart out. Too many times on the battlefield, Maitland had observed emotional displays from undisciplined men, men who were no more than children, crying like babies for their mamas or sweethearts to hold them while the very breath of life slipped from their lungs. It had tugged at Maitland's heart to see it, but as usual, he kept his deepest feelings hidden. He had no choice. As an officer, it was his duty to be strong. Seated inside the doorway, Maitland removed one glove, his interest drawn to the garnet signet ring now gracing the third finger of his right hand. The ring had been his father's and his father's before him. Now, it belonged to Maitland, the title that accompanied it signifying for him a new beginning, a new life. Still, apart from the fact that Maitland was now no longer a soldier who spent his days fighting, he expected little else about himself to change. His thoughts turned to the admittedly monumental task that awaited him now in the country. The family seat in Berkshire had fallen into gross disrepair. In fact, it was uninhabitable. Only a few servants remained and during the past several years, even they had removed to the dower house. Maitland's aged parents had lived out their final years at the family's city dwelling in Mayfair. But upon their death, even that had been closed up. Maitland was currently staying with friends in London, but the chaos of city-life being not to his liking, he was eager now to remove to the country. "Lord Maitland!” called Mr. Featherstone from the corridor beyond the clerk, “do come in. I've good news for you, sir." "Splendid.” Maitland rose to his feet. Drawing up a chair in the solicitor's small cubicle, Lord Maitland listened with interest as Mr.

Featherstone enlightened him on the various details regarding his late father's investments and the prospects of selling another of the Maitland holdings in the north country. Finally, he got round to the new Earl of Maitland's primary concern, the family seat in Berkshire. "Per your instructions, my lord, I secured a competent bailiff for you some months back. From what I understand he has already made headway in collecting back rents due from the tenants and is about to hire contractors to begin restoration on the main house. However,” the solicitor looked up, “he thought he should wait for final instructions from you." Maitland nodded. “Very good, I am most anxious to meet with him. The man's name is...?" "Tidwell. He and his family have moved into one of the smaller cottages, and"—Mr. Featherstone shuffled through some papers on his desk—"ah, yes, here it is. As I mentioned in my last letter, since it is unlikely that you will want to take up residence in the dower house, which I understand from Tidwell, is in much the same condition as the main house, I took the liberty of making interim living arrangements for you." "I see.” Maitland nodded his approval again and leaned back in his chair to listen. "The place is called...” he shuffled the papers again, “Rhoades Arbor." Maitland's brows drew together. “Don't believe I've heard of it. Near Reading, is it? I shouldn't want to be too far afield from Maitland. While I do plan to rest a bit before I begin my work in earnest, I shouldn't want to waste precious time traveling back and forth each day, you understand." "Oh, no sir, I completely understand your position there, sir. I believe Rhoades Arbor to be not above half an hour's ride from Maitland.” He turned to another sheet of paper upon which was drawn a simple map. “The Arbor seems to be ... just off the main highway, a bit north and east of Reading, I'd say.” He handed the page across to Maitland. Maitland studied the diagram as Mr. Featherstone went on. “The establishment was formerly called Newbury Farm and was owned by Sir William Newbury. I believe the gentleman to have been knighted shortly before his death." "That so,” Maitland mused. “Acknowledged for service, was he? Now that I think on it, I do seem to recollect the place, although it has been well over two decades since I was in the area. Quite showy in the springtime, orchards in full bloom, well-tended gardens, the like. Though I do not recall it being a lodging establishment." "That is a recent development, sir. Appears the property has only just changed hands and been completely modernized by the new owner." "Ah. Very well, then. It sounds ideal for my needs, Featherstone. You've been very thorough." The solicitor smiled and held up yet another sheet of paper. “The proprietor's letter of acceptance. There is the matter of your signature, sir." "Signature?" Maitland reached for the document and began to study it. “This Mrs. Rhoades ... is she...?" "Quite reputable, your lordship. Her father was a clergyman, I understand, though he is no longer living. In Mrs. Rhoades first letter, she mentioned having been a governess as a young woman. She is presently a widow. It is evident from the wording of the document and the attached advertisement that she runs a

reputable establishment, sir.” Mr. Featherstone smiled. “She was quite adamant about securing proper references from her boarders. Of course you passed muster, sir." "Of course.” Without signing it, Maitland neatly folded up the letter and the map and slipped them both into his coat pocket. Standing, he reached to shake Mr. Featherstone's hand. "I expect you are finding city life far less grueling than the battlefield, eh, my lord?" Maitland nodded. “Indeed. Though the constant snarl of traffic is not to my liking. One would think something could be done about it. I admit I am quite looking forward to the tranquility of country living." "I am confident you will find what you are looking for at Rhoades Arbor, sir." "I've no doubt that I will, Featherstone; no doubt that I will." **** Felicity was in a pelter. Her first boarders were expected to arrive later this afternoon and she was having the devil of a time getting the new draperies in the front bedchamber to hang properly. She had decided this room would serve for an elderly gentleman by the name of Mr. Tweed, who, along with his nurse, was coming to stay for the next week. After that, she would turn the suite of rooms over to the Pindiddle sisters, Miss Lucinda and her younger sister, Miss Amelia, or was it the other way around? Felicity wasn't sure, but that hardly signified now. She had a week to get the minor details about her guests straight and only a few hours to get the folds of the new curtains to hang straight. If only she were a few inches taller! For most of her life, she had enjoyed being rather small in stature. It made her feel feminine. But, for the past five months, she had loathed her diminutive size. She could never quite reach the top shelf of a cupboard she was cleaning, or move pieces of furniture that shouldn't be difficult to shift about, and now this. She climbed down from the ladder Philips had drug into the room for her and moved it a few inches closer to the window. Maybe, if she— "So. There you are!" Startled, Felicity's golden head spun around. She hadn't heard a carriage drive up. But then, who could hear anything above the noise Philips was making hammering the rose trellis back into place on the front gate? Her lips tightened when she saw who had entered the room unannounced. Debating her situation yet one more time with her older brother Robert was the last thing she needed to contend with today. "As you can see, I am quite busy just now, Robert." A masculine version of Felicity's finely arched brow lifted. “You look a fright. Felicity,” Robert said by way of greeting. "I am working. I can hardly be expected to look the picture of perfection when I am—" "You have not looked the picture of perfection in months, not since you embarked upon this impossible venture." Felicity gripped the rails of the ladder and slowly backed down. Her feet firmly on the ground, she turned to face her brother. He stood at least two heads taller than she. “A gentleman would offer to give a lady a hand,” she said tartly. Robert snorted his impatience, slapping his gloves against his buckskin-clad thigh. “I will have no part of

this nonsense and well you know it. The fact is, my dear, I have come to take you home." Felicity stared at him as if he had gone daft. Her chin elevated, she attempted to brush past him but he caught her about the wrist, halting her progress. She winced as his strong ringers dug into her flesh. "You are hurting me, Robert!" "You are hurting yourself, peagoose. I will brook no objection this time. I insist you pack your bags and return home with me straightaway." "I have guests coming today, one of—” she bit her lip to keep from telling him that among her first lodgers was an earl! Robert would likely scoff and accuse her of fabricating. Instead, she wrenched free of his hold and stood rubbing the red spot on her arm where his fingers had been. "The twins need you!” Robert next exclaimed. “You have been the only ... mother my sons have known since birth." "But I am not their mother. You've a wife now. Libby is the proper one to be the boys’ mother." "Libby is little more than a child herself! She knows nothing of children." Felicity tried to bite back an angry retort, but found she simply couldn't. “Your new bride should know plenty about children, considering she so recently was one!" "For pity sakes, Felicity, my wife is only seventeen years of age. Have a care." "Your family problems are none of my concern. You should have taken Libby's age into consideration before you married a girl fresh from the schoolroom." "At the time it did not occur to me that my own sister—dependable, responsible Felicity—would desert her own nephews! What would Mother say if she were still alive?" Felicity's stomach churned. “You know very well what our parents would say. I would be told what to do and that would be the end of it." Becoming visibly agitated by his younger sister's stubborn refusal to comply with his wishes, Robert paced. Felicity's lips tightened when she noted the scuff marks his polished Hessians were making on her freshly scrubbed floor. “If you don't mind, Robert—" He whirled to face her. “Father would never have allowed you to spend his money on this ... this relic of a farm! To say nothing of your late husband's feelings in the matter!" Felicity sniffed. “Oddly enough, I believe William would be quite pleased with what I have done to the house. You must admit it has never looked quite so grand. Of course, the vegetable garden I've planned is not yet in place, but I have made a good start." Reaching to hold back a lopsided curtain, Robert peered out, his gaze alighting on a new stretch of fence that Philips had whitewashed. Suddenly he whirled about again, his features contorted angrily. "I insist you give up this nonsense at once, Felicity! It was an impulsive idea at best and I will not have it. You belong at home with Libby and myself, minding your duties with the twins. They need you. They cry constantly. ‘Til we decide what's to be done with this relic, we can leave it in the care of that ... that oaf you hired to tend it. He has done the lion's share of the work already, it shouldn't be difficult to sell." Felicity's eyes narrowed with fury. “I have worked every bit as long and hard as Philips, and I have no

intention of selling my home. Now"—she was so furious she was actually trembling—"I insist that you leave me to my work. My first guest is scheduled to arrive this evening and I intend to have these draperies in place.” She stalked toward the ladder and deliberately began to climb up it. "Pah! I will not have it, Felicity!” Robert grabbed hold of one side of the ladder and shook it roughly. "Stop it, Robert!” Felicity screamed. In seconds, Philips appeared in the doorway, his rugged face an angry scowl. "It's alright. Philips. My brother was just leaving." Apparently realizing that he'd been beaten by the pair of them, Robert pursed his lips and made a cursory move toward the door. “Very well, Felicity, I shall leave you to your ... your folly. But, I warn you, this isn't over. Not by a long chalk."

Chapter Two Felicity paid her brother's threat no mind until late the following evening. By then, several of her guests had already arrived, Mr. Tweed and his nurse, Miss Hall, and a Mrs. Leads from London. By nine of the clock, the evening meal was over and everyone was settled comfortably in their respective bedchambers. Even Felicity was about to turn in when suddenly a loud disturbance arose on the graveled drive in front of the house. Looking a bit alarmed, Philips strode to the door and flung it open. "Lord Maitland requires aid, man! Come at once!" Without a word, Philips ran outdoors and moments later, Felicity watched in horror as he and the wide-eyed coachman who had summoned their help carried the prone body of an elegantly dressed gentleman between them. Since Philips knew that the grandest bedchamber had been prepared for Lord Maitland, he led the way down the uncarpeted corridor and into the darkened room. Felicity was close behind them holding a flickering candlestick above her head. Catching a glimpse of the Earl of Maitland's ashen face in the pool of light that fell onto the bed, her heart leapt to her throat. "What happened?” she demanded of the coach driver. “He isn't ... is he?" "We ‘as set upon by ... well, we ‘as set upon by ... by somethin', ma'am.” The man's red-rimmed eyes were round with fright. “I be on my way now, ma'am.” With that, he turned to flee. Philips halted him in the doorway. “I expect his lordship has baggage." "Oh. Yes, sir. But I done throwed it to the ground. I be gone now.” And he was. Philips flung a puzzled gaze at Felicity. “I'll just see to the gentleman's bags, ma'am." "Thank you, Philips.” Felicity turned again to the gentleman lying on the bed. He was a large man, though not nearly so muscular as Philips. He was more on the order of her brother Robert, though she knew that Robert often resorted to artificial means to enhance various parts of his body. Something told her this gentleman was the genuine article. Every last inch of him. Edging closer to the bed, she stole a concerned peek at Lord Maitland's powerful torso. No blood spots or gaping holes were visible on his crisp white shirt or his embroidered waistcoat. She wondered if she should be so bold as to lift back the lapels of his jacket just to be sure he had not been shot, or stabbed. Highwaymen often carried knives. She reached a hand out, then drew it back. What if he suddenly opened his eyes and thought she was in search of his valuables, or worse, that she meant to undress him! She decided to wait for Philips. Perhaps by the time he returned, he would have ascertained precisely what had happened and they would know what could be done for the Earl of Maitland. Waiting, she couldn't resist lowering the flickering candle for a closer look at the gentleman's face. But, just then, Philips appeared in the entryway carrying two bags, a large one and a smaller leather case, which Felicity assumed held the gentleman's toiletry items. She hurriedly set the candlestick down on the small table beside the bed as Philips deposited his load just inside the doorway. "Driver was queer as Dick's hatband,” Philips marveled. “Lit out like a man crazed." "Did he tell you what happened? Should we send for a doctor? Was his lordship shot?"

Philips's gaze flicked to Lord Maitland, still lying unconscious on the bed. “Coachman said his outrider disappeared into the woods just after the attack ... and his lordship barely escaped with his life." "Oh!” Felicity sucked in her breath and looked down at the sleeping gentleman again. “But we've heard nothing about highwaymen or footpads hereabouts, who could have—?” At that exact moment, she remembered Robert's veiled threat of two days ago. No! It couldn't be. When Robert was angry or upset, he could be loud and even abusive at times, but he would never ... no! she refused to believe this was Robert's doing. But, still ... she felt a tight knot of fear form in the pit of her stomach. "Perhaps we should try to rouse the gentleman,” she said to Philips. “Surely, he will know what happened." "Very well. If you'll tell me where the brandy is." Felicity's head jerked up. “Philips!" "For his lordship,” Philips replied evenly. "Oh.” Felicity scampered from the room and returned seconds later with an uncorked bottle and a glass. She watched as Philips slipped an arm beneath the Earl of Maitland's strong shoulders and lifted his dark head a few inches off the pillow. "If you could just assist me, please, madam." Felicity sprang to his side. “What would you have me do?" "Try to get a dram or two into his mouth." Felicity did as she was told and sure enough, the gentleman's eyelids fluttered open as he swallowed convulsively, then coughed. Flinging Philips's arms aside, the Earl of Maitland sat up on his own. “Where am I? What—?" Felicity handed the bottle of brandy to Philips, and he stepped wordlessly into the shadows. "Where am I?” the Earl of Maitland demanded, his eyes apparently searching out someone, or something, he recognized. “Who are you people?" "I am Mrs. Rhoades,” Felicity said primly. “The proprietor of Rhoades Arbor. Your coach driver delivered you to us only moments ago. He said you had been set upon—" "My, God!” The Earl of Maitland's gloved hands reached for his head. “It's coming back to me now.” His chest began to heave. "Do you need a doctor, sir?” Felicity leaned forward with concern. “Are you injured?" Lord Maitland's eyelids blinked rapidly as a bewildered look crossed his face. “No, no. I was not injured...” But, one hand had strayed to the back of his head and he began to rub an apparently sore spot upon it. "Are you certain you are unharmed?” Felicity asked again. “The coach driver could tell us nothing ... or would tell us nothing. Perhaps you can enlighten us." Lord Maitland drew in another breath and Felicity noted with alarm that his expression still appeared dazed.

"We were, indeed, set upon,” the earl began. “A man ... on a black steed. He was waving a pistol, and...” the earl's nostrils flared as he fought for air—"he was carrying a..." Felicity bit her lower lip. "What? What was the highwayman carrying, Lord Maitland?" Maitland looked up and directly into Felicity's eyes, almost as if he were just now noticing that she was actually standing there. “He ... he was carrying...” Suddenly, the earl's shoulders sagged, and his face went ashen. “The man was carrying ... his own head." "Oh!” Felicity cried, a hand flying to her mouth. From the shadows behind her, she heard Philips murmur, “The headless horseman." Recovering herself almost instantly, Felicity flung a reproachful look at Philips. She moved a step closer to the bed and, in her most soothing tone, said, “You've had a frightful scare tonight, sir. What you need is a good night's rest. There now, lie back again. Philips will bring you a nice mug of warm milk. Philips,” she instructed, “wake Mrs. Allen, have her prepare a tumbler of milk and bring it to me, at once." After the milk had been administered and Lord Maitland seemed to again be resting peacefully, Felicity still was not certain what she should do. Stay behind and see that Lord Maitland stayed calm and remained in his room, or leave the gentleman be and hope he didn't wake up confused and wander off into the night. She was convinced the poor earl was definitely not right in the upper story and was clearly suffering from some sort of brain disorder. He did, indeed, need a month long rest in the country. Perhaps even longer. She decided to station Philips on a cot just outside the earl's bedchamber for the night. Any untoward movement from within and Philips would hear. Tucking herself in, she couldn't help feeling frightfully sorry for the gentleman. She wondered if the poor man's mind would ever heal? The following morning, Lord Maitland missed breakfast entirely, but Felicity decided that for now, the extra sleep would do him more good than food. He did, however, emerge from his bedchamber just before luncheon. Felicity saw him from where she stood polishing the diamond-paned window in the foyer. She fastened a gaze on the gentleman as he moved toward her. He was quite tall, taller than Robert, on a par with Philips, though more lean than muscular. He wore his hair fashionably long. It was thick and wavy, the color of rich, dark chocolate, as were his eyes. It struck her suddenly, that Lord Maitland was an inordinately handsome man, a fact she had failed to take note of in other gentlemen these last years, due entirely, she believed, to her complete lack of interest in the male sex. What a pity this elegant gentleman suffered from such a severe mental disorder. Ailments of that sort were quite often permanent. She continued to watch the tall man. He had a nice stride, she noted, more sure than uncertain. She'd have expected him to be a bit clumsy, considering his condition. "And how do you feel this fine morning, my lord?” she asked as he drew nearer. She hoped her voice sounded bright and cheerful to him. He seemed startled that she had addressed him. “I am well enough, thank you, miss." Had he totally forgot the events that transpired last evening, Felicity thought with alarm? She addressed him again. “Perhaps you would care for a cup of coffee, or tea, sir? It is nearly time for luncheon. I am sure the pot has already boiled. You might enjoy taking a cup out on the verandah,” she suggested, smiling. “It is quite pleasant out there."

Lord Maitland stopped before her, his dark eyes focused directly on her now. He still seemed unsure why she was speaking to him. “Perhaps you would direct me to the proprietor of this establishment, miss." Felicity's smile turned indulgent. “I am Mrs. Rhoades, sir. We met last evening. But then, you were not quite yourself when you arrived." Lord Maitland stared at the young lady for a long moment. It was true, the events surrounding his arrival here last evening were somewhat a blur in his mind. Odd, he had never suffered lapses of memory before. He clearly recalled hiring the chaise and four in London, and beginning the trip early last evening. But, once he'd settled himself inside the coach, he'd quickly fallen asleep. From that point on, he had no clear memory at all. But then, he was still suffering from exhaustion. It was common for him to wake abruptly during the night, his nostrils stinging from the stench of death, his ears ringing from a real or imagined burst of cannonball. Last night had been no exception. He had not meant to stay abed so long this morning, however. Laziness went against all that he stood for. He retired at the exact same time each evening and awoke at precisely the same time every morning. It had been that way for years; he had no intention of altering his routine now. "Well, then, Mrs. Rhoades, may I thank you for looking after me. I feel sufficiently rested now and I am most anxious to go home. If I might avail myself of a mount from your stable." "Oh, no, sir,” Felicity cried. “I cannot allow it!" Maitland's eyes darkened. “I am not a prisoner here, Mrs. Rhoades. I merely wish to ride to my home and ascertain for myself the extent of the damage." "Oh, my Lord Maitland, do you think that a good idea? I mean ... after last night? You did suffer quite a severe blow to your head. I'm sure it could not have helped matters any." Maitland's brows pulled together in a scowl. Clearly, the young woman was misinformed about something. "Please, my lord. Do you take a seat in the drawing room and allow me to fetch you a nice cup of tea. Tea can be quite soothing to the nerves, you know.” She indicated with the hand not holding the dust cloth which was the drawing room. Maitland glanced in that direction. The chamber to the left of the hall was large and sunny. For some reason, the comfortable-looking chairs and sofas seemed to beckon him. “Well, perhaps one cup. Then I really must be on my way." Breathing a sigh of relief, Felicity ushered the tall gentleman to an over-stuffed wing chair in the center of the room. After he sat down, she managed to extract his hat and gloves from him. “I'll have Philips put these in your room,” she said. “Philips is the butler,” she added, speaking rather loudly and enunciating her words carefully. “He helped you into bed last evening and—” she nearly said, kept watch outside your door all night, but she caught herself. No need to unduly alarm the poor, sick man. She turned to go, then felt, rather than saw, Lord Maitland rise again to his feet. She whirled to face him. “Where are you going now, my lord?" He gave her a quizzical look. “To gaze from the window, Mrs. Rhoades. The view appears to be quite lovely."

"Ah. Yes, yes it is. You can see all the way to the lake. Just there, do you see the pretty blue water?" He flicked another odd look her way, then proceeded to the window and peered out. Felicity watched a second longer, then pushing down her anxiety, decided it was safe to leave him while she fetched the tea. Yet, she kept a close watch on the gentleman during luncheon. The poor man's dementia was worse than she feared. He actually meant to go home today! The dear, lost soul. Eating her meal along with her guests in the common room, she wondered now if it was a good idea for Lord Maitland to mix with the others. Following his every move with her eyes, she thought if one did not know better, it would be hard to detect from just watching him that there was anything amiss. He displayed perfect manners at the table. Even now, he was conversing pleasantly with Mrs. Leads. She was a motherly sort, gray hair, in her mid-to-late fifties. Felicity had meant to give the woman that nice suite of rooms—the blue bedchamber and lovely little sitting room—at the top of the stairs but, for some reason, Mrs. Leads had insisted upon a room on the ground floor. Early this morning, well before breakfast, Felicity had noticed Mrs. Leads in the garden. She carried a small notebook tucked under one arm and every now and again, she'd stop abruptly, jot something down, then take a few steps further, look about and make another notation. Felicity had wondered if the woman was a horticulturist. She glanced now at Mr. Tweed. He and his spinsterish-looking nurse, Miss Hall, were both seated at the little round table in the corner of the room. There were three tables in all in the dining chamber. Two small ones and the large rectangular one in the center. The food was spread out on the buffet, with the guests being at liberty to fill and refill their own plates. By serving themselves. Felicity reasoned, she could cut down on the number of servants needed to run the household. As it was, she felt a bit strapped taking on both Philips and Mrs. Allen, the new cook-cum-housekeeper she'd pressed into service just two days ago. And, of course, there was Alice, a scullery and cleaning maid, whose duties extended to washing the mountain of soiled linen that accumulated each day. Maintaining such a household was one more reason Felicity must guard against the earl's taking it into his head to up and leave. She was in desperate need of the money she'd realize from his lengthy stay here. After luncheon, she was pleased to see Lord Maitland fall into step beside Mrs. Leads, the both of them taking a cup of tea with them onto the verandah. Felicity turned to help Mrs. Allen clear away the dishes, then she walked to the drawing room, unable to resist peeking from a window in order to check on the whereabouts of her guests. Though it had been two full days since Mr. Tweed and his nurse had arrived, she still found it difficult to relax completely with virtual strangers about the house. She caught a glimpse of Miss Hall helping her charge down the steps that led into the side garden, headed, she presumed, for the stone bench where the pair of them had whiled away the past two afternoons. Closer in, she saw that Lord Maitland and Mrs. Leads were, indeed, still together, seated on high-backed chairs in a sunny spot on the porch. Hoping that meant the earl had abandoned his earlier plan to go home today, she decided it was safe again to turn her mind to other matters.

Chapter Three For a good hour, Felicity worked feverishly, stripping the remains of faded green silk from an upstairs bedchamber wall. Feeling dirty and grimy, she suspected the dust swirling about her was at least a half century old. When a trickle of perspiration ran down her cheek, she swiped at it with the back of her hand and tramped across the debris littering the floor to fling open another window. The swoop of fresh air that rushed in felt good. She yanked off the mobcap she wore to prevent dust and creepy-crawly things from nesting in her hair, and vigorously shook the cap out the window. It was then she noticed the bank of dark clouds that were rolling in from the north. Thinking that an afternoon shower would serve to bring her guests scurrying indoors, she decided she ought to go and check on Lord Maitland. In his condition, there was no saying what a loud clap of thunder or. Heaven forbid, a sudden crack of lightning would do. On her way belowstairs, she paused in her chamber long enough to remove the oversized apron that covered her serviceable day frock and to splash cold water on her face and hands. Drying them quickly on her skirt, she hastened to the verandah. But what she found, or rather, didn't find there, caused a knot of fear to form in her stomach. Lord Maitland was nowhere in sight. But Mrs. Leads hadn't moved. With her gray head bent over her notebook, she was busy scribbling away. The woman glanced up as Felicity approached. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Rhoades. I've been having a perfectly lovely time sitting here on the—” At apparently that exact moment, the woman noticed the rain clouds approaching. “Why, goodness me!” She laughed ruefully. “I've been so engrossed in my studies that I scarcely noticed the sun has disappeared altogether." "Where is Lord Maitland?” Felicity asked abruptly. “I had thought he was here with you." Quickly closing her notebook, Mrs. Leads smiled pleasantly. “What a delightful young man! And very well connected, too. We discovered we had several mutual acquaintances in London. Why, Lord Maitland's aunt, Lady—" "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Leads, but I simply must know where Lord Maitland has got off to. He shouldn't be—" "Why, I am sure there is no cause for alarm, Mrs. Rhoades. The gentleman is"—she pointed a finger toward the little lake that lay just beyond a low copse of trees—"there." Felicity's eyes darted in that direction and sure enough, she spotted Lord Maitland sitting on a rock beside the cloudy blue water. In his hand was a thin reed, or stick, to which he had apparently attached a long string. "He has gone angling,” Mrs. Leads said cheerily. “He said if he caught anything, he meant to have Cook prepare it this evening for his supper! Isn't that clever of him?" "Hmmm,” Felicity murmured. Then she turned a serious look on the matron, and said in a low tone, “I should like to ask you something, Mrs. Leads. It's about Lord Maitland." The woman's face became a question. “But I only just met the gentleman today, Mrs. Rhoades."

Felicity hesitated. She did not wish to cause undue alarm among her other guests, yet ... she couldn't help feeling a certain responsibility for their safety. They were, after all, staying in her home. And if Lord Maitland were ... well, dangerous ... She decided to forge ahead. “Mrs. Leads, have you ... noticed anything ... well, untoward in the Earl of Maitland's demeanor?" Mrs. Leads looked shocked. “Why, absolutely not! Should I have? I daresay he has been the perfect gentleman to me. Quite. Were I to describe the man in a single word, I would say he is ... impeccable.” Still wearing the shocked look on her face, she glanced toward the subject of their discussion, then back up at Felicity. “Why, I can't think what you must be implying, Mrs. Rhoades." Suddenly Felicity felt consumed by guilt. She shouldn't have said anything. “Forgive me, Mrs. Leads, I fear I have spoken out of turn. I beg you to please forget what I said. And, please, do not mention a word of this to the other guests, most especially his lordship." The expression on Mrs. Leads’ face became serious. “You may count on my complete cooperation, Mrs. Rhoades. It shall be our secret." Before Felicity had a chance to respond, huge raindrops began to pelt the ground and splatter onto the porch. Felicity flung a worried gaze at Lord Maitland. It appeared the gentleman did not even know he was getting wet. He hadn't moved so much as an inch from where he sat! "Oh, dear,” Felicity murmured. “If you will please excuse me, Mrs. Leads.” She darted into the house in search of Philips. She found him in the back of the house, on his knees, just beginning to replace the loose floor boards inside the rear door that creaked whenever they were trod upon. "Philips, you must go and see to his lordship at once. The poor man is sitting by the pond, angling. I don't believe he has even noticed that it has begun to rain." "Yes, ma'am.” Philips rose to his feet. "Oh, and Philips." The large man halted. "Don't tell Lord Maitland that our little pond is stocked with nothing but lily pads." By the time the supper dishes were cleared away and Felicity had left Mrs. Allen and Alice belowstairs in the kitchen rubbing them clean, she wearily climbed the steep back steps to the ground floor again. It had seemed an especially tiring day and she longed for a quiet moment to herself. Walking the length of the wide corridor that divided the ground floor in half, she noted that the doors of all three of her guests’ bedchambers were closed. With a deep sigh of relief, she decided to push their needs to the back of her mind for a spell and spent a minute in divine solitude on the verandah. Stepping outside, she welcomed the rain-freshened air that greeted her. Felicity had no sooner seated herself on the newly refurbished chaise that Mrs. Leads seemed to prefer when she heard the front door of the house open and close once again. Turning, in the filtered light that fell from the drawing room windows, she saw the tall figure of Lord Maitland walking toward her. With a small inward sigh, Felicity somehow summoned the energy to cheerfully say, “Good evening, my lord."

The tall gentleman glanced toward the shadows. “Good evening, madam, I did not see you sitting there.” He strolled closer, but did not sit down, instead he remained standing near the waist-high stone railing that encircled the porch. Saying nothing further to Felicity, he continued to stare out over the darkened grounds. Somewhat relieved by his silence, Felicity took in the scene before them, as well. She had sat here alone on many occasions of an evening and thought that in the waning light of day, the arched gate in front of the house, the hedgerows along the graveled drive, and the score of old trees, some gnarled and bent with age, others with their spindly branches going helter-skelter was quite peaceful. At length, Lord Maitland said, “The stillness here is almost palpable, Mrs. Rhoades. You must enjoy evenings in the country very much." Felicity was startled, not so much by the sound of the gentleman's voice, which was low and mellow, but by the fact that his comments were so ... normal. She wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Rhoades Arbor is exactly as I expected it to be,” he went on. “Both the house and grounds are lovely." Again, the unremarkableness of the earl's comments was ... remarkable. “Why, thank you, Lord Maitland. I am pleased to hear you say that.” In more ways than one, she added to herself. The earl strolled a bit closer to her. “Do you mind if I sit down?" "No ... please, do.” When Felicity indicated a chair, the tall gentleman eased his large frame into it. Closer to her now, she heard him draw in a long breath. “I remember when this was Newbury Farm,” he said, quietly. At that, Felicity cringed inwardly. “Were you ... acquainted with the Newburys, your lordship?” She held her breath whilst awaiting his reply. She did not wish to reveal to him, or to anyone, that she was in any way connected to the Newbury family. "No.” Lord Maitland folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in the chair. “Though I expect my father was. He knew nearly every land owner between here and London." "Your ... father?" The earl nodded. “My home is just” ... he directed a long gaze across the meadow ... “that direction, I believe.” He arched a brow. “If the little map you drew for Featherstone is accurate." "Ah, the map." "I am told the house is in frightful disrepair. Has been uninhabitable for years." Felicity continued to gaze at him. Was it possible the earl did, indeed, have an estate nearby? “The Arbor's condition was quite frightful when I took it over,” she said. "Hmm.” The gentleman nodded. “I find it shocking that so many people allow decay to set in.” He fell silent again, then said, “But, I mean to remedy the situation at Maitland as quickly as possible." "Maitland?" "My home. The family seat.” He gave her a curious look. “I take it Mr. Featherstone did not enlighten you as to the reason I was seeking interim living arrangements."

"No. He didn't,” Felicity murmured. Then a bit louder, she said, “The gentleman merely said you had—” she paused abruptly, wondering if it was prudent at this juncture to bring up the earl's recent war experience? He was behaving in so normal a fashion, it would be a shame if she inadvertently said something that sent him over the edge again. "Sold my colors?” the earl finished for her. “Yes, that is true. I've been away for more than a dozen years.” He drew in another deep breath. “But, I mean now to spend the rest of my life right here.” He paused. “That is, at Maitland. Once I bring it around.” He paused again. “I understand you are a widow, Mrs. Rhoades." Felicity felt a modicum of relief at the new direction the conversation had taken. “Yes,” she nodded, “I am." "And yet, you undertook the monumental task of refurbishing the farm all on your own?” Shaking his head, he gazed directly at her. Felicity was looking at him also. She wondered if what she saw in those fathomless dark eyes was ... admiration? She looked away. The gentleman was being surprisingly rational! “Yes, I did. With Philips’ help, of course." "Well, may I say, I admire your fortitude and courage, Mrs. Rhoades. There are not many young women who would attempt such a thing on their own. And especially not with a house the size of this one.” He glanced back at the structure. “Interesting architecture, this. The building seems to ramble off in all directions. Almost as if each succeeding generation added a little something of their own to it." Felicity smiled. “I daresay I came to that same conclusion myself, sir. This porch, for instance, was surely an addition, as was the nice covered way between the wash house and the rear entry, which makes it quite convenient on a rainy day." The earl was still gazing up at the house. “I can't think when I have been in a genuine country farmhouse. I think it a wise decision of yours not to destroy the quaint look of it. I rather like the framed timber design, and the old-fashioned thatched roof." Suddenly, Felicity realized she was enjoying this conversation. “Oh, I quite agree, my lord. When I began my renovation project, I wished to retain as much of the look of the original house as I could. Of course, many of the shutters had to be replaced, and all of the windows. They were nearly all cracked or gone entirely. Which, of course, meant there was extensive damage to the inside of the house from the elements. It was rather an undertaking,” she agreed, “but I've quite enjoyed myself these last months." "And, all on your own,” he muttered again. “By the by, you are considerably ... younger than I expected you to be. When Mr. Featherstone said you were a widow, I rather thought ... well...” he turned a disarming look on Felicity. Beneath the gentleman's appraising gaze, Felicity grew uncomfortable. Especially alarming was the fact that her generally calm and steady pulse had actually accelerated! Dear Lord, was it possible she had been completely wide of the mark regarding the Earl of Maitland's sanity? Why, the gentleman's conversation this evening was as normal as any she had heard. Perhaps even more so, considering the subject. Robert had certainly never been able to discuss her remodeling project in so unemotional a fashion. Or, she eyed the gentleman with fresh suspicion, could it be that the earl had rare moments of lucidity, and this was simply one of them? After all, she reminded herself, only last evening, just last evening he

had professed to encounter a headless horseman! And there was nothing at all rational in that. Deciding the latter was true. Felicity put up her guard again. Lord Maitland was still gazing at her. “I understand your father was a clergyman, Mrs. Rhoades." "Yes,” she replied coolly. “My father was blessed with two livings. Both of them in the vicinity of Bath." "Ah, so you did not grow up near Reading, or Newbury, then?" "Our home was just beyond Bath, on the way to Bristol. Though for a ... very short time, after I married, I lived in London. Previous to that,” she told him, “I had been employed as a governess." "But, somewhere along the way, Mrs. Rhoades, you must have acquired some experience as a—” Suddenly, the gentleman sprang to his feet and ran to lean over the stone railing. “By Jove! Did you see that?" Oh, dear, God. Felicity's eyes rolled skyward. The poor man was off his head again. She was on her feet and beside him in an instant. "Lord Maitland,” she began, her tone sounding somewhat patronizing, “I assure you I have had plenty of experience with ... this sort of thing. Both my late husband's parents were ill quite a long time before they died and I tended them right up to the end. And my own father was not quite right before he was carried away. And then there is Robert. Robert is my brother. You never saw a more distraught young man than he was when his dear Amabelle went aloft. I thought he would never recover. But, he is right as rain now.” Well, perhaps that was wrapping it up in clean linen, she thought, but since the earl was not acquainted with her brother, and not likely to meet him, it was neither here nor there. Beside her, Lord Maitland was still staring up at the Heavens. “I haven't seen a double-falling star in years,” he exclaimed. “Not since my days as a foot soldier when I made my bed beneath the stars every night." Felicity looked puzzled. “A ... double-falling star?" The Earl of Maitland gazed down at Felicity, who was standing quite near him. “I expect the phenomena was over before you could see it, Mrs. Rhoades. By Jove, it was extraordinary!" Felicity wasn't convinced there had actually been a phenomena. Still, she said, “I'm sure it was, your lordship. Now, if you'll allow me to escort you back inside.” She reached to take his arm much as she had seen Miss Hall do with doddering old Mr. Tweed. “I'll have Philips see you to your room." Lord Maitland's brows drew together and he wrenched from her grasp. “I am not an invalid, Mrs. Rhoades, and I do not require constant looking after. And, while I have nothing against your butler, I am not especially fond of the fellow either. Furthermore, I was perfectly aware this afternoon that it was raining outdoors. It was not necessary to send Philips to ‘bring me back inside’ as he phrased it." With that, Lord Maitland strode purposefully toward the steps that led to the garden. But before descending them, he turned again to Felicity. "By the by, Mrs. Rhoades, it also did not escape my notice that your little pond contains no fish. Since I may need to employ that ruse again in order to avoid Mrs. Lead's company, I implore you to refrain from telling her that. If you will excuse me—” He nodded. “I mean to take a turn about the garden before I retire." Felicity stared after him, uncertain what to think now. One moment, the Earl of Maitland was as

clear-headed as the next person, and then, well ... there was still the matter of the headless horseman to consider. Not long after she had climbed into bed that night, Felicity heard the tell-tale sound of someone trodding upon the creaking floor board inside the rear entry that Philips had not yet got around to repairing. Thinking that Lord Maitland had at last returned to the house, she exhaled a sigh of relief. But, she did not fall asleep right away. Thoughts of her newest guest, the addlepated earl, continued to haunt her. For a man not quite right in the upper story, he had a compelling presence about him. She did not know what rank the earl held in the army, but she suspected his men always obeyed him ... to the letter. She had yet to see a genuine smile soften those granite-carved features. He had a piercing gaze, a chiseled jaw and a long, aristocratic nose. Taken all together, the man was quite handsome, one might even say, strikingly handsome. And for someone completely around the bend, he had already noticed more about this house than Robert had in five months of looking at it. She continued to think about the attractive gentleman, wondering idly if he had ever been in love? He was a young man and with his title and fortune, for she assumed he was quite well-fixed, he could easily have his pick of any young lady on London's marriage mart. And from what she'd observed from her short stay in Town, especially amongst the ton, the earl's peculiarities would likely go unnoticed there. She couldn't help wondering what he had been like ... before? Though, of course, that did not signify to her. The following morning, Felicity was awakened just before dawn by an insistent rap-rap-rap at her bedchamber door. Springing from bed, she opened the door a crack and peered out to find a wide-eyed Mrs. Allen standing there. "Philips says you'd best come quick, ma'am." "Tell him I'll be right down, Mrs. Allen." Hurriedly dressing, Felicity's first thought was that Philips needed help in restraining a mad, or raving, Lord Maitland. It was beginning to appear that each new day with the gentleman was going to be a fresh trial. She took the stairs as quickly as she could but once in the corridor, she was surprised to find the earl's bedchamber door standing wide open, and the room empty! "They are out in the garden, ma'am,” Mrs. Allen said as the stout woman stepped back inside the house. Felicity did not pause to question the cook. She could guess what had happened. From his room behind the stable, Philips must have heard Lord Maitland attempting to make off with the only horse she owned. Poor Philips, Felicity thought, lifting her skirts as she hurried across the mist shrouded yard toward the stables. Philips must be having the devil of a time calming Lord Maitland if he had to summon her to come and help! Coming upon the clearing that lay just beyond a tangled mass of blackberry vines—which needed cutting back, Felicity noted to herself—she caught sight of Philips kneeling before something ... or someone, lying on the ground. Dear God! Felicity thought, breaking into a run, what had happened to the earl this time? Just as she reached Philips, from the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a horse and rider galloping pell-mell through the trees. “Philips, what is it?” she called. “Has something happened to Lord Maitland?" Philips turned around, his large frame, coupled with the dim light of early morning, shielding Felicity's view of the figure that lay prone on the ground behind him.

Her eyes wide, Felicity attempted to push past the large man but Philips grabbed her wrist, restraining her. “I wouldn't do that if I was you, ma'am." "But, Philips, if Lord Maitland has been killed, I must—" "Ain't him, ma'am." Her heart in her throat, Felicity stared up at the butler. Philips shook his head sadly. “I don't know who the man is, Mrs. Rhoades. I sent Lord Maitland for the authorities." "Lord Maitland!" Felicity flung a horrified gaze the direction of the horse and rider that had sped through the trees only moments ago. She could still hear the sound of galloping hooves receding in the distance. “But he is likely to become lost, or ... or befuddled, and never find his way back here again!" "He'll be fine, Mrs. Rhoades." Felicity sighed with exasperation. It was too late now. What's done was done. She turned her attention to the situation at hand. “Tell me exactly what happened. Philips." Philips edged away from the body, the movement drawing Felicity away also. “I had just awakened, ma'am. It was still dark out and I was walking to the main house to get the fire going in the kitchen, same as I always do. But, suddenly I stumbled over something lying in my path.” He shrugged. “I found this lying next to the body.” He leaned over and picked up a candlestick. A bloody candlestick. "Oh!” Felicity cried. She covered her mouth with her hands and stared at the red-stains on the rather tarnished instrument. “It ... doesn't look like one of ours, does it, Philips?" "No, ma'am." "Is the man...?" "I'm afraid he is, ma'am. Wasn't breathing when I first knelt down." Still reeling with shock, Felicity gazed up at Philips. “Did you see, or ... or hear anything ... suspicious during the night?" Philips shook his head. "Oh, dear,” Felicity murmured again, unable to fully comprehend the enormity of what had happened. Philips took up his explanation again. “I went at once to Lord Maitland's room and rapped at his door ‘til I woke him. The gentleman was sound asleep. He came at once. He insisted on going for the authorities. Said it be the proper thing to do, ma'am." Felicity turned toward the body sprawled on the ground. “Do you think it possible,” she began, “that this man's murder and the attack on Lord Maitland are ... in some way ... connected?" Philips seemed at a loss. “I expect the constable can answer that question better than me, Mrs. Rhoades." "I suppose you are right. But, whatever he says, Philips, I still cannot accept Lord Maitland's ridiculous claim that he was set upon by a headless horseman!"

A sound in the bushes behind them caused both Felicity and Philips to whirl in that direction. Presently, Mrs. Leads appeared, tramping through the tall, dew-moistened grass toward them. “Did I hear someone mention a headless horseman? How simply delicious!” She drew out her notebook and prepared to jot something down, but instead she suddenly caught sight of the man lying face down on the ground. “Oh, my! What have we here?" Felicity took a few steps toward the older woman. “Mrs. Leads, I must ask you to please return to the house. There's been a sort of ... mishap.” She attempted to draw the woman away, but Mrs. Leads would have none of it. The smile on her face seemed strangely elated. “Is it someone we know?” She rushed to peer at the slain creature on the ground, then glanced up at Philips who stood with the bloody candlestick dangling from one large hand. “Ah, and here we have the murderer. All wrapped up nice and tidy, I'd say.” She sounded quite satisfied. "Mrs. Leads,” Felicity began, “Philips had nothing to do with the murder. Please, I insist that you return to the house straightaway and do not breathe a word of this to the other guests. I shouldn't want to alarm old Mr. Tweed or Miss Hall. And I am expecting a Mr. Chadwick to arrive today from Chester.” She flicked a gaze at the body. “Oh, dear. Do you suppose...? No, surely not. In any event, Mrs. Leads, you must promise to keep this under your hat." Mrs. Leads's chin shot up. “This is the second time you have asked me not to betray a confidence, Mrs. Rhoades. If you recall, I have already told you that a secret is always safe with me.” With no further word, she turned and retraced her steps back through the wet grass in the direction of the house. She had not progressed too far, however, before she pulled out her notebook and began to write. The woman was a dedicated student of nature, Felicity decided absently. After Lord Maitland had returned from nearby Reading with the constable, both Philips and Felicity repeated all they knew of the crime. A bit of the mystery was cleared up when the law officer declared that he knew the identity of the victim. "A poacher. Could say a Gypsy." "But, who would have whacked him over the head with a candlestick?” Felicity asked. She and the three men, the constable, Philips and Lord Maitland, had gathered in a small ante-room off the main dining chamber and were eating a meal hastily prepared by Mrs. Allen. "Most likely another Gypsy,” the law officer said. “There's been a rash of such incidents lately. Everything from holding up coaches to stealing valuables right out of people's houses. Now this.” He shook his bald head with disgust. “Every time a band of them Gypsies shows up for a county fair, and they was one near Hammersmith not a fortnight ago, tellin’ fortunes, spinning tales and what not, why, there's a string a’ incidents that follows." Felicity flung a gaze at Lord Maitland. Was it possible his encounter the other evening had been the work of the same vagabonds? She wondered if he would bring up the subject, or ... should she? But, what the constable said next told her Lord Maitland had already mentioned the matter to him. "I understand his lordship had a run-in with ‘em t'other night." Maitland nodded, scooping up the last of the eggs on his plate. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I admit I wasn't sure myself if I had dreamed up the whole thing, or if it were indeed real. But, the knot on the back of my head was real enough. I was definitely set upon by someone."

Felicity held her breath. Was he going to bring up the headless horseman again? Surely the lawman would scoff at that. "But, you say the man wanted nothing?” the officer's brows were pulled together with genuine interest. The earl shook his dark head. “The best I recollect the man merely peered inside the coach, almost as if he were looking for someone, then when he'd ascertained that I was travelling alone, he ordered me to step outside. That's when he hit me.” The earl reached for his coffee and took a drink of it. “I assume I crumpled to the ground. The next thing I knew, I woke up here.” He glanced at Felicity and Philips as if to confirm the story. They both nodded. "Damndest thing I ever heard,” the constable said, then flicked a gaze at Felicity as if to beg her pardon for swearing. She gave the man a half-smile, then because she hadn't said anything for quite a spell, she put in, “We were quite grateful that his lordship was unharmed." Maitland snorted. “Not nearly so relieved as I!" The constable laughed. It was a hearty, jovial sound. “I thank ‘ye for the meal, Mrs. Rhoades. I'll be nipping off now. Don't be surprised if ‘ye see one or two of my men pokin’ round. I be obliged to investigate the matter, you understand, though if ‘ye want my honest opinion, the man was kilt by one of his own. And good riddance to ‘im, I'd say." "I quite agree with you,” Lord Maitland said, also rising to his feet. He then told Felicity that he wished to borrow her horse to ride over to Maitland that day. "I allowed you to sway me from my course yesterday, Mrs. Rhoades, but now that I have had my day of rest, I must push on. I mean to bring back a pair of horses for my use while I am here, and perhaps a tilbury. I'd like to keep the horses in your stables, if that is satisfactory with you." "Um, yes.” Felicity nodded. With both the law officer and Philips listening, she could hardly refuse to let the earl borrow her horse. Especially since the gentleman had already shown this morning that he could, indeed, find his way back here. “That would be fine,” she said. "Of course, I will shoulder the additional expense for the upkeep of my animals,” Lord Maitland added. He turned to shake hands with the constable, then saying nothing further, took himself off. Felicity managed to push down the knot of anxiety that had risen within her over the earl's proposed outing this morning, since she still wasn't entirely convinced that his lordship was in full command of his faculties. Escorting the constable to the hall, she impulsively decided to quiz him about her esteemed guest. She had a responsibility to her other lodgers, after all. If there were a mad-man in their midst, it was up to her to uncover the truth and decide what was to be done about it. "Sir,” she began, stepping onto the porch with the man so as to be completely out of earshot of anyone inside, “if I might ask you one last question." The rotund gentleman turned around. “Certainly, Mrs. Rhoades. I consider it my job to put your mind at ease." Felicity smiled. “It's ... about Lord Maitland, sir. I wondered if you were ... well, acquainted with the family. The earl says he lives near-by. But, since I'm rather new to the area..." "Yes, indeed, ma'am. I was well acquainted with the earl's father, the former ... ah ... earl. Fine family.

Maitland county seat is just...” he glanced about, then pointed in the exact same direction Lord Maitland had indicated last evening ... “ah, there. Beyond that copse, not more than a half hour's ride north, and a bit east." Felicity nodded. “I see." "Dreadful shame about the house. Near a shambles now, it is. When the old earl was alive, Maitland was quite grand. New earl says he means to restore it. Fine young man, Mrs. Rhoades. What did you want to know about him? Whether or not he's a bachelor, eh?” He winked at her. Felicity coloured deeply. “Why, no, sir! The earl's marital state is none of my...” she swallowed fitfully. “I assure you that was not my concern at all, sir. I was merely ... well, considering the murder and all.” She thrust her chin up. “I feel I should know something about the people who are staying in my home. It is not as if I am operating a common roadway inn. My guests are not transients. I ... that is, I must be certain ... and ... mindful for the safety of the others,” she concluded weakly. "I'd say you be quite safe, Mrs. Rhoades, what with your man, Philips, and now Lord Maitland here to protect you. You and your guests be quite safe." Felicity bid the man good day and returned at once to her duties. How utterly ridiculous that the constable should think she harbored romantical notions about the Earl of Maitland! It was true there was a certain magnetism about the man, but there was also something ... awe-inspiring about him. It was difficult to imagine anything, even a headless horseman, unsettling the earl's calm composure. Though, she was relieved to know that the gentleman did, indeed, have an estate nearby and that he hadn't manufactured that out of thin air ... as surely he had the phantom rider. Late that evening, after Felicity was certain that every last one of her guests had retired for the night, she again stole out to the verandah for a quiet moment to herself. She had no sooner sat down to rest, however, when she heard a rustling noise coming from beyond the hedgerows lining the porch. You be quite safe, Mrs. Rhoades, she recollected the constable saying this morning. Safe? Felicity thought angrily. Not pausing to consider the danger she might be in, she sprang to her feet and grabbed the first thing her hand touched—a clay pot full of black dirt and a tiny pink nasturtium. She was not afraid of Gypsies and she refused to allow one of the vagrant wanderers to invade her home, or frighten her guests!

Chapter Four Through the tall shrubbery that grew along the porch, Felicity could see a faint outline of the intruder's head and shoulders. The man was walking along the perimeter of the house, apparently searching for the way in. Felicity hopped nimbly upon the wide stone railing that lined the verandah and in a somewhat squatting position, she managed to creep along the railing, keeping her body low enough that the man could not see her, but where she could keep a sharp eye on him. As they drew near the steps, the railing gave out and along with it, the tall hedge that had shielded the interloper's face from view. Letting out a cry meant to scare the man, Felicity sprang into motion. Jumping from her hiding place, she landed on the top step, and with all the might she could muster, flung the flowerpot at the intruder. "What the..." In an effort to protect his face, the gentleman's arms flew upward but the measure was not sufficient to completely ward off the effects of the flying earthen pot. With a thud, it crashed onto his forehead and shattered into a million pieces. Dirt and damp leaves spilled onto the man's shoulders and the crisp white linen of his shirt front. "My God, Mrs. Rhoades, are you trying to kill me?” the Earl of Maitland sputtered. "Oh!” Felicity squealed. “Oh, my lord, I had no idea it was you!” Standing several steps higher than he on the stairwell, she reached to help brush bits of the splintered pot and clammy dirt from his fine clothing. "Leave off, Mrs. Rhoades.” His strong fingers encircled her slim wrist. “I'd prefer you didn't help. I can feel dirt seeping into my neckcloth as it is." Felicity pulled back, a horrified look on her face. “I cannot say how frightfully sorry I am, sir. I feel simply terrible!" Lord Maitland stopped swiping at his coat sleeves long enough to look dead at her. “Not half so terrible as I feel, Mrs. Rhoades. And I daresay I am not looking forward to the ghastly headache I am certain I shall be plagued with tomorrow. Now, if you will please excuse me, I shall turn in for the night." He stepped past her and made for the rear door of the house. Inside, he paused. "Are you coming, Mrs. Rhoades? With you lurking about outdoors, I cannot think who is in the greater danger, you, or the unfortunate fellow who'd dare try to enter this house unannounced." Her lips pursed, Felicity glared at him. “Considering what happened this morning, sir, I believe my defensive action to be entirely justifiable." He appeared unmoved. With a purposeful nod, he indicated the door he was holding open for her. Felicity thrust her chin up and breezed past him into the house. Right behind her, an obviously perturbed Lord Maitland wasted no time in gaining the safety of his own bedchamber. Maitland was beginning to think that despite the picturesque setting of Rhoades Arbor, it might be wiser instead for him to pitch a tent on the grounds of his own estate. It would be considerably more restful. He rubbed the goose-egg that was already forming on his brow. Despite her small size, Mrs. Rhoades had leveled quite a blow at him. He'd received less severe ones while exercising in the ring last week at

Gentleman Jack's in London. Unlike most women he knew, Mrs. Rhoades was certainly not helpless! Or defenseless. She was intelligent and resourceful. And ... he mused, she was quite pretty. She had smooth ivory skin and alert blue eyes. Actually her eyes were quite an unusual shade of blue-green, reminding him of the Mediterranean on a sunny day. Apart from that, he had given the young lady no thought except to credit her with providing a peaceful country residence for her lodgers. Peaceful, that is, until today. After removing his soiled clothing, he walked to one of the windows in his bedchamber and flung back the shutters. Holding his waistcoat out the opened window, he shook it vigorously. Thoughts of Mrs. Rhoades, however, were not so easily dislodged from his mind. There was something not quite right about her. The other evening for instance, the night he spotted the double-falling star, he had been about to quiz her in regard to her experience as an artisan. She had obviously done a great deal to improve the look of this antiquated old farmhouse. Only, suddenly she'd launched into telling him how she'd tended her ailing relatives! At times, she even treated him as if she thought he were a loose screw. He exhaled a puzzled breath and shook his head. Thank heaven he'd never have occasion to see her again once he removed to Maitland. He thrust the strange young lady from mind and focused instead on matters of import to him. At his estate today, he'd been dismayed to discover that the once grand family seat was now little more than a shell. Nearly every last surface of the house, the walls, floors, the decorative plaster-work on the ceilings, and the ornate stairwells, all needed resurfacing. The renovation would be far more extensive, and costly, than he'd imagined it would be. He had been pleased, however, to find that much of the furniture was in good repair. Which was hardly surprising, considering the fact that his parents had left nearly all of it shrouded in Holland covers when they removed to the city. He was thankful for small favors. But, for the rest of the house, why, he'd need a virtual army of workers to put it to rights again. Tomorrow, he'd ask Mrs. Rhoades if she could supply him with the names of the contractors she'd used. Judging from the look of things here, the men were exceedingly qualified. The next morning, Felicity had just gathered up her supplies and was about to head for the west wing when her brother Robert stormed into the house. Felicity quickly ushered the overset gentleman into the drawing room and closed the door behind her. Thank Heaven, the morning meal was over and all of her guests, including Mr. Chadwick, who had indeed arrived yesterday, as planned, were already outdoors. All of them except Lord Maitland, that is. He was still abed; no doubt, suffering from the ill-fated blow to his head. Earlier this morning, Felicity had stewed over how to make amends to the gentleman for her shocking treatment of him last night. She had decided that to begin with, she would have Philips deliver his breakfast tray to his room this morning. It was a small thing, but perhaps if he had indeed awakened with a pounding headache, a nice cup of hot chocolate would help sooth the pain. After all, she certainly did not want Lord Maitland to decide to leave before his stay was up. She desperately needed the money she'd realize from his month-long lodging. Truth was, she had already spent a good deal of it. And the ideas she had for decorating the west wing would very likely eat up what remained. Pushing thoughts of Lord Maitland from her mind, Felicity turned to face a seething Robert. "The news is all over the countryside, Felicity!" "What news?"

Robert threw his hands up. “Do not play the innocent with me, little sister!" "Robert, please lower your voice. I have guests and—" "Of course, you do! But, the question is, which of your esteemed lodgers is a murderer?" "Oh, Robert.” Felicity's lips pressed together as she regarded her brother with a look that bordered on disgust. “Not a one of my guests has killed anyone. Except for Lord Maitland, that is. I rather expect he has killed people, after all he was—" "Ah-ha! So, you knew you were harboring a criminal all along! Felicity, this nonsense has gone quite far enough. Libby is beside herself trying to tend the babies alone. Apparently, you have forgotten you have a real family to care for." Felicity exhaled a noisy sigh. “How can I forget, Robert, when you pop in every few days to remind me?" "You are to come home with me this minute, Felicity, and that is all there is for it." "I will do no such thing! This is my home now, and with people constantly underfoot, I have responsibilities aplenty to see to." "Your wits have gone begging, Felicity. Aside from the scandal associated with a murder on the premises, there is now the matter of your own safety to consider." "I am perfectly safe here, Robert. Constable Anderson has already solved the crime. He said there was a band of Gypsies hereabouts and that one of them did it. I can think of no reason to disbelieve him." "Humph.” Robert folded his arms across his chest. “It has been my experience,” he began matter-of-factly, “that any time a crime is committed and the authorities cannot figure who did it, they blame it on the Gypsies. You are a woman alone, Felicity. I wonder that you have not been set upon long before this. Why, the manner in which you conduct yourself is shocking! Just take a look at yourself today! You look like a dashed underservant." Felicity gazed down at herself. With the oversized apron covering her dress, a pair of heavy work boots on her feet and her golden curls tucked beneath an old white mobcap she'd found in a cupboard in the kitchen, she did look rather a fright. She pursed her lips as Robert stood assessing her. "No doubt you also appear in public in that disgraceful state,” he added. Felicity cocked her head to one side. “Well, yes, at times I do. But, you fail to consider, Robert, if I discover I need something from the village, it is far more convenient to simply drive in myself and get it, than to change my clothes and have Philips drive me to town like a proper lady." "Scandalous, Felicity! Simply scandalous! And now your very life is in danger and still you refuse to budge." She bristled. “My life is not in danger. Constable Anderson said the bulk of the robbers and footpads lurk south of here, nearer to Hounslow Heath. He assured me that Rhoades Arbor is far enough away from Hammersmith, and Maidenhead, to be in any real danger." "And what does that have to say to the murder committed right here only yesterday?” Robert demanded, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. "He said the murderer and his victim had very likely been at cross proposes over stolen property, or

some such. It was simply happenstance that the foul deed was committed on my land." Robert fell silent for the moment, no doubt, Felicity decided, thinking up his next objection. In the interim, she hurried to put in, “It is quite clear to me that there is no cause for alarm, Robert. My guests and I are perfectly safe.” When he walked to a window and peered out, she added, “So, you may as well leave. As usual, I have work to do." Her brother appeared in no hurry to do as Felicity asked. Presently, he turned again toward her, the look on his face now resembling a lost pup. “The thing is, sis; well, it's Libby, she is ... increasing. And, I am ... well, after what happened to Amabelle, I am ... quite beside myself..." Felicity was certain she spotted Robert's lower lip begin to tremble. Suddenly, she felt horrid. “Oh, Robert,” she murmured. Her brother had come to her for sympathy and compassion and she had reacted by being selfish and defensive. “Oh, Robert, I am so sorry." He gave her a baleful look. “We need you, sis. Libby needs you, and the twins need you. And I ... I miss you frightfully. Won't you give up this ridiculous scheme and come home? You belong with us. You have a duty to take care of your family, sis. It's what Father and Mother would want you to do." Felicity's stomach churned. On the one hand, she did feel a strong responsibility toward her brother and his family ... still, a part of her longed to be free of his demands and the drain on her time and energy. She had yet to have a whole and satisfying life of her own. Was it so terrible to want that for herself? She had worked so very hard to make a home for herself from this ramshackle farm. True, in the beginning it, much like her marriage to William, had seemed hopeless. But, where there had truly been no hope at all for her and William, here she had, all on her own, managed to create something wonderful, something of lasting value, from this rundown farm. She had put far too much of herself into it to walk away now. She squared her shoulders. She couldn't leave. But, how was she to make her brother and his child-bride understand her feelings in the matter? "Robert,” she began patiently, “I realize you are frightened for Libby. It is true she is young. But, there are scores of women, many who are younger than Libby, who give birth every day ... and who live through the experience. She will be fine, you'll see. I expect her mother is there, is she not? And Libby has an older sister. Perhaps she could come and stay during Libby's confinement." Robert pouted. “Stephanie is preparing for her own wedding. And Libby's mama is still in London, completely caught up in the Season. You are acquainted with the family, Felicity. They are quite ... tonnish." Felicity paused before reminding her brother softly, “It is what you wanted, Robert. You have always longed to be part of that world. You got what you wanted. Can you not now understand that this"—a gesture encompassed the drawing room, the house—"this is what I want." Robert exploded. “Well, it is not what I want for you, Felicity! As usual you are being selfish and unreasonable!" Closing her eyes, Felicity drew in a long breath. There was no use discussing it further. “I cannot leave, Robert. I will not leave. You will simply have to hire someone to look after Libby and the twins." "We have already done so,” he said grudgingly. “That is, her parents sent us a housekeeper and a nanny for the boys. But, that is hardly the same! We need you!" "I am needed here, Robert.” She moved toward the door. Reaching the simple walnut affair, she pulled it open and stepped aside.

His eyes narrow, Robert stalked past her and into the foyer. “You are incorrigible, Felicity.” Turning, he fastened one last glare on his younger sister, then he planted his hat onto his head and barged through the front door. Felicity heard both it and the garden gate slam shut behind him, but she didn't draw a final breath of relief ‘til she heard the sound of Robert's horse galloping angrily away. Abovestairs at last, in the dusty front bedchamber of the west wing, Felicity dragged the step ladder toward the bay of windows on the far wall. She had just climbed atop the ladder and was unwinding the inch tape to begin measuring the room for new wallpaper, when she heard footfalls echoing through the empty suite behind her. "Ah, there you are, Mrs. Rhoades." Balancing herself on the top step of the ladder, Felicity turned around. “Lord Maitland. I hope you are feeling better this morning. Did you enjoy the chocolate and scones I sent to your room for breakfast?" The finely dressed gentleman nodded. Today, he had on a pair of beige-coloured buckskins, a darker brown coat and an attractive, bottle-green waistcoat. “Indeed, I did, Mrs. Rhoades. That was very thoughtful of you. And thank you for inquiring after my health. I am pleased to say the bump on my head seems to have diminished ... somewhat." Felicity smiled weakly. “May I say again how frightfully sorry I am for—" He held up a gloved hand. “No further apologies are necessary, Mrs. Rhoades. I survived the attack and that is the important thing.” He paused, then began afresh. “I searched you out this morning to inquire if you might direct me to a competent contractor in the area. After touring my home yesterday, I reached the grim conclusion that I am in need of just about every sort of engineer there is.” He glanced about the empty room where he stood. “Judging from the type of repairs you've had done here, it is apparent you have availed yourself of excellent assistance. I would greatly appreciate it if you would"—his gaze came ‘ round to Felicity again—"refer me to the firm you employed." The look on Felicity's face was a total blank. “I'm ... sorry, Lord Maitland, but I know of no one in the area to refer you to." "But ... who ... surely you hired someone to...?” In an appealing gesture, he turned palms upward. "Philips did the bulk of the work for me, the rough labor, I mean. And ... I have done the rest." "The rest?" Felicity nodded. “Philips is a genius with a hammer and nails. He repaired all the worn flooring, that is all except the few loose boards just inside the rear entry. He thatched the roof, built new shutters, repaired the fences, and ... as you can see, I am doing the finish work, the painting and sewing new draperies and what not." "But, surely you needed additional help. What of the simple tasks, such as scrubbing the windows and cleaning out debris?” He glanced at the dirty rubble of old silk crumpled in one corner of the room. "I do all of that, as well, Lord Maitland." He stared at her as if unable to fully comprehend what she had just told him. “You, Mrs. Rhoades?" Felicity nodded.

"Well.” He inhaled deeply. “That is most amazing. Most amazing, indeed.” He backed up a step. “Well, then. Perhaps my new bailiff will know of someone.” He turned to go, but near the doorway, he paused again. "By the by, Mrs. Rhoades. I could not help overhearing, ahem, raised voices coming from the drawing room a bit ago. I do not mean to pry, but if there is ever a problem, and I am here, I would be most happy to assist. You are quite ... fragile and while your aim with a flower pot is deadly, I am a gentleman, and I cannot stand idly by and allow a woman to be mistreated by a brutish man." Felicity didn't know what to say. Lord Maitland was the first man she had ever met who, without asking, had offered to come to her aid. Still perched atop the ladder, she stared down at him. Suddenly, she felt a rush of hot tears form in her eyes. It took great effort, but she finally managed, “Thank you, indeed, Lord Maitland. The gentleman you heard ... shouting, was my ... my brother, Robert.” An inner voice suddenly told Felicity she shouldn't be revealing such personal things to the man, but ... but he was being so kind and that was something Felicity was unaccustomed to from a man. She could not stop herself from rushing on. “Robert wishes me to ... give up my home. He calls this my ... folly. Felicity's folly.” She smiled crookedly. The Earl of Maitland studied her. “Your name is Felicity.” It was more a statement than a question. Felicity nodded. "It ... suits you,” he murmured. His dark eyes locked with hers for the veriest second. Then, he regained himself. “Nonetheless, if in future, I can be of assistance, Mrs. Rhoades, you have only to ask." Felicity blinked back the moisture still glistening in her eyes. “Thank you, sir. You've no idea how very much your kindness means to me." "Think nothing of it, Mrs. Rhoades.” With that, he was gone. Afterward, Felicity sat staring into space. How could she ‘think nothing of it'? No man had ever offered to help her before. Right then and there, she decided that Lord Maitland was a fine man, a true gentleman. And, she ... she had been overzealous in her gross assumptions regarding the state of his mind. He was not the least bit addlepated. He was as sane as any man she'd ever met. He had done nothing since the night he arrived that would lead anyone to think otherwise. She knew Philips respected the gentleman's judgment, else why had he turned to him the morning of the murder? And the constable's explanation of the highwayman incident made perfect sense. It was quite obviously a ghoulish trick of a Gypsy. Felicity shook her head sadly. She had been dead wrong about Lord Maitland. He was a gentleman and that's all there was for it. Now, if she could just refrain from causing him any further bodily harm, all would be well indeed. She just knew it would.

Chapter Five Enjoying the crisp feel of the wind on his face that morning as the gelding beneath him cantered briskly along the bridle path toward the main highway, Maitland had been dismayed just now to learn that the gentleman shouting at Mrs. Rhoades this morning was her brother. It was a pity the young lady had no one to look after her. She had looked ... quite small perched atop that ladder. It struck him then that Mrs. Rhoades’ plight had elicited a degree of sympathy from him, an emotion that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in quite some time. Odd, he should feel anything at all for the widow Rhoades. He barely knew her. A twig snapping beneath the horses’ hooves at that moment reminded him of the delicate feel of Mrs. Rhoades slim wrist in his hand last evening as he'd restrained her from brushing bits of debris from his clothing. Her wrist was so very small and delicate he could have easily crushed it between his fingers. Thinking further in that vein, he wondered why the young lady had never remarried? Her face and slender build was charming enough to attract the attention of some local squire, or perhaps a clergyman. Though, she'd need to have a care for her appearance! This morning, she'd had on the same unbecoming gray muslin rag that she'd worn that first day when he'd mistaken her for a servant. And that frightful mobcap she wore! He'd observed her last evening without it, and had been quite surprised to note that she had attractive honey-coloured hair. A sprig of it peeking from beneath her cap this morning had appeared almost ... golden. Fe-li-city. He drew the word out in his mind. It was a suitable name for a parson's daughter. He wondered what the pious gentleman would say had he beheld his lovely daughter today, perched atop a ladder, looking like a charwoman. Despite her capabilities, it was evident young Mrs. Rhoades was far too independent and undisciplined for her own good. Maitland pursed his lips and giving no further thought to the little inn keep, turned his mind to his own future. In the months ahead, he meant to settle on a bride. The future Countess of Maitland would be the perfect complement to him. Educated and accomplished, she would be quiet spoken and obedient. In short, she would be everything Mrs. Rhoades was not! He had yet to meet the woman, of course. Thus far, he had purposely taken every precaution not to. Whilst in London this past fortnight, he had refused to attend a single social function. It would not do to meet the young lady now. He had a great deal to occupy his mind here and to be distracted from his work by an ill-timed obligation to pay court would not serve. He had never been the sort of man to ‘fall top-over-tail’ for a woman. Oh, he had dallied with ‘love', what man hadn't? Choosing a wife was different. He would not let his heart rule his head there. That task would require much the same planning and foresight as the one before him now. He meant to have Maitland in order and the land properly terraced and ready for planting in the fall before he began his search for a bride in earnest. Today, he would assess the work to be done and devise a step-by-step plan in which to complete it in the time allotted. And, he would not allow anything, or anyone, to sway him from his course. It was quite late that evening when Lord Maitland finally returned to Rhoades Arbor. So late, in fact, that he completely missed supper. After stabling his horse, one that he had brought back with him the day before, he tramped through the pitch-dark yard toward the main house. A part of his mind wondered if he'd encounter Mrs. Rhoades outdoors again tonight, armed with a fresh flowerpot and poised once again to ward off trespassers. Keeping a watchful eye out for her, he reminded himself to quickly speak up and identify himself this time

before she had the chance to render him useless. Approaching the rear of the house, Lord Maitland saw no one about, so without preamble, he stepped into the house and made straight for his own room in order to freshen up. Emerging a few minutes later, he headed for the hall, still in search of Mrs. Rhoades. Not finding her in the drawing room, he moved on to the porch. He discovered her there, sitting quietly on the chaise in a far corner. She glanced up as he approached. "I did not hear you come in, Lord Maitland." He cocked a brow. “My first instinct is to thank my lucky stars. There is no saying how I might have been greeted otherwise." His quick retort caused him a measure of regret when he noted the embarrassed look that crossed Mrs. Rhoades’ pretty face. She recovered quickly, however, and asked, “Would you care for something to eat, sir? I fear you have missed the supper hour entirely." He hesitated a scant second before replying. “Yes, thank you. Actually I am feeling quite peckish. If it's no trouble." Felicity rose to her feet. “No trouble at all, sir." As the young lady stepped past Maitland, he thought he detected the faint scent of lavender wafting about her, but he couldn't be entirely sure. The fragrant aroma might be drifting toward him from the profusion of flowering vines climbing the trellis at the far end of the porch. Still, the delightful scent was enough to make him want to follow her. He thought her hair looked especially pleasing tonight. Instead of hidden beneath that frightful mobcap, it was arranged in a gentle upsweep with a fringe of soft curls framing her face. When he had taken several steps behind her, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I would be happy to bring a tray out here for you, sir; or if you prefer, I will set a place for you in the dining chamber." He studied her. “What would you say if I chose to take my meal in the kitchen?” He waited to see how she would respond. When she gazed up at him from beneath incredibly long lashes, he was startled to note that the sight caused his own breath to shorten. “I should think that most improper, my lord,” she replied. Her tone sounded a bit flirtatious, but, for some reason, Maitland did not object. "I have taken meals in many a place that polite society would consider improper, madam, I suspect the kitchen of this farm house will suit.” He reached past her to open the door and with a light touch at her back guided her inside. Felicity slanted a sidelong look at him. With each thing the gentleman said, she liked him better and better. To say truth, since this morning, when he'd offered to come to her aid, she had quite looked forward to seeing him again. She'd been sorry he had not returned to the Arbor in time for tea, and by suppertime, she'd begun to fear that something untoward might have happened to him. But, she'd reminded herself that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Belowstairs, in the dank-feeling underground area that contained the scullery, pantries and larder, Felicity wished she hadn't let the earl talk her into bringing him here. The kitchen, though quite large and equipped with plenty of modem cooking implements and a wide open-hearth, was still a rather plain affair, which made Felicity wish she'd refurbished it along with the rest of the house. But, then, she'd never anticipated bringing her guests down here. Glancing quickly about now, she was consoled by the fact that the hearth, with its row of pots and kettles hanging over the grate, appeared neat and orderly. In the center of the room stood a long wooden table with a low bench along one side. A butter churn stood in one corner and assorted shelves and cupboards lined the remaining walls. Felicity decided not to worry what the gentleman would think, after all, he knew the farmhouse was ancient. "You may sit there,” she told Lord Maitland, a delicate hand indicating the backless bench. He slipped onto it, resting his arms on the table before him in a relaxed manner. Felicity felt his eyes on her as she moved about the room, getting down a wedge of fresh bread from the cupboard and spooning out a bowlful of the meat stew that had been served earlier in the dining chamber. "I fear this is not terribly warm now,” she said, setting the bowl before him. “We generally let the fire die away after the evening meal." "Quite alright, Mrs. Rhoades. It smells quite good all the same." Felicity stood for a long moment watching him eat. Presently, she asked, “Would you like a glass of milk, or perhaps a tumbler of ale, with your meal?" He glanced up. “Ale will serve nicely, thank you." After Felicity had set the cool tumbler before him, she stood aside once again. There was no bench on that side of the table, and she didn't think it would be proper for her to scoot in beside him. Her dilemma was solved when he asked if he might have another wedge of bread, or perhaps a bit of cheese, if she had some. "Indeed,” Felicity replied brightly, glad for something with which to occupy herself. “I've also a bucket of fresh blackberries, if you'd like.” She didn't wait for his answer, but busied herself scooping a handful of the berries into a crockery bowl. After dusting them with sugar, she dribbled a stream of rich thick cream over the top. "There you are, sir. Fresh berries and cream. These are the first of the season. The raspberries should be ready for picking soon. I mean to have Mrs. Allen bake a pie, and I've a wonderful receipt for raspberry cream tarts." "That sounds delicious, indeed, Mrs. Rhoades." As she could think of nothing else to serve him, Felicity decided to pull up a stool and sit down across from the gentleman. “Did your bailiff recommend a contractor for you today, sir?” she began. Breaking the cheese into bits in the bowl, Maitland nodded. “Turns out Tidwell's brother-in-law is a master carpenter. And his nephew is a mason. If I might borrow pen and paper from you, Mrs. Rhoades, I mean to write letters to the men this evening and apprise them of my needs." "Of course,” Felicity replied. “I keep writing paper and pens in the little desk just inside the drawing

room. I mean for my guests to avail themselves of it. You are welcome to help yourself, Lord Maitland." "I expect I shall hear back from them in a day or two. In the meantime,” he said, shoving the empty soup bowl aside and reaching for the berries, “I shall occupy myself making a detailed inventory of the furniture." "Ah. I shall be needing new furnishings for all three of the bedchambers in the west wing,” Felicity said, with some chagrin. Suddenly, it struck her how comfortable she felt talking to the gentleman. And about the most ordinary of things! "There was no furniture here when you took over the place?" "No.” Felicity shook her head. “Not to speak of. I purchased the bulk of what I have from a secondhand dealer in Reading and...” suddenly she realized she was speaking quite plainly to the gentleman. An earl! no less. A gentleman of Lord Maitland's stamp would never purchase used goods. She felt a flood of embarrassment colour her cheeks. Saying nothing further, she was aware that the Earl of Maitland was regarding her curiously. "Why did you stop speaking, Mrs. Rhoades? I am quite enjoying our talk." Too mortified to broach the subject of used furniture again, Felicity hopped down from the stool and busied herself with Lord Maitland's soiled bowl and soup spoon. When he arose from the table and addressed her again, his tone was considerably cooler than it had been before. “Thank you for the meal, madam. The berries were quite tasty." The split-second Felicity glanced up to reply ... they both heard it ... a tapping noise, followed by a muffled scraping sound. Lord Maitland cocked his dark head to listen. The noise stopped suddenly. He listened a moment longer, then his brow puckered with concern. “Have you any idea what that could have been, Mrs. Rhoades?" Felicity's blue eyes were wide. “No-o,” she murmured. And then, the sounds began afresh. Tap-tap-tap. Scrape, scrape. Despite the icy fingers of fear that gripped Felicity's throat, she still said, “I-I'd best go and see what it is.” She reached to wipe her hands on a towel, but Lord Maitland was already taking the steep steps to the ground floor two at a time. Felicity hurried to catch up with him. They emerged upstairs just inside the corridor, near the back door. Standing there, they could no longer hear the strange sounds. For a long moment, they both stood perfectly still, straining to listen. Presently, Felicity detected a faint echo of the noise coming from the side garden, which, she calculated, would place the disturbance just above the ceiling of the scullery, where they'd first detected it. "I believe it is coming from there,” she whispered, a slim finger pointing toward the east, beyond the dining chamber. "Stay here, Mrs. Rhoades,” Lord Maitland commanded quietly. “I shall go and investigate.” He pushed open the door that gave onto the breezeway, but before disappearing into the darkness, he directed a stern gaze at her. “Do not venture out to see for yourself, Mrs. Rhoades." Felicity nodded crisply. “I shall wait right here. I promise I shan't move from this spot."

"See that you don't." Her heart in her throat, Felicity stood rooted in place, anxiously awaiting Lord Maitland's return. The moments seemed to drag by. At length, she heard the clock on the mantelpiece in the drawing room chime the hour. She counted ten bells. Shifting from one foot to the other, she realized that remaining indoors and doing nothing toward apprehending the culprit, or culprits, was almost more than she could bear. When it felt as if she'd waited an interminable length, she could stand it no longer. Though she'd heard no further sounds since Lord Maitland stepped outside, she also had not seen or heard him! Something must have happened to him, she reasoned, else why had he not returned? She knew Philips, in his room behind the stable, was very likely asleep by now so she could not easily call for him to come and help. That left it up to her to search out the mischief herself. Her blue eyes round with apprehension, Felicity eased open the back door and peered out. The breezeway and everything beyond it lay in total darkness. She considered returning to light a lamp but thinking that that would only delay matters, she decided to forge ahead. Lord Maitland might be lying just a few feet away, unconscious or bleeding on the ground. If that were the case, time was definitely of the essence. Before stepping onto the stone path that led to the garden, she glanced about for a tool or implement to use as a weapon. Spotting a long-handled garden rake, she noiselessly reached for it, it crossing her mind at the same moment, that a spade usually stood propped beside the rake. But tonight, the spade was nowhere to be seen. She fervently hoped the intruder had not confiscated it and used it on Lord Maitland! If so, the gentleman could, indeed, be lying somewhere in the garden with his lights knocked out, or worse. Felicity hoisted the rake above her head but after walking only a few feet holding the rake in such a fashion, it grew inordinately heavy. She lowered it, moving the long-handled tool slowly back and forth in front of her, much as she'd seen blind men do with a stick or cane as they felt their way along in perpetual darkness. Straining her eyes to see in the darkness, Felicity had just reached the end of the walk, when a figure suddenly appeared to her left. Swinging the rake that direction, the next thing she heard was a whomp! then a thud as the man stumbled over the rake, tumbled against Felicity, then fell sprawled at her feet "Oh!” she cried, jerking the rake free of its heavy burden, then hurling the business end of it to the ground where she noted the sharp prongs make a deep gouge perilously close to the intruder's head. “Take that you meddling Gypsy!” she screamed, heaving the rake upward again. "Mrs. Rhoades!” the man on the ground sputtered, “leave off, please! It is I, Maitland!" "Oh, dear me, sir, I have done it again!” Felicity flung the rake aside and reached to assist the battered gentleman, who was slowly pulling himself to his feet. “I am so frightfully sorry, sir, but when you did not return and I could hear nothing further, I was certain something dreadful had happened to you." His lips pursed. “Thanks to you, Mrs. Rhoades, something dreadful did happen to me,” he returned gruffly. “I was nearly killed by a madwoman wielding a garden rake!” He bent to brush away the dirt and leaves that were clinging to his trousers. “I recall telling you to stay put indoors, madam. When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed.” He glared at her. Felicity didn't know what to say. “W-what did you find?” she asked weakly.

"Nothing.” He reached for the rake and moving a few feet from her, propped it back against the wash house wall. “I saw nothing. I heard nothing. And now, I shall escort you safely indoors and hope I can make it to my own bedchamber without farther mishap." Felicity let the gentleman guide her indoors. She felt simply horrid for attacking him. Though, this time, it was a bona fide accident. Before mounting the stairs to the first floor, where her bedchamber was located, she said again, “I am so sorry, sir. Are you certain you saw nothing amiss?" Poised before the doorway to his suite, Lord Maitland glanced over his shoulder. “Nothing at all, Mrs. Rhoades. The only thing I noticed out of place was a pile of dirt where I assume your groundskeeper has been working." "I see,” Felicity murmured. “Well, good evening, Lord Maitland. Again, I am frightfully sorry I caused you to trip over the rake and fall." "It is quite alright, Mrs. Rhoades. I recall telling you—only this morning—that I have survived much worse.” With a dismissing nod, he stepped inside his chamber and firmly closed the door. It was not until Felicity was alone in her own room that she realized Philips had not been working in the garden that day. Which meant ... someone else had been digging in the garden.

Chapter Six The next morning, Felicity was awake at first light. In less than five minutes, she was dressed and tiptoeing down the stairs. But, pushing open the back door and stepping onto the covered walk way, she came to an abrupt standstill. Leaning beside the garden rake that she'd inadvertently tripped Lord Maitland with the night before, stood the spade. Felicity stared at it. The spade had not been there last night, she was certain of it! Just then, Philips rounded the corner from the side garden. "Philips, did you leave the spade just there last evening?” She pointed to it. Philips glanced at the pair of tools leaning against the wash house wall and shook his head. “No, madam." Felicity's brows pulled together. “But, if you didn't leave it there, then who...?" "I put the spade there just now, ma'am." "Just now?" "Yes, madam. I discovered a patch of honeysuckle vines had been disturbed in the night. Probably a woodland creature foraging for food. I repaired part of the damage and brought the spade back here only a moment ago. It's time now to tend to my other duties." "But ... where did you find the spade this morning ... before you used it?" Philips gave her a quizzical look. “Right there, madam." "So, you did put it there last evening." "No, madam. I did not use the garden tools yesterday. I put them there a couple of days back. I expect they were still there last evening, unless you, or someone else, used them." "Who else would have used the spade, Philips?" The man shrugged. “I wouldn't know, madam. I don't suppose there is anyone else, save the two of us." Felicity sighed deeply. “Thank you, Philips." "Will that be all, ma'am?" Felicity didn't hear him. She had stopped listening when he suggested that ‘someone else’ had used the spade. With the pile of dirt and dug up garden as evidence, it was not a stretch to surmise that the tapping and scraping noise last night had, indeed, been made by a human using the tool, and not, as Philips thought, by a hungry animal. Still mulling the puzzle over, Felicity headed for the side yard. Reaching the plot of ground that lay beneath the dining chamber windows, directly over the underground kitchen, she was not prepared for what she found. An entire row of dog-roses had been completely upturned, and next to them, the patch of pink-tipped daisies were crushed and trampled to bits! Felicity gasped. Turning, she ran back inside. She found Philips belowstairs in the kitchen stoking the fire in the hearth.

"Philips, I thought you said you had repaired part of the damage beneath the dining chamber windows. I could see nothing that has been reset." Philips tossed another bundle of kindling onto the fire, then straightened. “I haven't got to the dog-roses yet, madam. I took care of the dug up honeysuckle vines that grew along the fence." "Oh!” Felicity cried. “I didn't realize the damage extended that far afield.” She shook her head with dismay. “Well, you will simply have to replant everything, Philips. You may start just as soon as you finish here." "But, I thought you wanted me to cart away the rubble from the front chamber in the west wing this morning, ma'am." Felicity sighed heavily. “That will have to wait. I cannot have the grounds all topsy-turvy. It leaves a poor impression with the guests. Just ... do as much as you can today, Philips." Felicity turned to go. Mrs. Allen would be awake soon and Felicity needed to ready the dining chamber for the morning meal. An hour later, Lord Maitland was the first of Felicity's guests to step to the sideboard and take a plate. Nearby, she was filling the serving pot with steaming hot coffee. Lifting a generous helping of creamed eggs onto his plate, Lord Maitland greeted her with studied calm. “Good morning, Mrs. Rhoades. I trust you slept well following last night's disturbance." "Indeed, I did; thank you, sir.” Felicity's smile was a bit crooked. “I hope you are feeling better this morning after...” Her voice trailed off. Maitland paused. “I assume you are referring to the thrashing I took last night at your hands?” The veriest hint of a smile twitched at his lips. “I am pleased to say I suffered no ill effects from the mishap, save a somewhat purplish bruise on my ... fore leg.” He held out the cup in his hand for her to fill with coffee. Though the gentleman's mention of his limb caused Felicity some discomfort, she managed to hide it. “You must know that I deeply regret any pain I may have caused you, sir. I am happy to see that the injury has not affected your ability to get about." "Think nothing of it, Mrs. Rhoades. By the by, on the subject of getting about, I wonder if I might borrow your wagon today, the one in the stable. I trust it is road-worthy." "Indeed, it is, sir. And you are most welcome to use it. I had meant to drive over to Reading myself today, in order to purchase new wall covering for the chamber I am refurbishing." "Ah. As it happens, Reading was my intended destination. Perhaps I could drive you, if you wouldn't mind coming back by way of Maitland. I could give you a tour of my home, show you what I am up against, as it were. What do you say, Mrs. Rhoades?” He gazed at her expectantly. Felicity considered the gentleman's offer. It did sound tempting. A few hours away from her troubles here would do her a world of good. She would do it. She smiled up at him. “Why, thank you, sir. I would like that very much." Maitland nodded crisply, but before moving on, Felicity noted his dark gaze flick up and down her person. Remembering the incident later, she felt an unwelcome blush stain her cheeks. Hurrying through her duties that morning, she realized she was quite looking forward to their outing. Not that she was attaching any sort of significance to it. Not at all. Aware that she wished to go into the village that day, the

earl had simply done the gentlemanly thing and invited her along. She was quite impressed that for someone of his elevated rank, he seemed not the least bit high in the instep. Abovestairs in her bedchamber, she found herself deliberating at length over what to wear. Peering into the clothes-press, it struck her that she did not own a single gown that by today's standards would be considered fashionable. Not that it mattered, of course. She had long since given up trying to cut a dash, or impress anyone, least of all a man. She settled on a navy blue merino frock that had a neat white collar and cuffs. The gown had served for both day and evening wear when she'd been employed as a governess in London some six years back. After brushing her hair, she pinned it into a twist at the nape of her neck and nestled a flat chip bonnet onto her head, tying the dark blue grosgrain ribbons firmly beneath her chin. With one last look at her image in the cloudy glass above her dressing table, she descended the front stairs to the foyer where Lord Maitland stood awaiting her. Through the opened doorway she spotted her own weather-worn wagon, looking a bit out of place behind Lord Maitland's pair of frisky, prime-goers. Just then, a bright green and yellow coach wheeled ‘round the bend and in a great cloud of dust, drew to a screeching halt behind the rickety wagon. Hearing the ruckus outdoors on the drive, Lord Maitland glanced that direction. “Are you expecting additional guests to arrive today, Mrs. Rhoades?" "No-o,” Felicity murmured, a long gaze also focused on the noisy coach and four. She saw that the driver of the gaudily painted vehicle had hopped to the ground and was now calling to his cattle to calm them. He then began shouting instructions to one of the outriders, before flinging open the door of the coach to hand out the first of the passengers. Her eyes a question, Felicity followed Lord Maitland onto the front landing and down the steps to the flagway. "Mrs. Rhoades?” cheerily called out an elderly lady, waving her handkerchief in the air as she stepped to the ground beside the carriage. “I hope you shan't mind us arrivin’ early!" Alarm rose within Felicity. Early? She watched as the driver sat a wheeled Bath chair onto the ground, then help a second little lady out of the coach and into the chair. "You must be ... the Pindiddle sisters,” Felicity called back. "In the flesh!” declared the first Pindiddle. She scurried across the graveled drive toward Felicity and Lord Maitland who by this time had reached the trellised gate. In the elderly woman's wake, the coach driver had commenced to push the Bath chair forward, while the footman was busy unloading the ladies’ luggage. “We couldn't wait a day longer to begin our holiday in the country! I am Miss Amelia Pindiddle, and"—the gray-haired woman gestured toward the second little lady seated in the chair—"this is my baby sister, Lucinda." "How do you do?” Felicity said. She and Miss Amelia were now standing toe-to-toe. “This gentleman is the Earl of Maitland. He is also a guest here." "Oh, my; mercy me,” gushed Miss Amelia, her round cheeks dimpling as she smiled up at the handsome lord. She lifted a tiny gloved hand for the gentleman to take. When he bowed low over it, she giggled gleefully, the scrap of linen in her other hand fluttering out of control. “Why, just look, Lucinda dear, we've an earl to amuse us! Oh, mercy me! I'm doubly pleased we decided to come ahead, aren't you,

sister?" The second Pindiddle leaned forward in the chair to also present her hand to the earl. When he actually carried it to his lips, she dissolved into a peal of merry laughter. “Oh, sister, dear! You were quite right to insist we come ahead. I do hope it is no inconvenience, Mrs. Rhoades." "No. Not at all,” Felicity lied. “If you would just wait for me in the hallway, please, I shall show you to your rooms." Miss Amelia all but skipped up the walk with the coach driver close behind her pushing Miss Lucinda in the chair. Both Lord Maitland and Felicity advanced to the drive. Felicity told the footman, who was struggling beneath his load of bags and bandboxes, to deposit the luggage inside the hall. She then turned toward Lord Maitland. “I fear I shall not be able to accompany you to Reading today after all, my lord. I wasn't expecting the Misses Pindiddle until next week.” Thinking aloud, her words seemed to tumble out in a rush. “I had meant to put them in Mr. Tweed's suite of rooms, after he and Miss Hall had vacated them, of course. Mrs. Leads was to have been upstairs, but she insisted on the chamber next to yours, at the end of the corridor.” She paused to chew on her lower lip. “The only room I have vacant now is the small blue one, where I had meant to put Mrs. Leads. But, of course, it just being the one room, it will not accommodate both Pindiddles.” She flung an anxious gaze toward the house. “And, in any case, Miss Pindiddle could never manage the stairs with her chair.” A frustrated sigh escaped her. “I expect I shall have to do some rearranging, but ... oh, dear..." "If it would help, Mrs. Rhoades, I don't mind giving up my suite. I've two rooms, you know. Which is one more than I need." "Oh, no, sir. I wouldn't think of turning you out. I had especially saved that suite for you. It is, by far, the most handsome in the house." "It is grand, indeed, Mrs. Rhoades,” he began politely, “and I have quite enjoyed it. But, I can see that you are faced with a dilemma. I insist that you allow me to accommodate you in the matter." "But, sir, I—" "I insist, Mrs. Rhoades.” Long strides carried him toward the house. “I shall vacate the suite straightaway,” he said over his shoulder. Following Lord Maitland inside, Felicity felt extremely grateful for the gentleman's generous offer. In spite of the fact that she rarely saw an outright smile on the earl's lips, he was proving to be a kind and thoughtful man. In less than one hour, Lord Maitland had transferred his belongings to the cramped little blue bedchamber at the top of the stairs, next to Mr. Chadwick's room, and just down from Felicity's. He then set out for Reading, alone, while Felicity tended to the myriad small details that the Pindiddles required in order to facilitate their settling in. After luncheon, she was finally free to change her clothes and adjourn to the kitchen to help Mrs. Allen with the baking. Now that there was, indeed, a house full of guests to feed, food seemed to disappear at an alarming rate. On her way to the kitchen, however, she happened to overhear raised voices coming from the drawing room. A puzzled look on her face, Felicity advanced up the corridor. Cocking an ear, she was certain she

recognized Mrs. Leads and ... yes, Mr. Chadwick. A rather spinsterish-looking man with a long pinched nose, the gentleman spoke with a pronounced nasal whine. Felicity was quite familiar with his tone. Mr. Chadwick had approached her on several occasions to complain of this or that. She felt rather like a busybody eavesdropping on the pair, but squabbling among her guests was something she did not mean to tolerate. She strained to hear what the trouble was. "Whichever of us gets there first is the winner!” Mrs. Leads exclaimed. “That is the way it is meant to be, and well you know it!" "It is not the way it is. I say it is for the bird to decide, and well you know it!” Mr. Chadwick maintained. "We shall see about that! I was here first and I should have first say in the matter!" Felicity frowned. The two sounded like school children fussing over a silly game. Surely that was it, she decided, they were playing some sort of game. Still, their tones sounded inordinately hostile. Trying to decide what she should do about the matter, Felicity listened a moment longer. "Very well, Mr. Chadwick, you go your way and I shall go mine. But, mind you do not get in my way, or you shall be sorry, indeed." "That suits me just fine, Mrs. Leads. May the best man win." "Fine!” the woman fairly shouted back, the force of the word actually causing Felicity to jump. Hearing the scrape of chair legs against the hardwood floor, she surmised that one or both of them would soon be emerging from the room. She hurriedly moved away just as the door flew open and Mrs. Leads burst into the foyer. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Leads,” Felicity said, forcing a modicum of calm to her tone that she certainly did not feel. “Is ... anything amiss?" The woman turned a cool look on Felicity. “On the contrary, Mrs. Rhoades. Mr. Chadwick and I were —" At precisely that second, a rather flushed-faced Mr. Chadwick appeared in the foyer behind Mrs. Leads. "Mr. Chadwick and I were ... playing charades, weren't we, Mr. Chadwick?” Mrs. Leads turned a smiling countenance on the tight-lipped gentleman. He sniffed, a brow arching as he gazed down at plump Mrs. Leads. “Indeed.” Tucking the book he carried beneath his arm, he hurried away. The decidedly hostile glare that Mrs. Leads flung at the gentleman's backside did not escape Felicity's notice, nor did the falsity of the smile that she then turned on Felicity. “Mr. Chadwick and I have discovered a mutual acquaintance in London,” Mrs. Leads said, which to Felicity seemed to have nothing to say to anything. "I see,” she murmured. “Well, then, if you require nothing farther, Mrs. Leads, I shall return to my duties." Felicity advanced toward the steep back staircase that dipped to the kitchen. Thus far today, she had been faced with one upset after another. Here it was just barely after luncheon and already she felt frazzled beyond saying. ****

Lord Maitland was certain he'd seen disappointment reflected in Mrs. Rhoades eyes this morning when their plans to drive to Reading had abruptly changed. He'd felt a measure of disappointment himself, though, he couldn't think why. At Maitland now, after making his way to Reading to purchase a wagon load of supplies his bailiff and servants required, he set a number of footmen to work unloading the goods, while, indoors, he busied himself with other matters. Among them, making a detailed inventory of the household furnishings. Drawing aside the Holland covers in the room where as a boy, he'd taken his lessons, Maitland was not prepared for the rush of nostalgic memories that descended upon him. He reached a finger to trace the achingly familiar pattern in the burl-figured walnut of his childhood desk. As a boy, weary doing his sums or translating his Latin, he'd amused himself for hours trying to see pictures in those rich, dark swirls. A low sigh escaped him as he gazed about the room. He'd spent the bulk of his boyhood right here. For the most part, alone, save for a string of lackluster governesses. Only one stood out in his mind, a Miss Carmichael. Miss Carmike, as he had called her, had been exceedingly young and pretty and she smelled of lavender. To this day, Maitland loved the scent. He'd often found himself drawn to it in crowded ballrooms heavy with a mélange of other, more pungent aromas. He inhaled deeply, as if a part of him actually expected to detect a trace of pretty Miss Carmike lingering still in the school room. Then, thinking how inordinately foolish he was being, he drew himself up. He had been taught as a boy to be strong. He would not abandon those principles now. With fresh resolve, he turned again to his work. But, an odd tightness remained in his chest. He glanced toward the front of the room again where Miss Carmike used to stand. It struck him then that she'd had light-coloured hair, a shade less rich than Mrs. Rhoades. She must have been near the same age then as Mrs. Rhoades was now, perhaps two and twenty, mayhap a year or two older. A grin played at his lips. If Mrs. Rhoades had been his governess, he'd have undoubtedly liked her every bit as much as he'd liked Miss Carmike. She had been kind and attentive to a little boy who often missed the company of his own parents. In those days, the Earl and Countess of Maitland spent a good deal of time at their townhome in London. Now that Maitland was home again, he meant to lead an entirely different sort of life. He would marry, fill his nursery with children, and devote his days and nights to his family. He had no desire to take part in the social doings of the ton, or to spend any more time in Town than the dictates of his title required. He intended to develop this land, tend to the needs of the estate and his tenants, and enjoy the peace and tranquility of country living. But, before that, he had to get this house in order. Pulling his thoughts back to the task at hand, he made a few notations on the pad of paper in front of him, then carefully recovered each small desk and chair in the room. In the not too distant future, his own children would take their lessons here. And he meant to see that the experience was a good deal more enjoyable for them than it had been for him. He continued his tour of the upstairs chambers, jotting down notes and comments as he went. As evening approached, he'd completed the entire circuit, and had an accurate listing of every piece of furniture in the house. He'd even come across a cache of ancient pieces stored in a suite that, to his knowledge, had never seen use. He certainly possessed more than enough furniture for his own needs. Suddenly, an idea struck him! There was, indeed, more than enough. Far more than enough. Energized by the idea taking shape in his mind, he searched out several of his retainers, and with the footmen at his heels, strode from room to room, barking orders. In less than an hour, Lord Maitland climbed atop the worn bench of Mrs. Rhoades’ old wagon and

slapped the reins over the backs of the cattle pulling it. If he hurried, he'd reach Rhoades Arbor before dark, which meant there'd be plenty of light left in which to see to unload the teetering pile behind him.

Chapter Seven The sun had already dipped below the horizon when Rhoades Arbor came at last into view. The heavy load on the back of the wagon had, at times, slowed Lord Maitland's progress to a crawl. Alighting from the bench, he hurried into the house, the aroma of roast beef and vegetables and the clink of dishes telling him Mrs. Rhoades and her boarders were in the dining hall. Lord Maitland advanced into the room, his eyes searching for Felicity Rhoades’ clear blue orbs. Spotting her standing near the sideboard, he moved in that direction. When she caught sight of him and smiled, Maitland could not deny the small catch of anticipation he felt in his chest. "Might I have a word with you, Mrs. Rhoades?" "Of course. Is anything amiss, sir?” She put aside her work and led the way toward the small ante-chamber where, a few days back, they, Philips and the constable, had taken breakfast. Gaining it, Mrs. Rhoades turned to face him, an expectant look on her pretty face. "I should like to borrow Philips for a half hour or so, Mrs. Rhoades. And perhaps another of your male servants, if it is no bother." He watched a flicker of embarrassment bring a pink flush to her cheeks. “I have no other man servant, my lord. But I shall be happy to send Philips to you straightaway." "Thank you, madam.” He turned to go, saying over his shoulder, “I took the liberty of bringing a few things back with me from Maitland. I should like Philips to carry them into the house before dark." "Certainly, sir. Philips is assisting Mrs. Allen in the kitchen just now. I shall send him to you at once." "Very good, madam." Maitland returned to the wagon and began untying the ropes that held the load in place. Within a quarter hour, he and Philips had carried several pieces to the hall before Mrs. Rhoades knew what they were about. Maitland had hoped to have everything inside before she had a chance to object. The disturbance caused by squeezing the pianoforte sideways through the narrow front door, however, brought her hurrying down the corridor. "Why, my goodness, Lord Maitland. I had no idea you meant...” She gazed about with wonder at the several pieces of furniture strewn about—a two-tiered bookcase sitting atop a small round table, a satinwood dressing table with a small tilt mirror and a pretty green silk rolled-end sofa. Her round gaze reverted to Lord Maitland and Philips, now gingerly setting the small square piano upright on its four tapered legs. “Lord Maitland, sir,” she began, “if you recall, you removed to quite a tiny chamber only this morning. I hardly think all of this will fit." Maitland straightened, one hand brushing aside a lock of wavy dark hair that had fallen across his brow. “Indeed, I do recall my move this morning, Mrs. Rhoades. And you are quite right, all of this will not fit into my new quarters. Therefore...” a finger tapped his chin, “I expect we shall have to put it elsewhere. Philips, set to.” Maitland reached again for his end of the piano. "But, sir, I...” Mrs. Rhoades appeared at a loss. Maitland straightened once again. He was quite enjoying this. He had hoped to surprise her, and thus far, her reaction was not one bit disappointing. “I've an idea,” he said, as if the thought had only just occurred

to him. “You've not yet furnished the front bedchamber in the west wing, have you, Mrs. Rhoades?" Staring blankly at him, Felicity slowly shook her head from side to side. "Splendid! Philips...” Maitland pointed to the dressing table. “We shall put that, and the bed—" Felicity gasped. “You also brought a bed?" "Indeed,” Maitland replied, eyeing the mystified young lady closely while endeavouring to maintain an even tone. “In quite good condition, too. I expect you might want the sofa in that room, as well. As for the piano and the bookcase"—he strode toward the drawing room door and peered inside—"perhaps in here.” He turned to Felicity. “Unless, you'd prefer them out here. I daresay there is plenty of room here for both.” He gazed about at the spacious hall. Aside from what he and Philips had just brought in, the only furnishings in the room were a single straight-backed chair and a small mirror on the far wall. “The hall would serve splendidly for an assembly,” he remarked. “I'll wager there's sufficient space here for a fair-sized gathering, as well as for dancing. What do you say, Mrs. Rhoades?" Felicity folded her arms across her middle. At length, she said, “Might I have a private word with you. Lord Maitland?" "Certainly, Mrs. Rhoades.” He turned to Philips. “Carry on. I shall assist with the bed, but there is still the piano bench and the tea table to bring inside. I daresay you can manage them without me." Felicity had already stepped into the drawing room. When Lord Maitland joined her, she began, “I implore you to tell me what is the meaning of this, sir? You are only to be here a short time, and while I have no objection to your bringing your own furnishings, I—" Maitland held up a hand. “Allow me to explain, Mrs. Rhoades. I believe I mentioned to you last evening that I meant to make a thorough inventory of my household furnishings. Doing so today, I discovered I have far too many pieces for the space allotted. What I have brought here is excess. I would greatly appreciate it if you'd allow me to ... well, store the pieces here. Though, of course, you are welcome to use them in the interim.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew several ten pound notes. “I insist upon paying a storage fee. Whatever you wish to charge will be more than fair." He reached to press the money into Felicity's hand, but she refused to take it. Her back straightened and she squared her small shoulders. “Lord Maitland, I will not accept payment for ... I ... I am quite at a loss, sir." "Mrs. Rhoades, you said yourself you were in need of furnishings for the new wing. If you will not accept my money, then, please do me the honor of accepting the furniture as a gift. It is of no use to me." Felicity vigorously shook her head. “I cannot allow it, sir. While I thank you for the kind offer, I cannot accept such a generous gift. If you insist upon leaving the furniture, I insist upon paying for every last piece of it." Maitland's lips pressed together. “Absolutely not, madam. We shall consider it a loan.” He headed again for the foyer before she could voice any further objections. Felicity followed him. Philips stood near the hallway, attempting to heft the bookcase onto his back. Maitland hurried to help. "Just tell me where you'd like this, Mrs. Rhoades,” he said, grabbing one side of the two-tiered affair. “I had thought the drawing room would serve. It would be nice to provide a few volumes for your guests’

enjoyment on a rainy day, wouldn't you agree?" For a long moment, the young lady said nothing, then, at last, Maitland watched her full lips curve into a small smile. Suddenly, he was reminded of pretty Miss Carmike again, and the way his chest had swelled with pride when she told him all his sums had been done correctly. For the first time in years, Maitland himself felt warm inside. Staring at the two men in the hall, Felicity did not know what to think. That Lord Maitland wished to make her a gift of furniture from his own home touched her deeply. No one had ever made such a grand gesture before. She followed the two strong men back into the drawing room and told them where to put the bookcase. It was quite a new style, she noted, the thing actually revolved, making it handy for someone to select a book no matter where they might be standing. She had never thought to own such a fashionable piece. After some discussion, they did, indeed, decide to leave the pianoforte in the foyer, though at the moment, Felicity had no plans to host an assembly or a soiree. Still, she knew how to play the piano and she rather expected several of her guests did, as well. A songfest of an evening, with all her guests present, would, indeed, be enjoyable fare, she decided. The final piece of furniture the men took off the wagon was an eight-legged chair-back bench, painted black with decorative touches of gold leaf. “Oh, how lovely it is,” Felicity marveled, her eyes round as she admired it. "I thought this would be appropriate for the verandah,” the earl said with studied calm. He pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket to mop droplets of perspiration from his brow. The extra exertion combined with the summer humidity had long since caused both he and Philips to shuck their coats and roll their shirt sleeves up. Though she had tried not to stare, the sight of Lord Maitland's well muscled forearm had not escaped Felicity's notice. Now, she ran a finger along the painted bench back. “Except for the cane seats,” she murmured, “it looks very like the benches lining the wall at the Upper Rooms in Bath." "Ah? You've been there?” Maitland asked. "Yes.” Felicity smiled. “Though it was ... quite a long time ago. I did rather enjoy it, however.” A hint of wistfulness crept into her tone. “Both the music ... and the dancing." "So you enjoy dancing, do you, Mrs. Rhoades?" Felicity gazed up at the tall gentleman. It struck her that he was watching her quite intently. “I used to enjoy it,” she replied quietly. “But,” she lifted her chin, “as I said, it was quite a long time ago.” There was a pause, then she abruptly changed the subject. “I'm sure when you and Philips are done, you would like something to eat, sir. I doubt the supper things have been cleared away yet." "Indeed, I would, Mrs. Rhoades. Thank you." Felicity slanted another gaze at him. When their eyes locked for a long moment, she became aware of a strange sensation coursing through her. “It is I who should thank you, Lord Maitland,” she murmured. With a small smile, she turned and disappeared into the house. Maitland watched her go. His idea to surprise the young lady had gone just as he'd planned. Yet, she had unwittingly turned the tables on him. He'd fully expected her to also take the money he offered. It had been his experience that women never refused monetary gifts. Apparently he had grossly misjudged the

widow Rhoades. Apparently there was more to this young lady than met the eye. The following morning, Felicity awoke still feeling uplifted over Lord Maitland's unexpected gift of the night before. She couldn't think what had possessed the gentleman to make such a generous offer, unless it was his way of making up for Robert's ill treatment of her. Whatever his reason might be, she was immensely grateful to the thoughtful man, and hoped against hope that she could refrain from causing him any further injury. Upon encountering Philips later that morning, however, Felicity's high spirits sank to a new low when he told her of yet another place in the garden that had been dug up during the night. The following day, it was the same story. This time the earth surrounding a large bed of lovely ladies-mantle blossoms, which Felicity particularly enjoyed tending herself, had been uprooted and the tiny delicate flowers trampled beyond repair. For several mornings thereafter, the scene in the garden was the same. Someone, or several someones, Felicity decided, for she could hardly believe a single person could do such extensive damage, were completely destroying the carefully tended grounds. Early one morning, Felicity came upon a deep burrow dug beneath the very oak tree that stood so near Lord Maitland's second story window that it could easily be used as a ladder to the ground. It amazed her that he had not heard anything during the night, but apparently he had not, for at breakfast, he mentioned nothing about it. Mulling the matter over that day, Felicity decided not to question the gentleman further. Since bringing the furniture to the Arbor, the earl seemed quite caught up in his own affairs. He left soon after breakfast every morning, and returned quite late each evening. Still, by the end of that week, Felicity was so upset she could scarcely think of anything beyond the damage being done to the arbor grounds. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried to make the house and grounds beautiful, someone was equally as determined to undermine her efforts. It occurred to her that the culprit could very well be her brother Robert. Robert called twice during the following fortnight, but either he did not notice anything amiss, or he chose not to comment upon it. Not wanting to believe her brother could be so very cruel, Felicity had also not questioned him about it. And, despite his persistent pleas that she give up her folly and come home with him, she held fast to her decision to stay. Watching Robert drive away in his curricle after his second visit, however, Felicity experienced some difficulty in tamping down her growing concern over Libby and the babies—whom she did miss frightfully. Robert had said both little boys had fallen ill and Libby wasn't sleeping. With a weary sigh, Felicity at last turned away from the window. Sleep had also been eluding her lately. Which meant she must guard against her defenses weakening in regard to Robert. She simply must try to draw strength from the fact that all of her guests were enjoying their stay at Rhoades Arbor. Mr. Tweed liked it so well, he had signed on for another week, and with the new pianoforte in the hall now, even complaining Mr. Chadwick seemed to have fewer nits to pick. As it turned out, that gentleman was quite accomplished on the musical instrument and took to whiling away long hours of the summer afternoons before it. Some days, the melodic strains wafting through the house were the only thing that soothed Felicity's nerves. She enjoyed listening to the music as much as the Pindiddles, whom she often spotted in the hall, one or the other seated in the Bath chair. Apparently even they had difficulty remembering which was the

invalid. Apparently all her guests possessed one odd quirk or another, Felicity concluded sadly. Mrs. Leads still carried her notebook wherever she went and never seemed to tire of perusing its contents. With Philips busy every day replanting the garden, and consequently unable to help Felicity with her work on the west wing renovation, she fretted also over falling further and further behind on the last leg of her project. There were many days lately when the only thought that served to bring her out of the doldrums was the recollection of Lord Maitland's generosity. During spare moments of an evening, Felicity never ceased to silently admire the beautiful bench on the verandah. And the room full of furniture in the front bedchamber of the west wing was indeed a godsend. She finally got the new green-striped wallpaper hung in the front bedchamber, which went especially well with the pale green, rolled-end sofa that Lord Maitland had brought over. Now she was busy sewing yards and yards of fresh mint-green damask into draperies for the windows and a matching coverlet for the bed. Just this morning, Lord Maitland had come upon her in the sewing room. "How very industrious you are, Mrs. Rhoades,” he had cheerfully remarked, pausing in the opened doorway on his way belowstairs. “I daresay, your talents are endless, madam." Recalling the gentleman's sincere words of praise now, for he'd sounded quite sincere, Felicity allowed herself a rare moment of pleasure. Reaching for the scissors to snip a loose thread, she realized what a contrast it was to receive praise, instead of criticism, from a gentleman. Her late husband William had never once praised her for any of her accomplishments, and, of course, Robert never did. A sigh escaped her. Lord Maitland was indeed a pleasant person to be around, though in the past fortnight, she had seen precious little of him. Philips certainly admired the gentleman. Several times lately, she'd noticed the two of them conferring on the verandah after the evening meal. Later, when she'd question Philips about it, he'd tell her that his lordship had been asking his advice on how to repair, or rebuild, something. The earl could probably pay Philips far more than she paid him, Felicity realized, but he was obviously too much the gentleman to try and lure Philips away from her employ. Indeed, Lord Maitland stood head and shoulders above any man she'd ever known. Felicity pushed thoughts of her esteemed guest from mind and bent her head once again over her sewing. But, just then, she was startled by the shrill sound of a female voice drifting through the opened window at her side. Curious, Felicity leaned to peer out the window. Below her on the shady flagway stood Mrs. Leads. Though the woman appeared to be alone, it was clearly evident she was speaking to ... someone. Suddenly, a loud squawking noise arose from the branches of a wild blackberry bramble that hugged this side of the house. The disturbance was so intent that it alarmed both Felicity and Mrs. Leads. Flinging her sewing aside, Felicity got to her feet for a better look, while below her on the flagway, Mrs. Leads jumped back a step or two. Leaning from the window, Felicity soon caught sight of the biggest black raven she had ever seen. In a sudden flurry, it flew to a particularly high limb in the ancient old oak tree that stood just outside Lord Maitland's bedchamber window. Undaunted in her pursuit of the bird, Mrs. Leads scurried that direction and stood staring up at it from the ground. As Felicity continued to watch, the woman again addressed the bird. "Ho, there, pretty bird! Smart bird! Tell me your secret, pretty bird." By now, Felicity was so engrossed in the drama she was nigh on to leaning her entire upper torso from the window, though Mrs. Leads was none the wiser. "I can be trusted with your secret, pretty bird,” the woman said, her tone cajoling, as if she were talking

to a pet or a child. This was by far the queerest thing Felicity had seen any of her guests do. Surely it proved that at least Mrs. Leads was all about in the head. Despite the fact that it was being addressed, the raven hadn't ceased its noisy screeching and squawking for a second. At length, Felicity pulled herself back inside, her blond head shaking with wonder. Were every last one of her guests, save Lord Maitland, queer in the upper story? Upon venturing outdoors the following morning, Felicity was stunned to discover a particularly large plot of ground dug up right beneath her own bedchamber window! She had heard nothing during the night! No tapping, no scraping! Nothing! Racing back indoors, she hurried belowstairs in search of Philips. Days ago, she had instructed him to lock up the garden tools each night, which meant that who ever was doing the digging now had to be supplying their own spade! Weary beyond words over the mysterious happenings, she somewhat irritably unloaded her frustration on her long-suffering butler. “I can't think what's to be done about it, Philips! I am near to tears from fretting over the matter!" That same afternoon, as Felicity was on her way to the west wing to hang the new draperies she'd just completed, she happened to glance from the small window on the landing and spotted Mrs. Leads tiptoeing amongst the apple trees in the fruit orchard. The woman was actually skulking from one tree to the next as she made her way through the grove! Curious, Felicity watched the matronly woman draw near the green house, which was located in the far reaches of the orchard. There, Mrs. Leads suddenly came to an abrupt standstill. It was then that Felicity noticed what apparently Mrs. Leads had been stalking. A huge black bird. Hopping on the ground near the greenhouse, at times, the bird appeared to pause and ... scratch at something on the ground. Her eyes wide, Felicity pressed her forehead to the cloudy pane of glass. She was too far away to determine if it were the same oversized raven she'd observed the day before or not. From this distance, it looked to be the same bird. And there was no doubt that it was scratching at something on the ground. "Oh!” Felicity exclaimed angrily. She'd no doubt find the ground around the greenhouse dug up tomorrow. Wait! Felicity stopped dead in her tracks. What had she just said? That there was a link between the black raven and the dug up places in the garden? Felicity ran back to the small window and peered out again. Could it be? But, what could a raven have to say to anything? It seemed preposterous that a mere bird could be responsible for the extensive damage that had been done to the Arbor grounds. And, yet... The following morning Felicity awoke with a start. She hurriedly dressed and anxiously tramped through the damp grass to the greenhouse in order to assure herself that her theory about the black bird was utter rubbish. A bird was incapable of digging holes in the earth she told herself. Yet, what she saw when she reached the greenhouse sent her flying back indoors for Philips. She found the butler in the kitchen. "I tell you, it's the black bird!" Philips did not look up from stoking the fire. “I never heard of no black bird wielding a spade, Mrs. Rhoades,” he replied quietly. "But this bird is near as big as I am!” Felicity's eyes were wild. She held her arms out to indicate the width of the predators wing span. “He's at least this big! And I saw him there myself, only yesterday."

Philips didn't even look up. “Digging?" "No!” Felicity snapped. “But I saw his huge talons clawing at the earth. We simply must capture him, Philips. We must! Constantly repairing the grounds is taking far too much of your time. I had meant to have the west wing finished by now. And I have only completed the one room!" Felicity commenced to pace, her agitation causing her heart to beat faster and faster. Suddenly, she stopped. “We will set a trap for the bird tonight. I am certain we can snare the pest and that will be the end of it. I know we can do it, Philips. I know it!" Felicity could hardly wait for the sun to disappear behind the treetops that evening. She was so a-tremor over the prospect of catching the huge raven that she didn't notice that Lord Maitland had once again not returned to the Arbor in time for the evening meal. On two occasions this past week, he had been back as early as tea time. After the small meal, the two of them had actually sat together on the verandah talking quietly to one another. Felicity had especially enjoyed the pleasant interludes, nearly forgetting her worries as she watched the rays of the dying sun paint the low hanging clouds a vivid russet and amber. The two evenings stood out in her mind as bold reminders of what she'd hoped the end of each long day at the Arbor might be. Of course, both times, the gentleman had excused himself quite early and retired to his room for the remainder of the evening, engaged he told Felicity, in drawing up additional plans for the work to be done on his estate. "Things are progressing quite smoothly,” he had said. “I am greatly encouraged. I had hoped to have a part of the house inhabitable in a month's time. It is looking now as if I shall be able to remove to Maitland on schedule." "That is wonderful,” Felicity had replied, though a part of her had felt oddly stung by his words. But, she was being silly, she told herself. Of course, her guests would eventually leave Rhoades Arbor. It was foolish of her to feel as if she were losing a friend in Lord Maitland. She was nothing more to him, or to any other guest, than the proprietor of the inn where they had stayed for a short spell. Still, she continued to feel a prick of longing every time she so much as thought about Lord Maitland leaving. She knew she would always think fondly of the gentleman. He was, after all, among the first of her Arbor guests. And, he was by far the kindest. Now, if she and Philips were successful in capturing the bird tonight, she could put this worry from her mind as well and be free to enjoy the companionship of all her guests. "Can you see anything?” she whispered to Philips. The two were secreted behind a low copse of flowering elderberry bushes in a narrow clearing halfway between the fruit orchard and the green house. Philips was armed with a rather heavily constructed net of sorts, which, per Felicity's instructions, was considerably larger than an ordinary net, meant to snare smaller, more delicate birds or insects. Felicity stood prepared for whatever eventuality presented itself with her fingers curled ‘round the long handle of an iron skillet Once the huge black raven had entangled itself in Philips’ net, she meant to finish the beast off with the skillet. "It's quite dark, madam,” Philips replied, his tone hushed as he attempted to peer through the thick covering of brush before them. “I can hardly see a thing.” He cocked an ear to listen. “I believe I hear a rustling noise coming from"—he inclined his sandy-coloured head—"back there, perhaps near the stables..." "I'll wager it's the bird,” Felicity muttered sternly. “I wouldn't be surprised if it roosts in the stable. The loft would be the only place large enough to support a nest of such immense size."

"Sh-h-h. I believe I hear it coming now." Felicity fell silent, straining to hear. Then, she heard it, too. Though the noise sounded a bit like someone walking, footfalls crunching through the grass ... and yet, there was also a whooshing sound. Like wings. Huge wings. Flapping through the air. “It's the bird,” she whispered to Philips. As the crunching and whooshing sounds grew louder, Felicity felt her heart begin to thunder in her chest. Her troubles were nearly over! When the whipping sound became quite loud, Philips hissed, “Now!" Springing from their lair, he slammed the butterfly net down over the top of something large and black. The captured beast began to fight back, pushing this way and that beneath the webbed netting. Felicity jockeyed for the perfect position to bring the skillet down on the bird's head ... but ... wait... "Good God, man! What are you trying to do to me?” sputtered the captured creature. Recognizing Lord Maitland's voice at once, Felicity groaned, “Oh-h-h. It's only you." "Unhand me!” Lord Maitland commanded, both arms upraised as he tried to free himself from the net. Philips worked to do his lordship's bidding. “Begging your pardon, my lord. Mrs. Rhoades and I meant to capture a bird." "A bird! This thing is big enough to snare a tiger! I was not aware there are birds the size of men in England!" Philips worked to disentangle the irate gentleman from the trap. Complicating matters further was the thin leather whip the gentleman had been carrying that was now wrapped tightly about his neck. "How could you have mistaken me for a bird?” Maitland demanded as Philips struggled to free the webbing from his lordship's shoulders and to loosen the whip from its tight hold around his neck. When Lord Maitland caught sight of the skillet in Felicity's hand, he demanded, “And just what did you intend doing with that?" "Well, you sounded like a bird!” Felicity snapped. "Was I chirping ... or tweeting, Mrs. Rhoades?” He made a ‘hummph’ sound. “I think not." "Well, you were ... swooshing and flapping,” she insisted. She glanced at the whip. “It must have been ... that." Finally free of the webbed affair, Maitland angrily straightened his waistcoat and adjusted his coat sleeves. “I was swatting at insects, if you must know. They are quite thick through here.” His lips pressed into a thin line as one dark brow lifted. “Dare I suggest that you accompany me indoors, Mrs. Rhoades? Being trapped like a wild animal has given me a considerable appetite." Her mouth set irritably, Felicity turned to go. “Carry on, Philips,” she muttered flatly. Once inside, Lord Maitland calmly requested that she please place his supper on a tray and deposit it outside his bedchamber door. “I have a great deal of work to complete this evening, madam." Felicity did as the gentleman asked, and though she ached to rejoin Philips outdoors, she dared not. Lord

Maitland had seemed unusually incensed over tonight's mishap. It was far more important that she be on hand here should he require something more. After all, there was still the matter of what she stood to gain from his lengthy stay at the Arbor. At least, that was the reason she clung to for not wanting the gentleman to decide to leave sooner than he planned.

Chapter Eight The next morning Felicity could hardly wait to confront Philips and find out whether or not he had captured the raven. Hurrying down the back stairs to the kitchen, she was a bit dismayed to not find the butler there. Yet, she told herself, as she rushed back up the stairs, perhaps that meant he was dealing with the bird outdoors. She had just reached the corridor when she heard the back door open and close, and then the creak of the loose floor boards just inside. "Philips!” she called. An anxious expression on her face, Felicity rushed into the corridor only to come face to face with Mrs. Leads. Both thrown a bit off their guards, Mrs. Leads recovered first. "Good morning, Mrs. Rhoades,” the woman exclaimed, then she rather unceremoniously ducked her head and breezed past a still dazed Felicity. Who stood staring after the woman. Then, blinking, she also regained herself. And noted that Mrs. Leads looked an absolute fright! From head to toe, the woman was covered with dirt and debris! Her clothes were soiled and rumpled and her half boots caked with mud. She was even trailing muddy shoe prints down the corridor! As the woman neared her own bedchamber door, Felicity called after her. “Mrs. Leads,” she began in a rush, “if I may be so bold as to inquire what you have been doing outdoors at such an early hour?” Felicity felt her heart pounding a rapid staccato in her chest. Had she been wrong about the bird? Was the real vandal Mrs. Leads? Her hand resting calmly on the door latch, Mrs. Leads turned a studied smile on Felicity. “Why, I have been taking the air, Mrs. Rhoades; as is my custom each morning. Is something amiss?" Felicity's lips firmed. “Amiss, Mrs. Leads? Amiss?” It was on the tip of her tongue to light into the provoking woman but she managed to curtail her temper. “No, madam. I was merely curious, that is all. Good day, Mrs. Leads.” Felicity turned her back on her disheveled guest, although she wasn't at all convinced the woman was telling the truth, not by a long chalk. She had only got a few steps down the hall when the sound of Mrs. Leads's voice brought Felicity to a halt again. “I should like to have a bath this morning, Mrs. Rhoades, if it is no trouble." Felicity turned around, her back stiff, her shoulders square. Still standing before her bedchamber door, Mrs. Leads brushed bits of debris from the sleeves and bodice of her frock. Felicity's lips tightened at the sight of the dirt wafting to the floor. Didn't the woman know that someone would have to clean it up? "I daresay I got a bit carried away with my ... experimenting just now,” Mrs. Leads said, her tone infuriatingly even. "Experimenting?” Felicity repeated flatly. Mrs. Leads turned a gaze steady on her. “I am a nature lover, Mrs. Rhoades. The grounds here contain a simply splendid array of vegetation, some of it quite rare. Why, just now I unearthed a perfectly lovely example of a Hedera heliz Thorndale." One of Felicity's arched brows lifted.

"Almost completely hidden away, it was,” Mrs. Leads continued, all the while meticulously picking specks of dirt from her clothing and dropping the bits to the floor. “I nearly didn't see it." Felicity tamped her anger down once again. Nature lover? She'd wager the woman had been up half the night, perhaps all night, digging up more than a simple white veined ivy! Mrs. Leads was the vandal, not that poor, harmless black bird! “I shall send Mrs. Allen up with the tub and a kettle of hot water, Mrs. Leads,” she managed tightly. The woman's grimy face became a smile, more of a smirk really. “Why, thank you, Mrs. Rhoades." Her nostrils flaring with rage, Felicity delivered the instructions to Mrs. Allen, then resumed her interrupted search for Philips. "I didn't have no luck with the bird, ma'am,” the butler said when Felicity finally located him outdoors, “but—" "I can guess, Philips; you found the ground near the greenhouse disturbed this morning." Philips appeared surprised by her astuteness. “Indeed, I did, Mrs. Rhoades." Felicity's chest heaved with white-hot anger. What was she to do? Without concrete proof, she couldn't just barge in and accuse Mrs. Leads of the crime. Yet, she was nearly certain now that the woman was the guilty party. Lost in thought on her way back indoors, Felicity did not see Lord Maitland hurrying across the walk. The pair nearly collided. "Good morning, Mrs. Rhoades,” Lord Maitland said a bit absently. He paused a mere half-second to allow her to pass in front of him. “Still bird-catching, are you? Or are you and your butler now contemplating larger game?" Felicity's lips pressed firmly together. The handsome man looked maddeningly rested this morning. His dark eyes were bright, his cheeks, clean-shaven and smooth. The faint aroma of lime and musk trailed after him. An angry retort nearly tumbled from Felicity's lips, but suddenly, out of a clear blue, she was reminded of the gentleman's kind offer of a fortnight ago to come to her aid should she require it. Near to exploding with frustration, she suddenly felt her chin begin to tremble. She actually had to clamp her teeth onto her lower lip to forestall the sob that arose unbidden in her throat. “If you will excuse me, sir,” she managed and hurried past the stunned gentleman into the house. She could feel Lord Maitland staring after her but she refused to look back. She couldn't look back. Not without crying. Oh, why had she encountered him, of all people, just now? And, why did he seem to turn up at those odd moments when she actually needed a shoulder to cry on? Those times were so very rare. She was strong! She didn't need a man to lean on. And even if she did, the Earl of Maitland would never do. She meant nothing to him. Therefore, he meant nothing to her! With immense effort, she managed to swallow her upset once more and firmly resolve to put the infuriating Earl of Maitland from her mind. He would soon be gone from the Arbor and that would mark the end of her association with him. Forever. That night Felicity was still so frustrated over how to sort out the perplexing problem that she went straight from the supper table to her own chamber. During the meal, she'd hardly been able to utter more than a few cordial words to any of her guests. Least of all to Mrs. Leads. As usual, Lord Maitland had not yet returned to the Arbor, but remembering to give a care to his needs, she left instructions with

Philips to see to the gentleman's dinner once he did turn up. She was so troubled tonight that not even Mr. Chadwick's music, nor the muffled sounds of talking and laughter amongst her guests in the drawing room was enough to lure her back downstairs. Mrs. Leads had remained in her bedchamber nearly the whole of the day, exhausted, no doubt, Felicity fumed, after her long night of digging. The woman had finally emerged from her suite at teatime. By then, she had looked quite rested and seemed especially cheerful, which angered Felicity further. On the other hand, it had taken Philips nearly the same length of time to repair the damage done to the grounds leading up to the greenhouse! The north side of the building was still a shambles. What, she wondered, would she find destroyed in the morning? Not that there was much left to be destroyed! It was considerably later that evening when Felicity finally climbed wearily into bed. She lay there a long time fretting over the events of the past fortnight, and more recently, today. She had finally drifted off to sleep when suddenly, the sound of someone promenading below on the flagway caused her to come instantly alert. Springing to her feet, she scampered across the room to peer from the window that she had purposely left wide open. Blinking into the darkness, for it was quite a dark night, without a trace of moon or stars to light up the midnight sky, she could scarcely make anything out ... but, yes! There it was! Mrs. Leads’ plump shape! Straining to see more clearly, Felicity thought she detected something in the woman's hands ... something long and thin ... like a shade! Jerking her head back inside, Felicity was wide awake now. She had to do something! She had to! Realizing with horror that she was not dressed for an outdoor excursion, she just as quickly decided that it didn't matter. She had to take action, and she had to take it now! Yanking the long tail of her nightrail up between her legs, she tucked the end of it over the ribbon that tied beneath her breasts. Hurriedly stuffing her unruly blond hair beneath a mobcap, she felt a measure of satisfaction with the result. To a casual observer, if, indeed, she were to encounter a casual observer in the garden tonight, she might be mistaken for a boy, a boy wearing a pair of loose-fitting pantaloons. And a mobcap. Giving her unorthodox appearance no further thought, she hopped nimbly onto the wide window sill and stretched a bare leg out. Climbing down the trellis that hugged the house here shouldn't be any different than backing down the step ladder, she reasoned. From the corner of one eye, she could still make out the shadowy form of Mrs. Leads, now drawing near the oak tree that stood outside Lord Maitland's bedchamber window. Gingerly stretching one slipper-clad toe after another, Felicity had made it halfway to the ground when she was startled to distraction by the gruff sound of a male voice shouting up at her. "You there! Come down at once!" Instantly recognizing to whom the deep masculine tone belonged, Felicity's heart sank with a thud. She had no desire to encounter the elegant Earl of Maitland at this inopportune moment. She made haste to scramble back up the way she'd just come. Perhaps he'd never even know it was she on the trellis. "Come back here, lad! That's an order!” the earl shouted angrily. “It will go easier for you if you do as I say." Felicity wasn't about to obey the military man's stern orders. There was no way the Earl of Maitland was going to see her with her nightrail tucked between her legs! Yet, as she worked feverishly to retrace her steps upward, one foot became hopelessly tangled in the thick English ivy that grew there. Oh! She jerked and pulled, but no matter how hard she tried, her efforts were to no avail. She stretched an arm downward toward her trapped foot but it was still no use.

Below her on the ground, the irate gentleman stood watching her. Glancing over one shoulder. Felicity could make out his large form, legs planted wide apart, both fists parked angrily on his hips. "Come down this instant, lad! Come down, I say!" Finally acknowledging that she was, indeed, hopelessly trapped. Felicity exhaled a long sigh. “I ... can't move,” she whimpered. "What?” came the shouted reply. “What's that you say?" "I can't move,” Felicity said louder. There was a pause. “Mrs. Rhoades? Is that you?" The incredulous sound to his tone did not escape Felicity's notice. On another long sigh, she said, “Yes-s, it's me. Will you please help me? I'm stuck!" For a long moment, no reply was forthcoming. Felicity peered over her shoulder again at the muscular gentleman standing below her on the ground. Why had he made no move to help her? She saw the gentleman's dark head bent forward but his shoulders appeared to be shaking. Why, the man was laughing at her! In that instant, Felicity could have killed him. "Lord Maitland,” she fairly shouted, her stomach churning with rage, “my foot is caught in a vine and I cannot shake loose! Will you please stop laughing at my predicament and fetch the step ladder and assist me to the ground?" Felicity's final words were drowned out by the roar of full-blown laughter. "Lord Maitland,” she cried into the darkness, “if you cannot contain your mirth long enough to help me, then please fetch Philips!" There was no answer. Felicity craned her neck to peer downward again. Realizing that she was still a good ten feet from the ground, she wondered if the step ladder would reach this high. She feared it wouldn't. Unable to see a soul standing beneath her now, Felicity rather plaintively called out, “Lord Maitland? Are you there?" "No. I am here." Felicity's head jerked upward, her gaze searching for the man to whom the voice belonged. And then she saw him. The top-lofty earl was leaning from her bedchamber window, one hand extended downward toward her. "Can you reach my hand, Mrs. Rhoades?" Felicity whimpered. “I-I don't know." "Well, try!" Felicity glared up at him. “There is no call to shout at me, sir. It is my foot that is not working properly, my ears are fine."

Again, she heard the sound of muffled laughter. "And I will thank you to cease laughing at me!" There was a pause and then another unmistakable burst rang out. Despite her anger, she thought his laugh had a ... pleasant sound to it. But, she was in no mood to refine upon that now! "This is hardly a laughing matter!” she informed him hotly. Apparently Lord Maitland was sincerely trying to suppress his mirth, for Felicity heard him sniff and then, clear his throat. Finally, he managed, “Forgive me, Mrs. Rhoades, but I cannot think when I have come upon anyone looking quite so comical." Felicity glared up at him. “I am hanging precariously from a wooden trellis that has been here for perhaps a century,” she informed him tartly. “It is quite possible that my weight will work it loose from its moorings. I fail to see what you find so comical in that, sir." "One wonders why you did not think of that before venturing onto the trellis, Mrs. Rhoades,” the earl returned quickly, his tone still sounding quite amused. Below him, Felicity renewed her efforts to loosen her trapped foot. But, upon hearing the gentleman sniff again, as if he were attempting to repress additional peals of laughter, she looked up to find him gazing down at her, his lips still twitching. "If you will just try to take my arm, Mrs. Rhoades.” He lowered his arm another inch or two as Felicity reached toward his dangling fingertips. "Take my arm, Mrs. Rhoades, not my wrist. Wrap your fingers tightly about my forearm ... yes, that's it ... and I will do the same.” When he had got a good grip on her bare arm, he braced his other hand on the windowsill. “Now, then, I shall just ... draw you up." In seconds, Felicity's mobcap-covered head was on a level with his dark one. When he leaned to catch her about the waist to lift her into the room, she suddenly became alarmingly aware of her bare breasts beneath the thin fabric of her nightrail pressed firmly against his hard chest. The dizzying sensation that spiraled through her was unlike anything she had ever felt before. But, of course, she told herself hurriedly, the feeling had nothing to do with Lord Maitland's arms being wrapped about her. After all, she had just been teetering on the brink of death ... or at least, certain injury. When he had set her down on her feet inside the dark recesses of her bedchamber, she hastened to loosen the tail of her nightrail and settle the long folds of her gown over her bare legs. "Thank you for your assistance, sir,” she mumbled primly. She dared not look at Lord Maitland, though the veriest peek from beneath her lashes told her the gentleman was still staring hard at her, and finding the situation amusing. There was a lengthy pause before he finally said, “I am trying to decide whether or not to inquire what you were doing hanging from the trellis, Mrs. Rhoades." Felicity's chin shot up. If he had not laughed at her, she might have told him. As it was, she wasn't about to broach the subject now. She still felt far too embarrassed, and yes, angry with him, that were she to begin to tell him about her troubles now—the dug up garden, the black bird, her suspicions regarding

Mrs. Leads—she knew she would break down and cry like a babe. She was having the devil of a time containing her upset as it was. "Well?” Lord Maitland prompted. Felicity bit her lower lip ‘til she feared it would bleed. “It is none of your concern, sir,” she said tightly. “I will thank you to please leave me be." She flicked a gaze up at him. Suddenly it angered her afresh that in the dim light of her bedchamber the planes and angles of Lord Maitland's face appeared ... disarmingly handsome! His dark hair was slightly ruffled from his exertion, and he had loosened his cravat, the ends of it hanging limply about his neck. Felicity sucked in a breath. The gentleman was as near to undress as she! Suddenly, frightfully aware that the pair of them were actually alone in her bedchamber! and she clad only in her nightrail, she involuntarily retreated a rather large step backward. Only to bump her derriere against the edge of the window sill! "Oh!" a cry of alarm escaped her. Maitland reached to steady her. “Careful there! Wouldn't want you to go tumbling downward again!" Felicity wrested free of his hold and brought her arms stiffly to her sides. “I no longer require your assistance. Lord Maitland! If you will please ... go!" He continued to watch her intently. Quite intently, Felicity thought. "Lord Maitland,” she began afresh, “I am perfectly fine now, and I should like you to ... to...” Her own words seemed to catch in her throat. "You would like me to ... what, Mrs. Rhoades?" She looked away. She had to. Otherwise, there was no saying what she might do! It had been four years since there had been a gentleman in her bedchamber. Four long years. And despite the fact that it had been a great relief to her to escape her late husband's selfish attempts to ... to make love to her, something told her Lord Maitland's technique would not be ... selfish. She edged a small step away from him. "I-I should like to be ... alone now, sir. Thank you for ... coming to my aid." A dark brow quirked. “Well, then, Mrs. Rhoades. If you require no further ... aid, I shall retire to my own bedchamber.” He turned and walked toward the door. Pausing before it, however, he said, “As you are aware, Mrs. Rhoades, my chamber is just ... a few steps down the corridor." Felicity's heart leapt to her throat. Until now, she had not given that fact a moment's consideration. Now, as she watched the tall gentleman open the door and a ray of light from the hallway outline his chest and massive shoulders, she was acutely reminded of the feel of his strong arms wrapped tightly about her a scant second ago. The image caused a wave of longing, such as she had never felt before, to shudder through her. She swallowed convulsively. Lord Maitland stood on the threshold, still watching her. “By the by, Mrs. Rhoades, allow me to thank you."

"T-thank me? F-for what, sir?" "I haven't laughed in an age,” he said quietly. “It felt quite good." When the door finally closed behind him, Felicity sank to her knees on the uncarpeted floor of her bedchamber. If the gentleman had known of her response to his presence just now, she feared he might still be laughing. For her part, she didn't know whether to laugh ... or cry.

Chapter Nine Gaining his own bedchamber, Lord Maitland realized that since he'd presented the pieces of furniture to Mrs. Rhoades a fortnight ago, he had been fairly successful in putting the attractive widow from mind in order to fully concentrate upon his own work. But, tonight's episode could very well be his undoing. It had been months since Maitland had been with a woman and the magnetic pull he'd felt just now between himself and Mrs. Rhoades was unmistakable. He tried now to do as he had always done when beset by certain normal human urgings, control them, or, at the very least, suppress them to the point of manageability. There was no denying the widow Rhoades was an attractive young lady, but he had no time for a flirtation, even if he thought she desired it, which he did not. Beyond indulging in the occasional tête-à-tête with the young lady, he had no intention of allowing her to develop a tendre for him. It would only prove a nuisance. He had a great deal of work to do and he would not be deterred from it. Not by anyone. Absently preparing for bed, he shrugged out of his coat and began to methodically unfasten his shirt. It was, however, becoming quite plain to him that the forthright Mrs. Rhoades was not nearly so strong and self-sufficient as she wished others to believe. So far as he could see, she needed help at every turn. He had thought that by making her a gift of the furniture, which he knew she desperately needed, he could quiet the odd concern he felt for her welfare. But, apparently he'd underestimated her. Or her needs. Or, perhaps, even himself. Perhaps he was not as cold and unemotional as he'd always thought himself to be. He yanked off his boots and uncharacteristically sent them tumbling to the floor. He could see that something was troubling the young lady. He had read the anguish in her eyes this morning. And, now tonight. His dark head wagged from side to side. What on earth had prompted the peagoose to climb onto the trellis outside her bedchamber window? Despite her odd treatment of him when he'd first arrived here, he did indeed think her an intelligent young lady, she would have to be to run such a well-ordered establishment as this. But, there were times, like tonight, when her actions planted fresh doubts in his mind. He flung his rumpled shirt aside and sat down on the bed to remove his boots. And, then noticed he'd already removed them. Well, perhaps Mrs. Rhoades was still bothered by the murder a fortnight ago, he thought, reaching to stand his Hessians up side by side. Perhaps she had simply heard a noise tonight and meant to investigate. Still, he owned, she'd chosen a peculiar means of exiting the house. He padded across the room in his stockinged feet toward the washbasin. It was possible, of course, that something else had occurred here that he was unaware of. Truth to say, he was rarely here and was not privy to the daily goings-on at Rhoades Arbor. And on the few occasions lately that he had spoken with Mrs. Rhoades, she hadn't mentioned anything untoward. Standing before the washbasin, he poured water into the bowl and splashed the cool liquid onto his face. Perhaps if he were to return to the Arbor a bit earlier one evening, he mused, as he reached for a towel and rubbed his face and hands dry with it, he could spend a few moments alone with the young lady and ascertain what the trouble was. Not that he meant to overly concern himself with her problems, not at all. He still had a great deal to do at Maitland, and he would not be swayed from his course. "Philips, you may leave off trying to capture the black bird,” Felicity crisply told the butler late the following day. The evening meal had just concluded and she, Mrs. Allen and Philips were all in the kitchen. “I have a suspicion who is damaging the garden and it is not a bird."

"Very good, madam.” Philips did not look up from his task of pouring hot water from the kettle into a shallow pan in order for Alice to rub the supper dishes clean. “Just as well,” he added, almost beneath his breath. “That bird is too clever by half." From the pantry where Felicity was reshelving the spices and condiments used in the dining hall that evening, she called, “What did you say. Philips?" Philips repeated the comment as he carried the empty kettle back to the hearth. “That black raven seems almost human at times,” he said, raising his voice loud enough to be heard. “I swear it knew when I was lying in wait for it. Outsmarted me at every turn." Stepping back into the spacious chamber, Felicity sighed loudly. She was beginning to think the same thing was true of Mrs. Leads. Though, of course, the derailment of her plan to apprehend the woman last night had come from another quarter. With renewed effort, she angrily thrust the still vivid memory of Lord Maitland in her bedchamber from her mind. Similar images of the gentleman had annoyed her throughout the day. Of a purpose, she fastened her thoughts once again on the provoking Mrs. Leads. Felicity hated the prospect of asking one of her guests to vacate the premises, but if Mrs. Leads did not cease digging up the garden at once, Felicity would have no choice but to do precisely that! An hour later, when their work in the kitchen was done, Felicity snuffed out the lights belowstairs and wearily trudged up the backstairs toward her own bedchamber. The same as last evening, she felt far too fretful again tonight to join her guests in the drawing room for polite conversation or a light game of charades. By now, she suspected her lodgers were quite proficient at entertaining themselves. Even the disquieting Lord Maitland was on hand tonight. She had caught a glimpse of the tall gentleman entering the dining hall as she exited it a bit ago. Glad that she had not been near enough to the man to speak, the fleeting second she had beheld him had been enough to cause an embarrassing flush of pink to heat her cheeks. How long would it take before last night's unfortunate incident failed to spring to mind the second she beheld the man? She only hoped Lord Maitland had forgotten the incident by now. Her mind a tangle of worrisome thoughts, Felicity entered her own suite and firmly latched the door behind her. Not to keep anyone out, but perhaps to ... keep herself in. She needed a good eight or nine hours of undisturbed rest tonight. She lifted her chin, and despite the lure of pleasant talk and laughter drifting upward from the drawing room, she headed across her bedchamber. It had been weeks since she had slept all the way through a night without being awakened by strange noises or disturbing thoughts. She felt so tired tonight, she was certain she would fall asleep quickly. After performing her nightly toilette—she even pampered herself by leisurely washing her hair—she crawled into bed, eager for the relief she expected to steal over her when her head sank into the pillow. But ... sleep did not come. Far, far into the night, long after she had heard each of her guests’ bedchamber doors close, Felicity still lay awake. She hated acknowledging it, but the fact was, a part of her mind persisted in wandering down the corridor to ... No! She would not allow herself to continue to refine upon the gentleman who lay in his bed a mere two doors away. She turned over, willing the tight knots of anxiety in her stomach to dissolve. But, all her efforts to fall asleep came to naught. At long last, she pulled herself to an upright position, deciding that a glass of warm milk and honey might soothe her nerves. Seated on the edge of the bed, she aimed her toes into a pair of slippers, and tossing a

wrapper about her shoulders, she silently stole through the darkened corridor toward the backstairs. But, the very second her foot touched the top step, she heard the telltale creak of the loose floorboard just inside the rear door, and immediately after that, the backdoor opening and the outside latch falling into place. Someone was up and about! The frustration churning inside Felicity escalated to a scalding rage. Flying down the stairs, she raced onto the breezeway, pausing only long enough to grab for something, anything, which she might use to defend herself if the need arose. Undeterred by the fact that the only “weapon” in sight was an old straw broom, Felicity grabbed it on the run. Rounding the corner of the house, just up ahead, near the small grove of peach trees this side of the orchard, she spotted the perpetrator, his upper body bent forward, a spade in his hand! She had caught the vandal now! Tiptoeing up behind him, Felicity threw all her weight behind that first blow, bringing the prickly broom down upon the man's bowed head. "I've got you this time!” she cried, commencing to fearlessly thrash the man about the neck and shoulders. “Don't you dare try and escape! Don't you dare!" Apparently too stunned to speak at first, the gentleman's arms merely flew upward in an unsuccessful attempt to ward off the vicious attack upon his person. "How dare you sneak into my garden at night!” Felicity shouted, still beating the man mercilessly. “I will not have it, I tell you; I will not have it!" At last, the gentleman managed to catch hold of the spiky end of the straw broom, and to find his tongue. “I was unaware I had committed a serious infraction, Mrs. Rhoades,” said Lord Maitland. “I do not recall the garden being off-limits at night." Struggling to regain complete possession of her weapon again, Felicity returned hotly, “You have behaved abominably, sir! I shall send for the constable at once and you will answer to charges! You will!" "Mrs. Rhoades,” Lord Maitland began, the puzzlement still evident in his tone, “I was merely taking a stroll—" "You were doing nothing of the sort! I saw you myself! Let go of my—” Felicity yanked hard on the broom handle, but Maitland had a stronger hold on the other end of it. “Oh-h!” she moaned, suddenly flinging her end of the implement at him and covering her face with both hands. “I can no longer do this! I cannot!" "Thank, God,” Maitland muttered. “One more blow to my head and I fear I should have to fight back." "Oh-h-h,” another exasperated moan escaped Felicity. “I can take no more of this! I am sick to death of it!" "You can take no more, Mrs. Rhoades? May I remind you, that it is I who have been on the receiving end of your obsession to apprehend intruders. I daresay your advertisement in the Times was quite wide of the mark. The few hours of each day that I have spent on the premises have been anything but restful." Felicity glared up at him. “I have said I am sorry!" "Hummph,” the gentleman snorted. “If you had succeeded in killing me, Mrs. Rhoades, I hardly think sorry would save you from the gallows.” He tossed the broom aside, and bent to pick up the spade. “By

the by, it appears this was left—" "Ah-ha!” Felicity's tone was once again accusing. She jabbed a finger at the spade. “I demand to know what you were doing with that!" "With what?" Felicity folded her arms across her chest. “You had best confess, Lord Maitland, or I warn you, I shall demand an inquest." Maitland's eyes widened. “That seems a bit drastic, madam, considering the nature of the infraction. As you can see, the spade was not stolen, it was not even removed from the premises." "That does not explain what you were doing with it!" "As I told you, I was merely taking a stroll and I came upon—" "Well, I will not have it!” Felicity interrupted. “I warn you, Lord Maitland, I am very near to asking you to leave, though I ... I don't really want you to go." "Oh?” Lord Maitland's tone changed suddenly, his full lips twitching slightly, the sight of which served to fan the flames of Felicity's anger to a full-blown boil again. “Why do you not really want me to go, Mrs. Rhoades?" "Oh!” Felicity exploded. “If you must know, it is because I need your money!" Maitland paused to consider that a second, then said, “Since I have made no provision for you in my will, Mrs. Rhoades, I am at a loss as to why you think killing me would serve that end? If it is my money you want, it would seem I am only good to you alive.” Again, the infuriating grin played at his lips. Felicity's nostrils flared. “You have not answered my question, sir!" "And here I thought we were making quite good headway at getting at the truth.” His tone was almost playful now. Felicity regretted that she hadn't whacked that smile right off his face. “We are nowhere close to the truth,” she snapped, “not until you tell me why you persist in digging up my garden! Have you not enough property of your own to plow up?" Maitland glanced down at the gaping hole at his feet. “But, surely you don't think...” Suddenly, the chortle in his throat became an outright laugh. “'Pon my word, Mrs. Rhoades, you have done it again." Felicity seethed inside. “I have done nothing, sir. You are the criminal and this time, I have caught you red-handed." His dark head wagging from side to side, Maitland tossed the offensive spade to the ground. Apparently he'd been right. Something else had happened at the Arbor that was oversetting little Mrs. Rhoades. And he had every intention of finding out what it was. “Come,” he said firmly. “We shall sit upon Mr. Tweed's bench just there, and you will tell me what the trouble is. I will brook no objection this time, Mrs. Rhoades." He reached to take her elbow to guide her to the stone bench, and was quite surprised when she did not resist. "Now, then,” he began, after they were settled side-by-side upon the cool stone seat “You may begin

with ... well, you may begin wherever you like, Mrs. Rhoades. Though, I admit I am most curious about last night's episode ... on the trellis." The sound of her exasperated huff told him he may have already overplayed his hand. He wasn't surprised this time when she thrust her chin up and said, “I refuse to tell you a thing, sir, until you tell me what you were doing just now. Over there.” She pointed once again to the hole, to the incriminating pile of fresh dirt and to the spade. "As I said, madam, I was merely taking a stroll, and I—" "In the middle of the night?" "I could not sleep.” He flicked a somewhat irritable glance her way. He had no intention of telling her why he could not sleep, though, truth to tell, it had a great deal to do with her. He cleared his throat. “I had thought a bit of activity would serve to—” He glanced her way again. Somehow, sitting so very close to her, he seemed to be ... fast losing control of ... the conversation. His lips thinned angrily. Mrs. Rhoades, it appeared, was proving quite proficient at causing him to lose control of ... one thing or another. “Pray, madam, what is the reason you are out and about at this hour?" The young lady's head shot up another notch. “This is my home. I have leave to walk whenever, and wherever, I choose. Although, as it happens,” she added—somewhat contritely he thought—"I, too, was ... unable to sleep." "Ah-ha,” Maitland exclaimed. “Well, it appears we are of the same mind on that score.” He paused. Dare he ask why she had been unable to rest? He cast a downward peek at her slender form in the darkness. Her back was quite stiff. No, he supposed he dared not. As usual, her stubborn streak would undoubtedly prevent the truth from leaking out again tonight. "But, that still does not explain why you seem intent upon bringing me to my knees at every turn,” he said instead, determined to uncover something tonight.. even if it were not the whole truth. “Let us not lose sight of the fact that during the past fortnight, I have been crowned with a flower pot, tripped by a rake, snared by a net and tonight you attempted to subdue me with a broom. At least, your weapons are becoming less ferocious,” he added. He had hoped that that last remark might have the effect of lessening her hostility a bit. It didn't. She flicked a sidelong look at him. “I have had perfectly good cause to take measures. Lord Maitland, and well you know it." "And yet you refuse now to enlighten me as to the real reason behind your actions, Mrs. Rhoades. Why is that?" "Because it is none of your concern." "I beg to differ, madam. Your actions thus far have concerned me very much. And I have the bumps and bruises to show for it. Apart from the crime that was committed here a fortnight ago, and the unexplained scraping noise that we both heard that evening in the kitchen and which after a thorough investigation proved to be nothing, I can think of no rational explanation for your repeated bouts of ... of odd behavior." Felicity gave a small snort, but said nothing further.

"I merely wish to ... to help you, Mrs. Rhoades. But, in order to do that, you must take me into your confidence.” He almost said “into your bed,” but caught himself in time. To recover his own composure, he cleared his throat. “I will concede that last night's incident did not seem to involve inflicting harm upon me, but you must own that to discover you dangling from the outside wall of your home can hardly be considered normal behaviour for a young lady." When she still refused to explain, Lord Maitland crossed his arms across his chest and announced in a firm voice, “I am prepared to sit here all night, Mrs. Rhoades, so you may as well tell me the whole of it." A lengthy silence ensued, during which Maitland, in a concerted effort to calm himself, took leave to draw several deep breaths of the fresh-smelling cool night air. It was once again quite a dark night, with only a few stars twinkling overhead. The lazy deep-throated sound of a bull frog drifting toward them from the nearby pond added a certain je ne sais quoi to the peaceful setting. Maitland glanced down at the young lady seated beside him. Beneath his intense study of her, she shifted her weight on the bench. The slight movement sent the faint aroma of ... lavender wafting toward him. He started. "Are you ... wearing lavender water, Mrs. Rhoades?" A curious look on her face, Felicity glanced up. “I ... washed my hair tonight with lavender-scented soap, but I fail to see what that has to say to anything,” she added, irritably. Maitland's lips pursed. She was by far the most stubborn female he'd ever encountered. And the most irritating. Most women welcomed the opportunity to tell a gentleman every little thing on their minds. In fact, now that he thought on it, he didn't think he'd ever made the mistake of actually asking a woman to thusly oblige him. The end result might prove dangerous, could even result in some sort of forced marriage proposal. “Confound it, Mrs. Rhoades"—he leaned forward—"I am a busy man. And while you may wish to pass the night perched upon this bench, I do not. I demand that you tell me what the trouble is this instant. And, that's an ord—” he clamped his mouth shut. And none too soon, for at last he heard a low sigh escape her. Good. Perhaps that meant she was about to speak. "To be entirely honest, sir,” she began, then paused. Though her voice was small, Maitland decided it was still a good beginning. “I-I do not wish to tell you what is troubling me." He was just about to ask why, when she went on. “Suffice to say that ... I-I have decided that you were telling the truth just now, that you ... were merely taking a stroll tonight. To your credit, sir, I do not believe the ... the guilty party could profess innocence so effectively as you have done. I have decided that it will not be necessary for you to answer to charges." Maitland could not suppress the unbidden laughter that rumbled up from his throat. “By Jove, you have done it again, Mrs. Rhoades! You have reduced me to laughter." Beside him, Felicity's lips firmed afresh. Not wishing to further upset her, Maitland hastened to calm himself. “May I say I appreciate your leniency, madam, but, I am still most curious as to why you do not wish to take me into your confidence." "Because ... because you are a guest here!” she snapped. “And I feel I should not trouble you."

"Methinks it a bit late for that. If you recall, I have already been troubled.” Maitland managed to keep the grin on his face from blossoming into a laugh. "Nonetheless,” Felicity said quietly. “I do not like it when you laugh at me, sir." Maitland chastised himself once again for having lost control. “Forgive me, Mrs. Rhoades. Despite my levity, I am most sincere in my desire to help you, but in order to do so, it is necessary that you first tell me precisely what is amiss." He was glad when the sincerity of his plea this time seemed to give her courage. She drew in a long breath, then he heard her murmur. “You've ... no idea how oversetting it is to awaken each morning and find my flowers dug up, or a tree with its roots lying exposed. I am quite beside myself with worry." Maitland's brow puckered. “What are you saying, Mrs. Rhoades?” He glanced toward the gaping hole at the base of the peach tree. “I assumed your groundskeeper, er, that is. Philips, off-duty butling, or building, had been ... gardening. Are you telling me that is not the case, that there have been other areas in the garden disturbed during the night?" Letting out the tight breath she had been holding, Felicity's shoulders sagged. “Indeed, there have been others. A great many others. Every day is a fresh discovery.” Now that she had started, her words spilled out in a rush. “The kitchen garden is ruined. As are the dog-roses. And the raspberries. I shan't be able to make raspberry cream tarts now. At first, I thought it was the bird." "The bird?" "The black bird. The one that Philips and I were attempting to catch the other evening when you came upon us." "Ah. And, last evening? Had the bird flown past your window, perhaps?" Felicity turned a glare upon him. “No.” In a fresh spurt of anger, she spat out, “I was in a rush to follow Mrs. Leads if you must know." "Mrs. Leads? But, I did not also see her dangling from the trellis, did I?" Felicity lips pressed together. “Of course, you did not. She was not on the trellis. If you mean to make sport of me, Lord Maitland, I shall refuse to tell you the rest.” She stared straight ahead. He had to strain to hear her next words. “This is ... quite difficult for me." "Difficult? How do you mean, Mrs. Rhoades?" She turned a pair of glistening blue-green eyes upward. “I am not in the habit of sharing my troubles with anyone, sir." So, it was just as he thought, Maitland decided. The young lady did need help. The sudden tug he felt in the region of his heart stunned him. Suddenly, it took all the might he could muster not to gather the pretty young lady into his arms and ... kiss away the tears he saw glistening on her lashes. Instead, he murmured, “Well, then, if I promise not to laugh again, will you continue onward?" He waited, then realized he'd been holding his breath when she finally began to speak. "I ... had spotted Mrs. Leads below me on the flagway last evening. I did not want to lose precious time by taking the stairs ... oh, why am I telling you this?” she cried, both hands flying to cover her face.

Maitland noted that her slim fingers were trembling. He ached all over again to pull her toward him. With tremendous effort, he managed to quell the urge. "You are telling me your troubles, Mrs. Rhoades,” he said gently, “because I asked it of you." His dark eyes remained fixed on the delicate beauty sitting beside him on the bench. She looked as fragile as a woodland sprite tonight, her glorious blond curls a diaphanous cloud ‘round her shoulders, quite a change from the night before when she had tucked her long hair up beneath that ridiculous mobcap. Also different tonight was the fact that she smelled of ... lavender water. Drawing in another breath of the charged scent, Maitland's eyes hungrily traced the line of her small shoulders and then downward, over the shapely curve of her rounded breasts. In an effort to control the desire quickening within him, he crossed one long leg over the other. Though Mrs. Rhoades was a widow, which meant the delights of the marriage bed were not unknown to her, she was also a lady. She had proved that much to him last evening when she had given him no signal whatsoever that she wished him to remain in her bedchamber. Lord Maitland cleared his throat and nervously shifted on the bench. That he felt an attraction for Mrs. Rhoades was undeniable; was even understandable. She was, after all, quite pretty. That he wished to help her solve her problem just now, however, puzzled him. As a rule, when he set his mind on a course, he let nothing, and no one stand in his way. Still, he glanced down at her again, it was plain as a pikestaff she needed help. As a gentleman, he could hardly refuse to assist a lady in distress, could he? "You mentioned that you had wanted to follow Mrs. Leads last evening. Do you have reason to believe that she is somehow involved in the mischief?” he asked quietly. Without looking at him, Felicity nodded. “I am almost certain of it." Maitland fought with himself. “Perhaps I may be able to shed some light on the mystery for you, Mrs. Rhoades." She turned a pair of trusting sea-green eyes upon him. “You, sir?" His tone was guarded. “I own that it may seem an unlikely theory at first. But, I've substantial facts to support it. I mean to drive to Thatcham tomorrow, Mrs. Rhoades. I'd like you to accompany me." "But, sir, I have far too much to—" He held up a hand. “I understand your position entirely, Mrs. Rhoades. You are as diligent in your duties as I am. But, there is something of interest between here and the village that I'd like you to see. I believe it will shed some light on your problem." When she protested no further, he reluctantly rose to his feet. He turned and offered a hand to assist her upward. When she took it, he could not help but notice how warm and delicate her small hand felt nestled in his large one. "I hope you are right, my lord,” she murmured. "As do I, madam.” They were standing toe-to-toe now. Once again, the tempting aroma of lavender water besieged Maitland. This time the tightening in his midsection was almost unbearable. His eyes locked with hers for the veriest second before she looked away. In a tight voice, he said, “Come. I will escort you indoors, madam."

In his own chamber a few moments later, Maitland sat down heavily upon the bed. Gnawing at him was the fact that he had allowed her to sway him from his course once again. After additional thought, however, he dismissed the oddity. He had business in Thatcham tomorrow; he had merely invited the young lady to accompany him, that is all.

Chapter Ten "There. Just up ahead,” Lord Maitland said, his immaculately gloved hand indicating a crumbling gray stone building sitting back a bit from the road. “Bisham's Abbey.” He urged the team of high-steppers trotting ahead of his shiny black tilbury around a bend in the dusty road. “Are you familiar with the abbey, Mrs. Rhoades?" Felicity leaned forward, her eyes trained on the ancient stone edifice and the ruined bell tower. She'd heard of the village which the abbey lent its name to, but had never visited it. There was a church nearby, built of the same stone as the abbey. “This is ... what you wished me to see, my lord?” she murmured, wondering what it could mean. "Yes.” Maitland nodded. As the carriage wheeled up in front of the rather run-down cottage, situated a bit apart from the churchyard, Maitland gave a firm tug on the ribbons, drawing the frisky pair to a halt. “Been quite a long time since I was here,” he said. He laid the ribbons aside and glanced about. “I daresay it looks a bit neglected." "You've been here before?" "Many times,” Maitland replied. He hopped nimbly to the ground and offered a hand to assist Felicity down. He spoke again as the two walked up the shady path to the cottage door. “My family often attended services here when I was a child. The legend of Bisham's Abbey is what led my Aunt Poole to her keen interest in...” he glanced down at Felicity, his eyes and tone revealing nothing. “I shall explain later,” he said. “For now, we shall see if there is anyone about." Upon reaching the landing of the rectory, they found the cottage door standing slightly ajar. Maitland reached to scratch at it. “Hallo! Anyone about?" While awaiting an answer, Felicity gazed about the shady churchyard with interest. A waist-high wall, badly in need of repair, encircled the garden where a number of stately old trees stood, their bases partly concealed by an overgrowth of weeds and a sprinkling of pink and yellow wild-flowers. To her, the atmosphere in the yard seemed one of peaceful decay. Yet beyond the fence, life carried on, the land there stretching toward the horizon like a crazy-quilt of green and amber patches. Suddenly Felicity's mind filled with bittersweet memories from her childhood spent in just such a place. She and Robert had played for hours beneath a gnarled old sycamore tree that graced one corner of the garden of the parsonage where they lived near Bristol. Many a cool summer evening, they had ventured into the ominous graveyard adjacent to the church to play an innocent game of hide-and-seek amongst the gravestones. "This way,” came a woman's voice behind her. She turned as an elderly matron, dressed in a plain muslin frock with an apron tied about her middle, led the way down the steps and up the side walk toward the church. Aware that she had been woolgathering and consequently had not heard what Lord Maitland had said to the woman, Felicity wasn't at all certain who she was, or where she was taking them. Furthermore, she couldn't imagine why the gentleman had brought her here in the first place. Walking behind the plump woman, Felicity became aware of the jangling sound emanating from a ring of keys fitted about the woman's wrist. How this excursion would unlock the mystery Felicity had become caught up in she did not know. When they reached a small doorway near the bell tower, the woman sorted through the keys and, at last, inserted the proper one into the lock. Inside, she led the way down a

narrow corridor. "Don't no one come back here much,” she said, her words nearly drowned out by the harsh sound of everyone's footfalls echoing on the bare stone floor. “I ‘spect you kin understand that, yer lordship." "Hmmm.” Maitland nodded. “This way, Mrs. Rhoades." "Rhoades?” said the woman up ahead. She glanced over her shoulder at Felicity. Momentarily alarmed, Felicity held her breath. A few years back, when Robert had taken orders he had been offered a living near here. That he had refused it and consequently denounced the church had caused a minor scandal in evangelical circles. Had Felicity known that an abbey was Lord Maitland's destination today, perhaps she would have thought twice before agreeing to accompany him. Yet, when the woman pressed for nothing further, Felicity relaxed once again. They reached an arched doorway, just barely outlined in the wall of the shadowy corridor, but had to wait a bit longer while their guide sorted through her keys a second time. At last, she flung open the creaky door and indicated for them to step in ahead of her. Lord Maitland politely hesitated, until the woman said, “I ain't be goin’ in there, yer lordship." "Ah. Mrs. Rhoades?” He turned to Felicity, a hand ushering her inside. She moved to the center of the dank, musty-smelling chamber, still curious why he had brought her here and what he wished her to see. The ceiling in the small room was quite low with only part of one narrow window visible near the top. The focal point of the small chamber was an elaborately carved stone fireplace that, were it in good repair, would be quite beautiful, Felicity thought. As it was, several stones appeared to have been removed from one wall and now lay crumbled on the floor, bits of mortar scattered thither and yon. As far as she could see, the gaping hole in the fireplace was empty. Felicity cast a puzzled gaze from Lord Maitland to the woman hovering in the dimly-lit corridor, and back again. "Perhaps you'd like to tell us the story now,” Lord Maitland said to their guide, his tone and eyes still giving away nothing. "I expect you know it as well as I do,” the woman returned, rather sharply Felicity thought. “I'd best be tendin’ to m’ duties, milord.” She took a quick step inside and handed the keys to Lord Maitland before scurrying again to the safety of the corridor. “Leave these in the poor box when you're done,” she instructed, then flinging a wary gaze about, almost as if she feared someone were watching, she was gone. The echo of her hasty footfalls rang loudly through the building. Lord Maitland turned a fleeting smile on Felicity. "Why did you bring me here, sir?” she asked calmly. A gloved hand indicated the fireplace. “I wanted you to see this." Felicity gazed in that direction again. “It would be quite lovely if...” She strolled a few steps closer to the hearth. Suddenly, she felt a gust of cool air envelop her. The unexpectedness of it was startling. Then, just as swiftly as it came, it left. Felicity shuddered, both hands running up and down her bare arms in a futile attempt to ward off the chill. Lord Maitland stood watching her. “You felt it, I see."

"F-felt it?" "The draft." "Oh.” Thinking that he was being solicitous of her comfort, she hastened to put his mind at ease. “It was nothing, really. I am fine now." "Of course, you are fine. But, the poor servant girl who died in this room is not nearly so comfortable as you and I are." Felicity's head spun about. “Excuse me?" "Just there.” He pointed toward the gaping hole in the stone wall. Felicity glanced again at the spot, then back up at him. “I'm sorry, Lord Maitland, I still do not understand what it is you mean for me to see." "The fireplace, Mrs. Rhoades. It won't stay mended. Being a vicar's daughter, I find it surprising that you did not know that both the abbey and the priory, which later served as the vicarage, are haunted." Felicity stared numbly at the gentleman. The Earl of Maitland was telling her he believed in ghosts? "In life,” he went on, advancing toward the mysterious spot himself, “the servant girl who lived in this room was ill-treated by the then vicar's wife. It is said the poor girl died a horrible death. That she was buried alive in this very wall. Since then, the fireplace won't stay mended,” he added matter-of-factly. “Subsequent clergymen have given up trying to repair it." Felicity continued to stare at the gentleman. Her father did not believe in ghostly apparitions and neither did she. It was preposterous that a gentleman as well-educated as surely Lord Maitland was, would believe in such nonsense! “Sir, I fail to see what this has to do with what is happening at Rhoades Arbor,” she said, trying to keep the irritation from her tone. The look Lord Maitland turned on her was a picture of studied calm. “Come. We shall discuss the phenomena over luncheon,” he said. He placed a gentle hand at Felicity's back and guided her ahead of him into the corridor. Settling herself again on the padded bench of the small, open carriage, Felicity owned that she had quite enjoyed the ride to Bisham's Abbey—the sunshine on her face and arms had felt especially delightful. Added to that was the heightened anticipation of wondering where they were headed, and, of course, the pleasure of Lord Maitland's company. Though they had not spoken of anything of consequence, it hadn't really mattered, they had both enjoyed the lovely day and the picturesque countryside they were driving through. The pleasant interlude had felt like an elixir to Felicity. Now, jouncing alongside him as they traveled an even greater distance from the Arbor, she began to feel as though the day were a complete waste. The chill that had engulfed her inside that dank chamber at the abbey seemed to have followed her outdoors. Along with it, the now familiar knot of anxiety lay once again like a rock in her stomach. Lord Maitland had been of no help whatever to her. As usual, sorting out her troubles and deciding on the proper course of action was left to her. In the King's Head Inn in the small market town of Thatcham, Felicity nibbled absently on the luncheon set before her, a wedge of freshly baked potato bread, thin slices of cold mutton and a green salad of crisp asparagus spears, sliced cucumbers and parsley. Since she was quite hungry, conversation between herself and Lord Maitland was thin.

After he'd paid for their fare, they stepped again into the sunshine. "I thought a stroll to the center of the village might be restful,” he said, his tone especially cheerful. Felicity glanced up. “There is something you mean to show me here, as well?" He grinned. “No. We've not yet discussed the phenomena at Bisham's Abbey. I had thought to discuss it over luncheon, but it was a bit too noisy inside for serious conversation. Perhaps we might talk as we walk. I have business to attend to in the square." "Hmmm,” Felicity murmured. Though she fervently wished she were back at the Arbor and tending to her duties there, it appeared she had no choice now but to go along. They had advanced only a few steps when Lord Maitland began to speak. “If we are to make any sense of what is happening at the Arbor, Mrs. Rhoades, I first need to ask what you know of the former owners. I assume you bought the place from the Newburys, is that not correct?" Stunned by the unexpectedness of his lordship's question, Felicity's heart leapt to her throat. She was exceedingly glad they were both looking outward in the same direction for had they been seated across from one another at the table, he would certainly have seen the look of terror on her face. And, commented upon it. As it was, she barely managed, “I-I know very little of them, sir. W-why do you ask?" "The fireplace, Mrs. Rhoades. The fireplace at the abbey will not stay mended due to the restless spirit of the dead servant girl. If there has been a similar horrible death, or some frightful deed committed at Newbury Farm, it could explain why your garden will not stay planted. It would not be too great a stretch to conclude that the mischief is being caused by an angry spirit-being, most especially since neither of us, and I assume the same is true for Philips, has actually seen or been able to observe the culprit in action. We've beheld only the results." Felicity did not know what to say. Once again, the earl was acting as if he had windmills in his head. Never in a million years would she have suspected this gentleman to be a believer in the occult. But, she tried not to sound too patronizing. “The foregoing may not be too great a stretch for you, sir, since you profess to believe in such things. But, I find it the outside of enough. You see, I am not a believer. Indeed, I do not find your explanation to be anywhere near satisfactory. In all candidness,” she couldn't help adding, “I find the idea preposterous." Beside her, Lord Maitland chuckled, then hastened to say, “I am not laughing at you, madam. Believe me, I can fully understand your hesitancy to believe that other-worldly happenings could shed any light on the matter." They came then to a corner and taking Felicity's elbow, Lord Maitland guided her around it. Up ahead, the busy town square came into view. Had Felicity not been quite so overset, she would have enjoyed the colorful sight. A dozen or so fruit and vegetable vendors were clustered along one side of the square where a crowd of townfolk were busily milling about. "For my part,” the earl went on, as oblivious to the bustle up ahead as Felicity was, “I grew up hearing, and believing, the legend at Bisham's Abbey. Beholding such events with one's own eyes goes a long way toward validating them. The fireplace will, indeed, not stay mended,” he repeated matter-of-factly. “It was repaired countless times when I was a boy, and always it came unmended. Quite on its own. As unlikely as it may seem to you, Mrs. Rhoades, the fact of the matter is, I do believe in ghostly specters and other-worldly happenings."

Shaking her bonneted head with wonder. Felicity sputtered, “Do you profess also to believe in headless horsemen, sir?" He shot a guarded look her way. “I have heard of such wonders. Until my own encounter with one, however, I was not a true believer." "And you are now?" Maitland drew in a breath. “I am still not entirely convinced, Mrs. Rhoades. As the constable intimated, the grisly spectacle could have been contrived by a Gypsy, but still one has to wonder why the L'inconnu did not make off with my valuables? The man took nothing, he merely ordered me to the ground, then peered inside the coach as if he were looking for something, or someone, and not finding it, he grew angry and went on his way. It was all very odd." "Indeed,” Felicity muttered flatly. They walked a piece in silence, then Lord Maitland said, “As I indicated earlier, Mrs. Rhoades, my Aunt Poole is greatly interested in psychical phenomena, her interest having stemmed directly from the circumstance at Bisham's Abbey. Over the years, Aunt Poole's interest grew to the extent that she founded The Psychical Society for the Research of Ghostly Apparitions and Spirit Happenings. The society now claims members from all over England,” he concluded, a bit of pride having crept into his tone. Felicity stared up at him. With each thing the gentleman said, the notion that a psychical occurrence might be what was happening at Rhoades Arbor seemed more and more bizarre. As if to lend credence to his position, Lord Maitland added, “I expect Mrs. Leads to be a member." Felicity stopped dead in her tracks. "What?" Having walked on a step or two alone, Maitland turned about to look at her. “I said I believe Mrs. Leads to be a member. She seemed to be quite well acquainted with my aunt, Lady Poole. Since all of Aunt Poole's friends in London are members of the society, I rather expected the same must be true of Mrs. Leads. Especially when you said last evening that you suspected she might be involved in the mischief." Her eyes round with fresh wonder, Felicity caught up with the gentleman and they continued walking. "Aunt Poole has devoted her life to her studies. Truth is, I missed seeing her last month in London because she had gone up to Chester to investigate the Wishing Steps." Felicity had no desire to learn the significance of the Wishing Steps, but that did not deter Lord Maitland from enlightening her. "Surely you are familiar with the Holy River Dee, Mrs. Rhoades? It will not keep a drowned body." Felicity sighed. She did, indeed, know of the River Dee, but what that said to anything, she— "As you know, the walled city of Chester lies at the base of the river. The Wishing Steps, about seventy in all, lead up to the town wall. A young lady is to make a wish at the bottom, then run to the top and back down again without drawing breath." "And then what?” Felicity asked flatly. "Her next affair of the heart will turn out happy,” he replied, quite pleasantly. “I was told Aunt Poole took

a protégée with her this time. A young lady who'd had several Seasons and"—he gave Felicity a speaking look—"didn't take." Felicity eyes rolled skyward. Fortunately, they had now reached the open air market and due to the thick squeeze milling about the stalls and the resulting bustle and confusion, further conversation was forestalled for the moment. Lord Maitland took the lead in threading their way in and out of the throng and at last, they came upon the center of the red-bricked area, where the village water fountain stood. It featured a pretty statue of a milkmaid with an upturned pitcher resting on one shoulder, from which sparkling water spewed forth, splashing into a clear round pool at the milkmaid's feet. Opposite the fountain was a narrow grassy area containing a number of stone benches in a row, upon which Lord Maitland suggested they sit. After procuring cups of the cool water for both himself and Felicity, he sat down beside her, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward as he spoke. “According to Aunt Poole, England is rife with ghostly sightings. Why, every palace and castle in the countryside sports one or more spectral visions. There are far too many for all the tales to be rubbish, Mrs. Rhoades." "But, surely the bulk of them are simply that, sir. After all, how could such tales be substantiated?" An indulgent smile softened his chiseled features as he looked back at Felicity. She tried not to notice how handsome he looked today in his smart attire, a navy blue fitted coat, a lighter blue waistcoat and gun-metal gray breeches. At the moment, a shaft of bright sunlight was dancing over the waves of his thick, dark hair. "The prime purpose of Aunt Poole's Psychical Research Society,” he went on, “is to gather facts and separate truth from fiction. Each of the members spends a goodly portion of every year investigating selected sightings and spectral visions, and at the twice-yearly meetings, the members report their findings. The members are instructed to take extensive notes during their travels,” he added with emphasis. A sudden image of Mrs. Leads sprang to Felicity's mind—an image of her bent over her notebook, scribbling furiously. But, no. No. She still did not believe it. The garden at Rhoades Arbor was being systematically destroyed, not by a mischievous spirit, but by a real, flesh and blood human being. Maitland took a sip from his cup of water. “I, myself, was invited to participate at one of my aunt's meetings.” He leaned back on the bench. “It was a number of years ago, following a short stay at Houghton Hall. In Norfolk,” he told Felicity. “The Prince Regent was also in attendance that week. We had all retired for the night and suddenly, the Regent burst from his bedchamber declaring that a woman in a brown dress had invaded his quarters. The Prince can cause quite a stir,” he added, a grin of remembrance playing at his lips. Felicity was not amused. "At any rate,” he went on, “in no time at all, the entire household was awake, most of us lured into the corridor wearing nothing but our night clothes. I recall, I had hurriedly donned a dressing gown and slippers. Our host quickly explained to the Prince that the woman he'd seen was, in life, the sister of Sir Robert Walpole, who'd built the house early in the last century. Now called The Brown Lady, she had also been seen at nearby Raynham Hall. She was married to the second Viscount Townshend and the couple lived at Raynham.” He glanced down at Felicity. She was making every effort to listen politely, and succeeding only somewhat. The story was ... a bit interesting, she owned, but she had no intention of saying so.

"The link between the two hauntings wasn't official,” Maitland added, again a bit proudly, “until I reported my findings to the society." "Hmmm.” One of Felicity's delicately arched brows lifted. “And, did you see the ghost yourself, or was the Regent's word good enough for you?" "Ah. I quite forgot to relay the last part of the story. When the Regent demanded to be transferred to another suite, I volunteered to give up mine. Whereupon we switched places and I passed the night in his bed.” He smiled broadly. “Despite her hollow eye sockets, The Brown Lady wasn't nearly so frightening as the Regent made out." "So, you did see her.” She paused to consider. Perhaps, there was ... a bit of truth to this story, but that did not mean ... “She had hollow eye sockets?” Felicity murmured. Maitland nodded. “That is how we determined the two ghosts were one and the same. Both specters wear brown. Both have hollow eye sockets." Mulling the matter over further, Felicity decided to let the subject drop. Presently, Lord Maitland suggested she might like to browse a bit in the shops while he attended to his business. They parted company and a half hour later, walked back to the inn where Maitland had left the carriage. Jostling along the dusty road toward the Arbor, Lord Maitland broached the topic once more. In quite an animated tone, he told her of several more sightings that had been observed and reported upon by Aunt Poole's society's members. Most of them, Felicity noted, involved royalty, or the sons and daughters of peers. For instance, there was Anne, the daughter of the Earl of Leicester of Penshurst, who was reportedly seen wearing a riding habit and tricorne, and cantering along the lane leading to Chiddingstone Castle. At Breckles Hall, Lady Lamb had reported seeing a phantom coach driving up to the door and phantom guests alighting on the flagway in front. "After further investigation,” Lord Maitland said, “the society surmised that the phantom guests were arriving for a party. Doors were mysteriously opened and shut, and footsteps were heard on the stairs." He told her about Queen Isabella, whose maniacal laughter was heard by several of the society's members coming from the dungeons beneath Castle Rising. He said a number of ghosts were regularly seen at the Tower of London; and at Kensington and Richmond Palaces, and at St. James's. "Hampton Court in London is haunted by several ghosts,” he added, “most notably, the spectres of Jane Seymour and Catherine Howard." "Hmmm.” Felicity murmured, beginning to think that perhaps Lady Poole's Psychical Research Society might simply be another way the world-weary ton had found to amuse itself. Until Lord Maitland relayed the following. “The ghosts at Hampton Court weren't discovered until several of the servants complained of the noise." "The noise?" "Shrieking in the dead of night and footsteps running through the galleries. The servants couldn't sleep. The old queen herself sent for Aunt Poole to come and investigate." Felicity inhaled a sharp breath. “Well. Perhaps there might be ... something to this after all." "Of course, there is something to it! There are far too many sightings for all the apparitions to be mere

figments of the imagination." Felicity wasn't entirely convinced. When the Arbor came at last into view, Lord Maitland said, “I'd be happy to write to Aunt Poole on your behalf and inquire if she's heard of any such legends associated with Newbury Farm." "No.” Felicity shook her head. “Thank you all the same, Lord Maitland. You've already done quite enough on my account. I'm sure you have plenty with which to occupy yourself at Maitland." "Indeed, I do, madam.” A note of preoccupation crept into his tone. “Though today's trip to Thatcham was quite necessary, I shall be obliged to work doubly hard tomorrow to catch up. Still, if you should detect any further disturbance during the night, Mrs. Rhoades, do come and scratch at my door. I shouldn't want you tangling with a phantom in the garden on your own, or"—he grinned disarmingly— "falling to your death from the trellis." Felicity smiled tightly as Lord Maitland drew the team to a halt. Before he drove around the farm house toward the mews, he helped her to the ground. On the way to her own chamber to change back into her serviceable clothes for the remainder of the day, she decided to seek Philips’ advice on the matter. In the back of her mind she was certain she'd heard him murmur ‘the headless horseman’ on the night Lord Maitland had been waylaid on his journey to the Arbor. Perhaps Philips knew a bit more about this than he was letting on.

Chapter Eleven "If you'll pardon me for saying so, madam, I don't exactly chime in with his lordship's theory,” Philips said solemnly. “The gentleman is quite knowledgeable, but for my part, I am not inclined to believe in things occultish." "And yet,” Felicity countered, addressing the manservant in a tone that was at once both irritated and accusing, “I clearly recall you being the first to call the phantom rider that overtook Lord Maitland's carriage that night the headless horseman. I distinctly heard you say the headless horseman from where you stood in the shadows in his lordship's bedchamber." Felicity had finally managed a moment alone with her butler late that evening, after everyone else in the house, including the earl, had retired for the night. She watched Philips closely as he busied himself trimming the candles in the small chandelier that hung from the ceiling in the center of the deserted drawing room. As he walked past Felicity, the tall man said, “Indeed, I did say that, madam. Though truth to tell, at the time I suspected the gentleman was ... well, a bit light in the upper story. He being fresh from the battlefield and all." After concluding his business with the candles in the chandelier, Philips carefully returned it to its original position. “I daresay I am as baffled to account for the mischief as you, madam, but to credit it to ghostly doings seems a bit wide of the mark to me." "I quite agree with you, Philips,” Felicity said on a sigh, glad at last to find someone who appeared as sensible and reasonable as herself. “Especially when one takes into account that nothing untoward happened all those weeks that only you and I were on the premises. It seems far more likely to me that someone, or perhaps two someones, are intent upon destroying the Arbor grounds. Though I cannot think why and I cannot think who." Making his way toward the sputtering flames of a pair of candles still clinging to life in the wall sconce, Philips shook his head. “Nor can I, madam." Felicity sighed afresh. “None of it makes a jot of sense to me.” She stepped to the sofa to absently fluff a cushion, then to return a mislaid book to the new bookstand. His back to his employer, Philips asked, “Have you considered the possibility that someone might be ... digging for buried treasure?" Felicity's head jerked up. “Why, what a perfectly absurd notion that is, Philips; as excessively foolish as the idea of a ghost. Besides, if that were the case, the treasure would have been found years ago when my hus—that is, when the property belonged to the Newbury's." As he headed for the hall, Philips shrugged massive shoulders. “But it would explain the digging, madam." Felicity followed the powerfully built butler. Walking straight to the front door, she firmly latched it, then stood tapping her chin with a slim finger. “I wonder what Lord Maitland would say to that theory?" "Perhaps I could inquire of my cousin in Sussex,” Philips offered. “He fancies himself somewhat a supernaturalist." "A what?” Felicity's brow puckered.

"A supernaturalist. One who studies the occult. My cousin says there's a veritable fortune buried in England. Middleham Castle springs to mind. He says there is generally a riddle or a rhyme that leads one to the trove. At Middleham, one is to run around the castle yard three times and dig in the place where one stops." "Oh, my.” Felicity stared aghast at the butler. “I do hope that is not the case here, Philips. Nothing would be spared if it were.” She watched the servant a bit longer, then shaking her head from side to side, she made for the corridor. Had also misjudged him? “I refuse to countenance such rubbish, Philips." Crawling into her own bed a bit later, Felicity thoughts were still a whirlwind of confusion. After listening to Lord Maitland's ghost stories all day and Philips’ monstrous tales tonight, she'd heard more than enough other-worldly blather to suit her. The most ridiculous of all being Philips’ idea about buried treasure at the Arbor! Utter nonsense if she'd ever heard it. Still, after turning everything over and over again in her mind, she had to admit that of all the possibilities she'd heard today, his theory did make the most sense. Not that there were buried treasure here, of course, but, that someone might believe there were and were trying their best to unearth it. Yet, at this juncture she refused to give a great deal of credence to the idea. She'd never heard a word about such a thing here in the many years she'd known the Newbury family, and good sense told her that anything that involved wealth would never have escaped William's notice! Sheer frustration caused her to turn her thoughts again to Lord Maitland's idea about the Arbor being haunted by the disembodied spirit of someone who'd died a terrible death here. So far as she knew, nothing of that nature had occurred when the Newbury's owned the property either, though, of course, there was that grisly murder a few weeks back. Perhaps the restless spirit of that poor man was now trying to dig his own grave. Felicity emitted another deep sigh. Then, suddenly she sat straight up in bed. No. No! It couldn't be. Horrified, she covered her face with both hands. Even now, after so many years had passed, the awful memory of it still felt like a sharp knife being plunged into her heart. So far as she knew, she was the only person in England who knew the truth surrounding her late husband's death or why she refused to honor his name by continuing to bear it. So far as she was concerned, with William's death, both his name and the false honor bestowed on him by the king were now gone forever. The reprobate had not died whilst in service to his country. He had died a traitor. The truth was, William Newbury was not brave and he had never served the king. William Newbury was anything but a knight. Tears began to pool in her eyes as she thought of the poor unfortunate men whose lives had been lost along with her husband. Rather, lost because of him. Biting back a rush of fresh tears, Felicity fought to swallow the awful pain. Perhaps it was as Lord Maitland had suggested, that the restless spirit of one, or even several, of these soldiers—all of them loyal English subjects—were now trying to avenge their untimely deaths on the only thing that remained of William Newbury. His land. Felicity's spirits sank even lower. Oh, why had she listened to Lord Maitland in the first place? Because —she told herself—no one had ever offered to help her before and at the outset, the earl's generous offer had seemed her only hope for salvation. Although, it now felt as if she were drowning in it, as if an entire ocean of murky water was dragging her down, down, down, ‘til she could breathe no longer; the same way the choppy waters of the Channel had snuffed out the lives of the innocent men who'd died along with William. Oh, if only she knew what to do!

It was much, much later when Felicity finally fell into a fitful slumber. But, suddenly, after what seemed like only a few moments of rest, she was startled awake by the same mysterious tapping and scraping noises that she'd heard night after night for weeks. Her eyes wild, she sat up in bed to listen. The sounds, she determined, were coming from somewhere quite close to the house. With frustration knotting her insides, she flung herself back onto the bed, burying her head in the goosedown pillow. If she refused to listen, perhaps the noise would go away! But the sounds didn't stop. Tap-tap. Scrape, scrape, scrape. When the offensive disturbance seemed only to grow louder, Felicity wanted to scream out in rage. Anything to make the noises stop! How could she go on in the face of such vexation? Her chin trembling, she lurched upright in bed again. Her nightrail felt damp against her skin, her arms and legs, clammy. She had to make the disturbance cease! She had to! Suddenly, a small voice inside her reminded her that she could go to Lord Maitland for help. No! She would not go to him. He had not helped her today, he would not help her now. He'd simply tell her it was nothing, or offer to speak to the apparition himself, then report back to her that it had politely agreed to dig elsewhere. Angrily thrusting her toes into her slippers, Felicity reached for her wrapper, when suddenly, she realized that in the past few seconds, she'd heard ... nothing. Had the spectral intruder left on its own accord? At that thought, Felicity's lips pressed together irritably. Since when had she decided the vandal was not flesh and blood, that it was indeed the spirit of someone no longer living? Angry with herself, she flung her wrapper aside and climbed back into bed, determined to put the havey-cavey business from her mind and go to sleep. Which she did. The next morning, Felicity was stunned when Lord Maitland himself brought news of last night's disturbance to her. Standing before Felicity at the sideboard in the dining chamber, he spoke in hushed tones as he lifted a heaping serving of eggs and kippers onto his plate. "I was awakened in the night by a series of strange sounds, Mrs. Rhoades,” he began. “Upon investigating, I—" "You went into the garden? To see for yourself?” Felicity's tone was incredulous. Had she misjudged the gentleman? “Pray, do go on, sir. I did not mean to interrupt." He stood looking down at her. The dark shadows beneath her eyes told him she had not slept well. “Indeed, I did, Mrs. Rhoades. I said I wished to help you. I have every intention of doing precisely that." "W-what did you find?” Felicity's voice was barely above a whisper. He watched her glance toward the room full of other guests who were already seated at the table. He knew she did not want any of them to overhear their conversation, and neither did he.

"I ... saw nothing of consequence, madam. I merely came upon a rather large patch of ground dug up a bit south of the rear entry, quite close to the house, actually. Unfortunately, there was no one in sight." "No one at all?” Felicity whispered back. “You saw nothing?" The earl shook his head as he lifted a hot buttered scone onto his plate. “I am certain my Aunt Poole would have something to say to this." Felicity directed a somewhat tight smile up at him. “I've no doubt that she would, Lord Maitland. But the fact remains, I am still not convinced that the mischief is being done by a ... a phantom digger." Maitland cocked a dark brow. “I see." "Although I appreciate your concern on my behalf, sir, I must ask you to please put the matter from your mind." Maitland studied her. Her usually glowing skin had a wan look about it today and her lips were pale. Apart from that, he was certain he detected a decided lack of sincerity in her tone. Why she no longer desired his help, he could not think. "No doubt whoever is doing the digging will soon tire of it,” she added. “After all, there are very few places left to disturb. For my part, I have decided to pay the matter no further heed. I beg you to do the same, my Lord Maitland." He noted the stubborn tilt of her chin. “Very well, madam. As you pointed out yesterday, I have quite enough to concern myself with at Maitland." At that the gentleman turned to walk away, but not before Felicity thought she saw a flicker of ... something cloud his dark gaze. She watched the elegant earl move purposefully across the room. Perhaps it had merely been a ray of early morning sunlight that had deepened the colour in his chocolate brown eyes. Perhaps not. At any rate—she squared her shoulders—she was finally free of his odd notions regarding the trouble at the Arbor. And that, she told herself firmly, was what she wanted. Still, a moment later, it occurred to her that she had not yet asked the gentleman his opinion of Philips’ theory, or told him about Mrs. Leads’ strange conversation with the black bird the other afternoon. And, whilst awake last evening, she had recalled the loud disagreement she'd overheard a few weeks back between that woman and Mr. Chadwick. Something about the bird would decide who the winner would be. Mulling it over last night, she had decided that perhaps it had some significance to the mystery; that perhaps the bird was in reality the black raven, and that there was some connection between it and the digging. Now, she couldn't help wondering again what Lord Maitland would make of it in light of all she had not told him? She cast a final look at him before she exited the dining hall. His dark head was bent over a sheaf of papers which he'd propped up before him in order to study as he silently ate his meal at the small round table in the far corner of the room. Walking briskly toward the kitchens, she decided it was of no consequence. No doubt, the earl had only been amusing himself at her expense anyhow. No doubt, her troubles meant nothing to him, other than perhaps another entry for his aunt's silly Psychical Journal. Descending the stairwell at the end of the corridor, she renewed her vow to thrust the irritating gentleman and all that he stood for from his mind. He would be gone from the Arbor in a few days’ time and she, for one, would not pine the loss.

That night, Felicity had no sooner fallen into a deep sleep when she was startled again to awareness by the hollow sound of footfalls running, yes, running! past her bedchamber door. Flinging back the coverlet, she grabbed her wrapper and raced to the door. She would catch the brazen vandal now! But, upon swinging wide the bedchamber door, she was stunned to come face to face with none other than Lord Maitland himself! "I was just on my way to investigate, Mrs. Rhoades,” he said in a rush. One arm was halfway into his jacket. “I suggest you stay right here,” he instructed firmly. "I will do no such thing!” Felicity sputtered, running past him. “I mean to kill the creature once I catch it!” The tail of her cotton wrapper flapped about her legs as she sped down the corridor well ahead of the earl. In her wake, Lord Maitland's nostrils twitched as a delicate whiff of her lavender scent assailed him. With her golden hair flying down her back and the filmy folds of her nightrail and wrapper floating about her legs, she looked as close to a vision—a heavenly vision—as any specter he'd been privy to see. He hurried to overtake her. "You'd best let me handle this, Mrs. Rhoades,” he said, his voice a trifle raspy as he edged past her on the narrow stairwell that led to the ground floor. "I said I do not need your help, Lord Maitland, and that is precisely what I mean!" Just then, they both heard the back door slam shut and the clink of the outside latch falling into place. Sucking in her breath, Felicity flew past Lord Maitland again. Once outdoors, they both spotted the dim figure up ahead running pell-mell toward the apple orchard. "I'll kill him!” Felicity cried, lifting her long skirts almost to her knees as she scampered through the damp grass in pursuit of the shadowy form. "Mrs. Rhoades, I beg you to...” Lord Maitland's plea fell on deaf ears. The blond vision ahead of him had already become a blur in the thick mist that swirled about the base of the apple trees, their dark limbs clutching at the sky like eerie fingers. Overhead, not a single star shone through the dense fog and the sickle moon hanging low in the sky was powerless also to penetrate it. It was the perfect setting for a ghostly sighting, Maitland thought glumly. The phantom he and Mrs. Rhoades were still chasing seemed to be headed for the greenhouse in the far corner of the Arbor grounds. Maitland made a quick survey of the terrain there. With the thicket of trees that surrounded the glass building, it would be a simple matter for someone, human or otherwise, to dart in and out among the trees, then disappear without a trace in any one of several directions. Suddenly, a loud crashing sound, like that of breaking glass, reverberated through the stillness. "The greenhouse!” Felicity flung over her shoulder at Maitland. “He's in the greenhouse!" The earl charged ahead of her into the dark building, his senses fully alert, his heart pounding. He felt the same way he used to feel on the battlefield—sharply alert, confident of his own strength, and unafraid. Whatever had been frightening Mrs. Rhoades would have to answer to him now. Inside the dank interior of the closeted building, they both drew to a standstill. Blinking into the darkness, they both became aware of the pungent scent of damp earth, new growth and must. Maitland took a few steps forward. Beside him, he felt, rather than saw, Mrs. Rhoades steal closer to his side. One hand

reached out to restrain her, but in the darkness, his fingertips accidentally came in contact with something soft and warm. With a start, he realized he'd touched her upper thigh. The shudder of desire that shot through him instantly replaced his fierce concentration. Damme! The battlefield was no place for a woman. Unaware of the effect her nearness was having on him, he heard her anxious whisper. “Can you see anything?" Maitland gulped back both his irritation and his arousal. “No." Suddenly, something crashed to the floor at the earl's feet. "Take cover!” he shouted. He threw an arm about Mrs. Rhoades and roughly dragged her with him as he dove beneath the wooden table that divided the small building in half. Lying alongside one another on the cool dirt floor, both hearts pounded in concert as they strained to hear ... something. Anything. As they listened, the air around them grew pregnant with stillness. They neither one dared to so much as breathe. As the moments drug by, one upon another, still they heard nothing. Lying prone on the ground on his stomach, one strong arm clasped protectively about Mrs. Rhoades’ small shoulders, Maitland became all too aware of the ... provocative nature of their positions. Suddenly, he realized he was no longer listening for sounds made by the intruder. Instead, he was brim full of the sensations caused by the proximity of the attractive young lady by his side. The soft warmth of her body pressed so very close to his had set up a white-hot longing in his belly. He worked to quiet the rapid thumping of his heart. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not deny either his fierce arousal or the powerful something that drew him to her. Turning his head ever so slightly, his nostrils were engulfed again by the intoxicating lavender scent that clung to the soft waves of her golden curls. A lock of her unrestrained hair lay carelessly across the back of his bare hand. The golden tress felt like cool silk. He fought the desire to lessen his hold on her and to instead caress her hair. Suddenly, the throbbing sensation he experienced in a certain lower portion of his anatomy was almost more than he could bear. At the very least, it made him wish loose-fitting pantaloons were once again in vogue. He gulped convulsively, but dared not squirm lest he cry out in pain. Again, he tried to force his mind to focus on the real reason they were both in the greenhouse. But, his machinations were to no avail. Instead, his thoughts only flashed on his innocent touch to her leg a scant second ago. His fingertips seemed to burn all over again with fire. Swallowing fitfully, Maitland fought to quell the raging river of blood that, of its own accord, thundered like a cannon through his veins. Suddenly, all he could think of was the engaging young lady at his side—how much he wanted to touch her, to taste her, to kiss her lips, her neck, to trail his tongue along the curves of her creamy white breasts, to bury his head in the warm valley between them. With a jolt, he realized he'd never been so tempted by a woman before. Ever! Suddenly, his need to have her reached a fever pitch. He must have her! Here. Now! On the cold-damp earthen floor of the green house. In one swift motion, the hand that lay protectively on her shoulder turned her body so the full length of her lay beneath him. From somewhere far, far away, he heard her feminine gasp of surprise but the sound didn't register. Instead, he focused on the tremor of pleasure he felt quiver inside her as he savagely molded her small form to his. Crushing her breasts against his chest, his other hand moved hungrily up and down the gentle swell of her hips, her thighs.

"My God,” he moaned, “you feel extraordinary!" He silenced her next small gasp of alarm with his lips, his own blood pounding fiercely in his ears as he drank long and deep from hers. As his tongue drove into her mouth, eagerly exploring the insides of her sweet-tasting lips and skimming over the surface of her pearly white teeth, his own desire raged beyond all hope of control. When he felt her arms tighten about his neck, another groan of pleasure escaped him and raising himself off her, he began to furiously fumble with the fastener of the thin wrapper that covered her body. Roughly pushing it aside, his hand cupped the soft round globe of one ivory breast. It was then that her protests penetrated his consciousness. "No-o, please! You mustn't!" "Ah," he moaned between kisses, “but I must! You want it as much as I do, I can feel—" "No! Stop! Please!" As she struggled to squirm from beneath him, the enormity of what he had come so perilously close to doing at last registered in Maitland's brain. He rolled off her, his lungs gasping for air, his chest heaving with unsatisfied desire. They both sat up. Felicity's breath was also coming in fits and starts as she began to refasten the buttons of her wrapper. “Sir, I—I—” she faltered as she, too, fought for air. Horrified now by his wild abandon, Maitland swore to himself, then muttered, “I beg your forgiveness, Mrs. Rhoades; I seem to have forgot myself entirely." Felicity's chin shot upward. “Be that as it may, sir, the fact remains that I cannot marry you." Maitland blinked with surprise. “Well, ah ... er, that is..." Felicity's lips pressed firmly together as she continued to adjust her clothing. “There is nothing you can say that will change my mind, Lord Maitland. The fact is, I mean never to marry again.” She placed great emphasis on the word never. The Earl of Maitland was too stunned to speak. "I ... I simply wished you to know that,” Felicity said. "I-I see.” Of a purpose, Maitland kept his voice low. Having regained some semblance of his reason, he had no assurance that they were not now being overheard by whomever they had initially followed into the greenhouse. Both still in a sitting position on the floor, he reached to take Mrs. Rhoades’ hand to assist her to her feet even as he rose. Suddenly, a deafening screech ripped through the stillness, following by a furious flapping sound. At the same instant, something large and black careened past the pair of them and crashed through the slanting glass roof of the building. A shower of sharp glass shards and splinters came raining down on their heads. "Oh-h!” Felicity screamed as Maitland dove to shield her body once again with his own. When he felt her bury her head in his shoulder, he tightened his arms about her and pressed her to his strength. Suddenly, he realized how right she felt in his arms. Suddenly, he experienced an infinite sorrow that this lovely young lady, whom he himself had come to care so very much for, meant never to marry. To not have her to love and protect, he told himself sadly, would be a monumental loss to ... someone.

He tamped down the inexplicable urge that rose within him to tell her so.

Chapter Twelve Felicity had never felt so mortified in all her life. As she and the earl silently made their way back to the house, she wondered what had come over her just now to let the gentleman kiss her? Like so many things of late, this, too, defied all reason. No doubt, Lord Maitland now thought her little better than a common trollop! And, then, for her to blurt out that no matter how much he desired it, she could not marry him! Oh! Her cheeks burned with fire. Thank Heaven, it was black as pitch in the orchard tonight, otherwise she could not bear to look at him. Upon reaching the flagway near the rear entry of the house, Felicity stumbled slightly. The earl reached at once to assist her, but the feel of his gentle touch at her elbow again sent an unwelcome shudder of desire through her. She cringed inwardly. They entered the house and both climbed the back stairs to the second floor. In front of Felicity's bedchamber door, they drew to an uncertain standstill. For some reason, Felicity felt compelled to say something by way of explaining her imprudent behaviour tonight. If she did not, the episode in the green house would forever hang between them like a curtain of dense fog. "Sir, I ... I"—her voice was small and tight—"I cannot think what came over me a bit ago. I assure you I never ... that is, I am not in the habit of...” She bit her lip and could not, for the life of her, raise her eyes to meet his. "There is no need to explain, Mrs. Rhoades,” he began, his tone again calm and controlled. “I accept full responsibility for the unfortu—that is, for our ... ahem, for my indiscretion. I assure you it will never happen again." A long sigh of relief escaped Felicity. “I am exceedingly grateful to hear you say that, sir. Although,” she seemed to gain a bit of strength from his show of steadiness, “I wish you to know that I do not think the least bit less of you for ... for ... I mean, I was...” She risked a quick peek upward, then wished she hadn't! In the dimly lit corridor, she noted that his eyes were intently trained upon her lips. She nervously licked them, even as a stab of longing began in the pit of her stomach and reached upward to her throat. Suddenly, she felt as if the same uncontrollable passion that took possession of her in the greenhouse was again engulfing her. Suddenly, it was all she could do not to fling her arms around the gentleman's neck and press her lips to his! Dear God, what was happening to her? "Oh-h,” a squeak of alarm escaped her. Frightened by her own body's reaction to the exceedingly handsome man, she hugged her thin wrapper tighter about her body and edged a step backward, away from him. But, upon feeling her bottom hit the solid wall of her bedchamber door, she realized that unless she could become a ghostly specter herself and vanish clean through the thick barrier, there was no escaping him. Letting loose her hold on her wrapper, she tucked both arms behind her back and began to fumble with the door latch. Feeling an anxious smile flicker across her lips, she again felt a compulsion to say something. “When a ... a woman allows a gentleman to kiss her, and I do own, sir, that I ... that I did kiss you back, well,” she swallowed nervously, “it quite often means that she will be ... receptive to his suit. That suit, of course, being marriage. What I meant to say earlier, sir, is that I ... what I simply wished you

to know, is that...” For some reason, she could not complete the sentence. Once again, she had grown overwhelmingly distracted by his powerful aura of masculine virility. The male scent of him alone filled her with unspeakable desire. The dim light in the corridor lent a mysterious definition to the planes and angles of his face. She lifted her eyes to meet his, but the raw hunger she saw there only alarmed her further. She pressed herself even closer to the unyielding wall of her bedchamber door. “I-I can never marry again, sir,” she finally managed to say, though perhaps a bit too weakly to be convincing. Maitland inclined his dark head ever so slightly. “You said that, Mrs. Rhoades.” His eyes were still fixed upon her lips. Felicity valiantly fought the memory of those lips being pressed to hers, of the accompanying urgency she'd experienced when he'd savagely molded her body to his. She gulped. “I-I also meant that I ... I am not looking for any sort of ... of ... dalliance.” Her final helpless word was no more than a breathless whisper. Yet apparently that word pulled Maitland's senses ‘round. He blinked, then drew himself up. “No. No, of course not, madam. Nor am I; looking for a dalliance, that is. To say the truth, I am quite near to becoming betrothed." Betrothed? Stunned beyond belief, Felicity stared up at him, then she willed a shaky smile to her lips. “I-I see. Well, then, we are in complete accord. This will, I mean, that will ... w-what happened in the greenhouse will most assuredly never happen again.” She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he prepared to speak. "Indeed, it will not,” he said hoarsely. “It would not be in me best interests of either of us." "Well, then...” Felicity raised uncertain eyes to meet his. But the troubled passion she saw still churning in his chocolate brown orbs caused her stomach to lurch erratically. Then, of a sudden, his cool gaze turned icy and without a word, he turned and moved swiftly down the corridor to his own bedchamber door. Felicity watched until the tall man had gained his own chamber. When she heard the door latch fall into place behind him, she slowly entered her room. Without a doubt, this had been the strangest night of her entire life. She could not think when, if ever, she had felt quite so ... so disconcerted, so intensely troubled, so vastly overwrought. Even the Earl of Maitland's abrupt manner just now alarmed her. But, why? Suddenly, she realized that since they'd left the greenhouse, or rather, since they'd entered the greenhouse, they'd not once discussed the phenomena that drove them there in the first place. What did that mean? Did it mean that he no longer wished to help her? Or, that he had lured her there simply because he wanted to ... No! Of course, it did not mean that. Oh, why had she allowed him to kiss her? And, why hadn't she been able to stop him? And worse, much, much worse, why hadn't she wanted to stop him? Suddenly it felt as if her whole life, all her dreams, all her hard work here at the Arbor, everything, had come crashing down around her; that the very pieces other life lay, like the shards of broken glass in the greenhouse, shattered hopelessly at her feet. And the worst of it was ... she now had no one to turn to. ****

Maitland had acted the fool. He had no idea what monstrous notion had possessed him just now, both in the green house and a moment ago in the corridor. To nearly force himself upon the young lady and then to blithely announce that he was near to becoming betrothed! Everything he had done and said tonight was pure nonsense! And, what's more, it plainly proved to him that twisted thinking and rash action were the sure results of losing control over oneself, the price one paid when one allowed unbridled passion to rule one's head. He shook his with disgust. Tonight, he had succeeded only in making a shocking mull of what at the outset had been a sincere offer to help the widow Rhoades. What an insipid, cork-brained fool he had become! He angrily flung his coat onto the floor and giving no heed to what he was about, began to rip apart the buttons on his shirt front. Had he given in to his impulses just now, he'd have bedded that poor woman quite against her will and then, no doubt, proposed to her afterward! By God, his wits had indeed gone begging! Never in his life had he behaved so despicably. It was as if the widow Rhoades had cast some sort of spell over him. Hating himself for his ill-bred, ill-timed, ill-conceived display, he slumped onto a chair, holding his aching head in his hands. Perhaps years of denial in the military was at last taking its toll on him. Perhaps, it was time he settled on a bride. He started. Yes. Yes! That was it. He rose mechanically to his feet and moved to the basin to splash cold water on his face and hands. It was, indeed, time he married. He wiped both the water and the anger and frustration from his brow. He had to do something to save himself from his own foolhardy behaviour. Given the circumstances, this was the logical course to take. He would choose a young lady and marry the girl just as soon as was humanly possible. In the hopes of turning up a likely candidate, he cast about for a name. At this juncture, he avowed he was not acquainted with many marriageable young ladies. Yet, he knew of one. And not a disagreeable choice either; Lady Mary-Edith Havistock, the sister of his good friend, Lord Havistock. Lady Mary-Edith's lineage was impeccable; she was properly educated and she'd most certainly bring honor and respectability to the title she'd assume as his wife. He nodded decisively. Lady Mary-Edith would do. Indeed, she would do quite well. Of course, he had meant to give this matter considerably more thought than he was doing at present, but the need to take a wife had suddenly become of paramount importance; and drastic circumstances called for drastic measures. He'd write to the pair tomorrow. He'd not yet properly thanked Havistock for the excellent accommodations he and his sister had provided last month whilst he was in Town. He had promised then to invite them both to Maitland once the renovation was complete. The house was not yet ready, but what the deuce? There were suites enough to host the both of them. And, himself, of course. For it was imperative now that he leave Rhoades Arbor at once. He sat down again to absently yank off his boots. Thinking further on the matter, he realized there was very little to object to about Lady Mary-Edith. She wasn't the least bracket-faced, in fact, she was tolerably pretty; tall, with auburn hair and—he strained to recall the color of her eyes—well, what did it matter? He suspected she'd be hard pressed to accurately describe him, as well. No. No, she wouldn't. Lady Mary-Edith had set her cap at Maitland years ago. He knew she had had several suitors since, but, according to Havistock, none of them had impressed her quite so favorably as he. Maitland had to admit he found the young lady's admiration flattering. Most especially since it had

endured years of separation. So ... there it was. The matter was settled. Lady Mary-Edith Havistock would become his bride. That he did not love her was of no consequence. After they married, she'd spend the next ten years or so breeding and he'd not see that much of her anyhow. Of course, were he to marry the widow Rhoades, he'd not want that to be the case. Zounds! He sprang to his feet as if he'd been shot. He would never wed Felicity Rhoades! Never! She was ... well, she was not at all suitable. He would take Lady Mary-Edith to wife and there was an end to it. By the following morning at breakfast, Lord Maitland was every bit as certain of the hasty decision he'd made the night before as the night before when he'd made it. To wed Lady Mary-Edith was the only way out of the unfortunate predicament his blundering lunacy had got him into. Fact was, he'd written the letter to Havistock last evening before he crawled into bed, for the second time. He'd post it this morning on his way to Maitland. Yet, upon entering the dining hall and garnering only a glimpse of little Mrs. Rhoades standing before the sideboard, the sunshine glancing off her butter-yellow curls and turning them a brilliant guinea-gold, he knew an urge to rip the missive to shreds. Instead, he set his jaw and walked deliberately toward her. Snatching up a plate, he moved the length of the sideboard, spooning serving after serving of whatever dish lay before him onto his plate. When he reached the end of the line, where Felicity stood waiting to fill the small china cup in his hand with steaming black coffee, he paused. "Good morning, Mrs. Rhoades,” he said evenly, although even to him, his voice sounded a trifle tight. Without a word, she raised that pair of incredible blue-green eyes to his and for a fleeting moment, the acute sadness he beheld there made his heart ... stop. He stifled a painful gasp of alarm. The message he read in her eyes was as evident to him as the sun in the sky, as the day was long. Felicity Rhoades desired him as much as he desired her, and what's more, she needed him. She desperately needed him. His jaws ground together angrily and, in a great show of disgust, his lips became a thin line. “There is no call to look so tragic, Mrs. Rhoades. I still have every intention of unraveling the mystery for you. Only this time,” he added firmly, “we will do it my way." He watched her chin tremble ever so slightly. “Y-your way?" He nodded curtly. “I will handle the investigating and you will stay put indoors. That way we will both be safe,” he added with finality. With another sharp gaze at her, he turned and determinedly strode to a far table and sat down. Then he looked at the mountain of food on his plate and wondered who the devil had put it there? **** "Read this,” the Earl of Maitland commanded. He thrust what looked to be a pamphlet of sorts beneath Felicity's nose. The hour was late and Lord Maitland had just arrived back at the Arbor after a long and tiring day spent on his own estate. Felicity was seated alone on the verandah, her thoughts still troubled over her wayward behaviour last evening with the elegant earl.

She'd taken a bit of comfort this morning when he'd said he meant still to help her sort the puzzle out, but the abruptness of his manner had confused her. That, combined with the vivid memories of his kiss last night and his arms wrapped tightly about her, had made for an unbearably painful day. Even the aloof sound of his voice just now made her want to cry out in pain. She watched as he slid onto a straight backed chair opposite the pretty painted bench where she sat. Both his bearing and the look in his cool, dark eyes were distant. She feared he must still be quite angry with her. With a shuttered expression on his face, the earl began coolly, “I happened across this outdated copy of my Aunt Poole's Psychical Journal at Maitland today.” His eyes directed hers to the yellowed pages she held in one hand. “After you've thoroughly perused it, I think you will agree that it has some bearing on what is happening here at the Arbor." Felicity glanced down, then back up at him. “In other words,” she said, trying to match a cool tone with his, “to do it your way, sir, means that I must now chime in with your ... unusual views on the matter. Is that what you are telling me?" "I am not suggesting that you believe everything you read in these reports, madam, but that you pay particular attention to the author of one of them." Felicity's brow furrowed. She glanced again at the document, then began to curiously leaf through it. Across from her, Lord Maitland leaned back in his chair, his long fingers forming a steeple beneath his chin. At the look of astonishment that soon appeared on Felicity's face, he mouthed, “Chadwick. Nathaniel E. Chadwick." Felicity stared at him. "Our Mr. Chadwick?" "It appears that way." Suddenly, Felicity burned to tell the earl about the disagreement she had overheard between Mrs. Leads and Mr. Chadwick, and about Mrs. Leads and the huge blackbird. She did not restrain herself this time. In short order, she relayed all of the facts regarding both incidents to Lord Maitland. "Are you certain you heard one of them say the bird would decide who the winner would be?” The expression on the earl's handsome face was both interested and animated. "I am positive,” Felicity said. “Although, at the time I attached no significance to it. It was not until I came upon Mrs. Leads conversing with the huge black raven that I made a connection between them.” Though, she hated the idea that she was now jumping the fence and siding with his silly notions about supernatural doings, for the moment, it seemed the only viable theory to latch onto. “It appears to me there might be a connection, wouldn't you agree?" "I wouldn't rule it out,” the earl muttered. He was silent for a spell, then said, “You may as well know, Mrs. Rhoades, I penned a letter to my Aunt Poole today. I expect she will reply straightaway. If there is some legend, or a report of ghostly hauntings hereabouts, or even a spirit apparition associated with the Arbor, er, with Newbury Farm, she will alert us. She may even want to come and investigate the phenomena herself." Felicity bristled. The last thing she wanted was for Rhoades Arbor to become famous for unfounded tales of ghostly sightings. But, what could she say to it now? If she objected, Lord Maitland would toss the bumble-broth back into her lap and then where would she be? Though she loathed admitting it, the fact

remained that she needed his lordship's help and she needed it desperately. She squared her already overburdened shoulders and said, “Philips thinks it possible that there is ... buried treasure here." Maitland nodded thoughtfully. “The idea had also occurred to me. With all the digging going on, that appears a logical conjecture. Still, I can't help thinking there is more to it than that." "More?" "Indeed. Else why has the treasure never been found? I heard nothing of the sort when I was a boy growing up near here, nor to my knowledge, has Aunt Poole. During the years prior to her remove to London and the formation of her Psychical Research Society, she investigated very nearly every ghostly sighting and supernatural occurrence between here and Bath. Aunt Poole leaves no stone unturned." "Nor apparently do Mr. Chadwick and Mrs. Leads,” Felicity muttered to herself. Hearing the small chuckle her comment elicited from Lord Maitland, she glanced up shyly. Oddly enough, the slight upward tilt to his full lower lip was sufficient to lift her spirits a bit. A small answering smile slowly softened her mouth. Her eyes locked with his, but when he held the look overlong, it was she who turned away. "At any rate,” he continued, “it will be interesting to see what Aunt Poole has to say.” Felicity noted that once again, his tone had become distant. “In the meantime,” he added, “I suggest you keep an eye out for Chadwick." Felicity nodded tightly. “Thus far, I've seen nothing out of the way in his manner, aside from his open dislike of Mrs. Leads. To say truth, I still believe she is the culprit.” She hurriedly told Lord Maitland about the morning she'd come upon the matronly woman returning to the house in a filthy, disheveled state. “She looked to have been outdoors digging all night,” she added with disgust. "I suppose it very likely she could have been. What of the Pindiddles? What have you observed of them, apart from the fact that they both seem to prefer the Bath chair." It was Felicity's turn to chuckle. “You have noticed that, as well?" Lord Maitland turned the veriest trace of a smile on Felicity. Though his was quite contained, it was nonetheless a smile. “Indeed, I have,” he said, then quickly regained his cool demeanor. “On one evening, it is Miss Amelia in the chair, and the next, it is Miss Lucinda who's the invalid." "They seem to think no one is the wiser,” Felicity put in, humor still evident in her tone. “Aside from that, I've observed nothing out of the common way about the sisters. For the most part, they spend nearly every afternoon in Mr. Chadwick's company." "Oh?" Felicity nodded. “He is quite proficient on the pianoforte. They both quite enjoy listening to his music. As do I,” she added softly. "Ah,” Maitland murmured. He sat looking at her, a bit too intently for comfort, Felicity thought, growing nervous again beneath his penetrating gaze. She anxiously cast about for something additional to say. Presently, she stumbled upon it. “Bringing the piano to the Arbor was excessively generous of you, Lord Maitland. It has given all of my guests a great deal of pleasure."

He said nothing for a long moment, then the sound of his rich baritone again broke the stillness. “Have you played the piano yet, Mrs. Rhoades?" Felicity's anxious gaze lifted again to his. Slowly she shook her head. “No. One has so little time, you know." Seeing the expression of ... yes, interest, that shone from his dark eyes, Felicity felt warm color rise again to her cheeks. It was as if Lord Maitland wished to question her further, but was willing himself to remain silent. Presently, he said, “You have the time now." She started. “N-now?" He nodded, though the look in his eyes was still guarded. "Well, it ... it is quite late, sir. I fear that everyone is ... asleep. I shouldn't want to disturb my guests’ slumber." He gave a derisive snort. “And how many of your guests have disturbed your slumber?” A dark brow quirked as he rose to his feet and reached a hand to her. “Come." Felicity rose dutifully to her feet. “Very well, my lord. I shall be happy to play a piece for you." Passing beside the open drawing room windows, Felicity noted that Philips had already snuffed out the lights there. Still, she knew he'd have left a single candle burning in the wall sconce just inside the front door of the hall. Stepping into the darkened house, she walked directly to the musical instrument, her gaze following the long shadows of her and Lord Maitland's figures being cast ahead of them on the planked wooden floor. She pulled out the bench and suddenly felt a bit like a ghost herself, the ghost of her former self, the idle wife who had little to do beyond stitching a needlepoint fire screen and whiling away the long hours of the evening seated before a pianoforte. In the stillness now, Lord Maitland moved to stand with his back to the drawing room door. There, she knew he had a good view of her, though she could not see him. The arrangement suited her, for with him watching her every move, she feared she could not play the piece to perfection. Not that she could do so anyhow, so out of practice was she. Mindful of her sleeping lodgers, Felicity chose a simple melody by Mozart, one with few loud passages and even fewer crescendos. When she'd finished the pensive tune, she turned to check for Lord Maitland's reaction, but once again the tight smile on his lips told her nothing. "I fear I am sadly out of practice,” she murmured. "Not at all,” he returned politely. He pushed himself up from the wall where he'd been lounging. “You play ... surprisingly well.” He moved toward the piano. Felicity started when he suddenly slid onto the bench beside her. Though he did not look directly at her, when he began again to speak, his tone had taken on a certain conspiratorial quality. “Whilst you were playing, Mrs. Rhoades, it occurred to me that perhaps a party, or a musical evening of sorts, might be the ticket." Felicity directed a sidelong glance at him. She had no idea what he was suggesting now. "The plan being,” he went on, “that in a more relaxed atmosphere, a social setting as it were, it will be

easier to learn something more about the Arbor's residents. People are far more apt to reveal themselves —to behave a bit more freely, if you will—in a relaxed environment." "Oh,” Felicity murmured. “If you mink that best, Lord Maitland." He turned to gaze down at her then. Though both their faces were in the shadows, Felicity was certain she saw his eyes travel over her face, pause when they reached her lips, and then glide down her neck and ... stop. Between lips parted to speak, she sucked in an alarmed breath. It was more akin to a gasp really. Her heart was thumping wildly in her breast and in her own mind, she had already flung both arms around his neck and was kissing him passionately! With the alluring gentleman seated so very near, she was hard pressed to form an intelligent sentence, or give voice to it. Suddenly she bolted to her feet and began to fumble with the stack of sheet music lying on top of the piano. “Wh-when do you wish the ... affaire, er, that is, the party to be?" His chin elevated, Lord Maitland rose also to his feet. “I shall leave the particulars to you, madam. But, the sooner the better, I should think. Don't you agree?" Felicity had no idea what she thought. She was eminently glad when his lordship said nothing further and instead, exited the room. Hearing the sound of his footfalls ascending the stairwell, she, at last, allowed herself the freedom to draw breath. What had come over her just now? She had never, not ever felt so unaccountably drawn to a gentleman before. First, last evening and now this. Nothing made sense anymore. Dear God, she prayed, please, please let him solve the mystery soon, and leave the Arbor straightaway, before every last vestige of her good sense, and her decent upbringing, abandoned her completely!

Chapter Thirteen After breakfast the following morning, Felicity was pleased to not find any additional places in the yard that had been disturbed and so felt free to turn her mind to making plans for the soiree which she'd decided would be held in three days’ time. "Pay particular attention to the cutting gardens on either side of the house, Philips; and to the area across the road and directly in front,” she said, pointing in that direction for emphasis. The two were standing on the sunny portico, the early morning sun warming their backs as they talked. “I am expecting a number of people of consequence to attend our little gathering and I should like the grounds to look especially presentable." "I am to leave off my work on the west wing then, madam?” Philips asked. "Yes.” Felicity sighed heavily. “For now. The front suite of rooms is nearly complete, is it not?" "Indeed, madam. I have only to rub the floors in the sitting room and all will be in readiness." "Good. I've had an inquiry from a prospective lodger, a Mr. Elsworth." Noting a somewhat alarmed look flicker across Philips’ face, Felicity gazed up at him curiously, but the butler merely coughed, then fell silent. Felicity's brow furrowed with concern. “You are not taking ill, are you, Philips? We've a great deal of work to do in the next three days and very little time in which to do it. I shouldn't want you taking ill." "I feel in exceptional health, madam,” Philips replied primly, if a man of his height and bearing could be said to do anything primly. “Thank you for asking." "Well, then, as I was saying, I have yet to make a proper inquiry into Mr. Elsworth's background.” Felicity tapped her chin thoughtfully. “But, perhaps there isn't time for that. I expect the gentleman will do. His penmanship was quite elegant." At this point Philips coughed again, which prompted Felicity to gaze at him once more with concern. "Are you quite sure you are feeling well, Philips?" The strong man shifted his large frame from one foot to the other. “Quite.” He nodded vigorously. Still regarding him a bit warily, Felicity went on. “I shall need you to drive into Reading this afternoon to deliver the invitations and to purchase everything on Mrs. Allen's list in the way of delicacies." "It is to be a grand affair, then?” Philips asked. A smile played at Felicity's lips. “Not so terribly grand. As you well know, I can ill-afford grand. I merely wish not to be thought a nip-cheese. Perhaps a new lodger arriving is a bit more timely than I'd thought,” she muttered, more to herself than the butler. With a last look at Philips, she re-entered the house, unaware that he stood staring after her, a troubled look now upon his face. After Felicity had completed her most pressing duties that morning, she repaired to her sitting room abovestairs to carefully letter the invitations. Giving considerable thought to whom she might invite from the neighboring villages, she decided it was quite fortunate for her that during the time she'd been married to William, and the many months she had spent looking after his aged parents, they had none of them

resided here. Consequently, she had no fear now that anyone she invited to the Arbor would be cognizant of her true identity. She decided to invite her closest neighbors, Squire Templeton and his wife, Elizabeth. And just beyond them, on the road to Reading, were the Hargraves, who occupied the lovely Georgian manor home that Felicity so greatly admired. On the Hargraves’ invitation, she made a special point to include their two daughters, Priscilla and Margaret, both of whom she knew were of a marriageable age. In all likelihood, the evening might prove a bit dull for the girls, but the experience of going about in society wouldn't do the young ladies any harm. After sealing the notes with a neat press of red wax, Felicity sat a moment longer contemplating what she and Lord Maitland had set in motion. With a deep sigh, she realized she really ought to invite Robert and Libby. The distance from Libby's family estate just north of Thatcham was an easy drive to the Arbor, which would not precipitate them having to stay overnight. Still, she was not particularly looking forward to the evening as it was and the idea of being beneath Robert's watchful eye throughout the ordeal did not appeal to her in the least. On the other hand, were her brother and his wife to learn of it and feel slighted ... she sighed and reached for her pen. But, after dipping the point into the inkwell, she instead addressed the note to Constable Anderson in Reading. The primary purpose of this function, she told herself firmly, was not frivolity, it was business. And to the majority of her lodgers, she wished to relay the message that she was on quite good terms with the local authorities. Besides, it was possible that in Libby's condition she was no longer going about, so inviting her brother and his wife would come to nothing anyhow. If the guilty party's identity were revealed that night, as Lord Maitland seemed to think it would be, Felicity most certainly wanted the constable on hand to issue a strong warning, or perhaps even to make an arrest. There. Satisfied that she had made the right choice in the matter, she sealed the last letter and moments later, gave the small stack over to Philips. "I should like these delivered post haste, Philips. I've put the direction on every one of them. "Yes, madam." That night, following supper, Felicity found herself alone in the dining hall with Lord Maitland, who, as usual, had arrived at the Arbor just as the supper dishes were being cleared away. "I shall have Mrs. Allen fix you a plate, sir,” Felicity said politely, when the gentleman had approached her. "Thank you, Mrs. Rhoades. I admit to being prodigiously hungry this evening." Felicity hurriedly poured the handsome earl a cup of lukewarm coffee, then after apologizing for its condition, she quitted the room to fetch him additional sustenance. She had not seen the gentleman all day, in fact she had not seen him since he left her last evening in the foyer. She had hoped that when she encountered him today, she'd be better able to keep her emotions in check. Unfortunately, it did not appear as if that were to be the case. Lord Maitland looked every bit as attractive tonight as he ever did. Though his white shirtfront was a bit rumpled from the day's wear, his fawn-coloured breeches in need of a good pressing and his top-boots muddied, he still presented such a picture of masculine virility that he clean took Felicity's breath away. Even the male scent of him filled her with a light-heartedness she didn't generally feel. Hurrying toward the kitchen, she could scarce wait to return to the dining hall and just ... look at him.

She tried to calm herself before she re-entered the room to set the plate of steaming hot mutton and vegetables before him. After doing so, she boldly drew up a chair and sat down across from him. "I had Philips deliver the invitations this afternoon,” she began, all too aware of her heart fluttering wildly in her breast as she spoke. Intent upon his food, Lord Maitland barely glanced up. "The event is to be in three days’ time"—Felicity said, then smiled—"two days now. I informed the other lodgers at dinner this evening. The announcement caused a bit of a stir.” Her eyes began to twinkle. “The Pindiddles seemed especially a-twitter. They are even now trying to decide what to wear." "And, no doubt, which of them will need the Bath chair,” Maitland said, a hint of humor in his tone, though he still did not glance up at Felicity. She laughed nervously. “Perhaps they will both abandon it, especially if there is dancing.” She caught herself. She hoped Lord Maitland did not think she had mentioned that possibility because she wished to dance with him. To her chagrin, he gazed at her then. “Ah, yes ... dancing." Felicity lowered her lashes nervously. “I-I suppose if anyone should want to dance, it would be...” She risked a peek upward. The gentleman was nodding agreeably. “Acceptable.” He speared a bite of meat and popped it into his mouth. A bit of an awkward silence ensued. Feeling anxious to cover it, Felicity said, “I am expecting a new lodger by then. A Mr. Elsworth, from London. Perhaps you are acquaint ... no, I suppose not. In any event, I shall put him in the new suite of rooms in the west wing. I also invited two of the Arbor's neighboring families to the gathering. Squire Templeton and his wife; and the Hargraves and their two daughters. Perhaps you know of them?" Maitland nodded. “I am acquainted with the squire, though I've not yet had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Hargrave, nor the gentleman's daughters." "They are both of a marriageable age,” Felicity said, though she suddenly couldn't imagine why she thought it necessary to tell him that. He being ... nearly betrothed. Maitland cocked a brow, then reached for his coffee cup, but noting it was empty, set it down again. Felicity jumped to retrieve the pot, the contents of which she'd had Mrs. Allen reheat. After filling the earl's empty cup, she sat down again. At length, Lord Maitland laid his fork across his plate and touched his lips with the somewhat tattered linen napkin that had been draped across his knees. “Well, it sounds as if you have everything in hand,” he said. With a contented sigh, he leaned back in his chair. “I fear I shan't be as much help to you as I'd hoped, though, of course, I shall attend the party. As it happens, I, too, have guests coming and a great deal still to do before my home is ready to receive them." "Oh.” A nervous smile wavered across Felicity's lips. She couldn't help wondering who the gentleman's guests might be? His betrothed and her family perhaps? She wondered if he meant to bring them to the... Maitland pushed up from the table, the action serving to interrupt Felicity's ruminations. “If we've nothing

further to discuss on the subject, Mrs. Rhoades,” he said, “I shall take my leave now. It's very likely I shall be up and gone before you arise on the morrow. I've a crew of plasterers scheduled to arrive at first light." Though Felicity had also risen to her feet, she was unaware of the somewhat pained expression that now clouded her sea-green eyes. For some reason, it suddenly grieved her that she would never see his lordship's beautiful home restored, and that quite soon, he would disappear altogether from hers. Felicity endeavoured to keep her disappointment at bay the remainder of that evening and throughout the tedious hours of the following morning. But, a niggling thought in the back of her mind continued to trouble her. Odd, but by afternoon, she felt near to obsessed with the idea that she simply had to have a new gown for tomorrow night's gala. She'd feel a veritable dowd donning once again her six-year-old blue merino with the prim white collar and cuffs. The idea was as distasteful to her as dining on dirt. True, she could ill-afford new finery but no amount of logic or reason could dislodge the intense yearning from her mind. She found herself hurrying through her duties that afternoon, all the while, thinking ahead to when she might find time to drive into Reading. She hadn't had a new gown since soon after she married, and she hadn't had many then. The few gowns still in her possession from that period of her life had been dyed black for the many months of mourning she'd endured since. And every last one of them were so old and frayed-looking now that they were no longer serviceable. So, it was quite plain she needed a new gown. One might even say, she desperately needed a new gown. When the idea had a firm grip on her mind, she decided to see it through ... and to purchase something pretty and frivolous. After all, there were times in a woman's life when she needed to feel feminine, and yes, to look as attractive as she could. Why this was one of those times, she chose not to explore. It just was. Still, when reason and practicality did rear its head, as Felicity fully expected it would, she silenced the troublesome voice by telling herself that the drive into Reading late that afternoon would serve two ends. That Mrs. Allen needed both treacle and a dozen eggs in order to prepare the blackberry tarts that Felicity had her heart set upon serving was in itself reason enough to make the trip. Therefore it was not going off her path to also stop at the used clothing shop that she once spied in the village. It was past sundown when Felicity finally arrived back at the Arbor. She hastily delivered Mrs. Allen's goods to her, then darted up the back steps to her own room. Inside, she tore off the wrapping of her parcel and gingerly lifted the new sprigged muslin gown from the box. Holding the pretty frock up in front of her, she peered at as much of her reflection as she could see in the small rectangle of glass atop her dressing table. The dealer had assured her that sprigged muslin was the very latest style in Town. "All the crack this Season in London,” he'd said, then told her the gown had been made by quite a reputable dressmaker whose shop was located in exclusive Mayfair. Before Felicity had finally settled on that particular dress, she had longingly fingered a lovely peach silk gown that came with an exquisite silk overdress but, even at a reduced cost, it was still far beyond her means. The pretty white muslin with puffy sleeves, and tiny blue embroidered flowers would have to do. The small rent just below the bodice could be easily repaired and would never show once the blue satin sash was in place. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright with anticipation, Felicity pirouetted before the glass. Would Lord Maitland think she looked pretty? Suddenly, her lips thinned with disgust and she angrily tossed the dress aside. Wasn't it enough that she wasted precious hours of each and every day thinking about the irritating gentleman, now she had gone and spent far more of her hard-earned money than she could

afford for the express purpose of impressing him! She stared at the offensive garment lying so innocently across her bed. What had she been thinking? Though her cheeks burned with rage, she at length reached to tentatively smooth the folds of the long skirt. It was quite a pretty frock. And she did need it. Never an arbiter of fashion, at one time in her life, she had taken great pleasure in staying abreast of the latest styles and feeling pleased when someone, especially a handsome gentleman, told her she looked charming. She supposed every young lady did so. But, once she had married William and settled into the trials she'd endured as his wife, she'd had no time for frivolous concerns. She thrust her chin up. Perhaps it was time now to remedy that. She had made a new life for herself here at the Arbor, and with the new lodger coming, she could afford to treat herself. With firm resolve, she moved to place her new gown in the clothespress. Perhaps, she should have bought the blue kid slippers that went with it. And the bonnet. Quite late that same evening, Felicity met up with Lord Maitland, this time as he was entering the house. "I fear the supper hour is long past, Lord Maitland, but I could have Mrs. Allen heat up a plate of vegetables for you. And there is fresh bread and ale in the kitchen." "I shan't be needing anything tonight, Mrs. Rhoades,” he said, his tone quite cool, one might even say exceptionally cool, Felicity thought with some alarm. “The new chef at Maitland prepared a light meal for me." "Ummm. Your renovation is progressing smoothly, is it?" Maitland had already taken a few steps away from her. “Indeed,” he said over his shoulder, then he paused and glanced her way again. “The plasterers accomplished a great deal today. The painters and glaziers will be arriving tomorrow.” He gazed at her a scant second longer, then said, “I trust all is well here. You have mentioned no further ... incidents; I take it there have been none." Felicity's lips firmed. The gentleman seemed inordinately uninterested in her problems tonight. “No, none,” she lied. "Well, then.” He actually shrugged! “Perhaps there is no truth in what Aunt Poole said. I received a reply from her today." Her curiosity suddenly aroused, Felicity wished she had not been so quick to speak. Truth was there had been a place dug up in the kitchen garden this morning. An entire row of carrots and two rows of turnips had been uprooted. “What did your aunt say?” She tried for a breezy tone. Maitland gazed at her. “She suggested I contact a Lady"—his brows drew together—"the name escapes me at the moment. Aunt Poole said the woman is an expert in buried treasure lore. But, considering the decrease in activity, perhaps there is no need to carry the investigation further." "No!” Felicity cried, then hastily bit her lower lip. Maitland gazed at her quizzically as Felicity edged a bit nearer to him. “I ... I did not tell you the whole truth just now, sir.” Her voice was small. “In truth, there have been ... this morning there was..." Maitland's eyes narrowed. “Why did you not say so, madam?" Felicity stared at the tops of her boots. “I ... I thought you were no longer interested."

When he did not reply at once, she finally raised her eyes to meet his. But the hard look on his face sent a wave of fresh anguish through her ... and, yet, the sight of his expression suddenly softening caused her spirits to lift every bit as quickly. "I am sorry, Mrs. Rhoades,” he said. “I never meant to give the impression that I ... that I...” He stood gazing down upon her, his dark eyes troubled as they slowly searched her face. Suddenly Felicity felt exactly the same way she had felt in the gentleman's presence so many times of late. His words and the gentle look in his eyes just now had once again entered that secret place in her heart and made her ache for him to hold her close, to comfort her, to protect her, the same as he had done that night in the greenhouse. Suddenly, it took all the restraint she could muster not to fling herself into his arms. But, she could not, and did not. Instead, she fought to still the violent emotion that swelled within her breast. Yet, even as she stood before him, the gentleman's eyes hardened. "I recall telling you I would unravel the mystery for you, Mrs. Rhoades.” His tone sounded stern, almost angry. “But in order to do so, it is imperative that you be truthful with me.” He turned to go. “I shall pen a note to this Lady ... what's-her-name before I retire this evening. Good night, madam." Felicity's breath lodged painfully in her throat as she watched the gentleman stride purposefully toward the front stairwell. Long after he was gone from sight, she stood staring after him, feeling as if once again the tattered pieces of her heart lay scattered like so much flotsam at her feet. It was her guilelessness that touched him most deeply, the Earl of Maitland decided as he charged up the stairs, or perhaps it was her vulnerability, or even the hurt that he had watched cloud her lovely sea-green eyes just now. Whatever the cause, the pretty little widow had succeeded in making him feel like a heel, as if he'd promised her the moon and had, instead, given her a pebble. But, dammit, he had been busy, far too busy lately to let the insignificant troubles of an innkeep, no matter how tempting she might be, deter him from his course. Gaining his own room, he slammed the door shut behind him. So, why did he feel as disappointed in himself as apparently she did in him? It was not as if he'd reneged on his word. He'd just ... dammit! He would not cave in to the emotional turbulence that beset him every time he found himself in Mrs. Rhoades ’ presence! Her troubles were none of his concern, no matter how hard she tried to make them be. He had agreed to help her and help her he would. Fact is, he'd already done everything he had said he would do. He'd written to Aunt Poole and now, he yanked out the drawer in the small commode beside his bed and snatched up a sheet of blank paper and a pen, he'd write to this Lady so-and-so and solicit her advice. Furthermore, Mrs. Rhoades knew quite well that should she require his assistance at night, she had only to rap at his door and he'd gladly abandon his bed to run the mischief-maker to ground. What more could a gentleman do? Planting himself in a chair, he chose to ignore the still, small voice inside him that threatened to tell him what more he could do, and in what a considerably more gentlemanly a fashion he could do it. Grinding his jaws together angrily, he began to address the inquiry to Lady—with fresh disgust at the irritating emotions churning inside himself, he withdrew his aunt's letter once more and scanned the page in search of the expert's name. Yes, there it was. Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds. He scrawled the name across the top of the page and began to write. But his thoughts proved far too stormy to concentrate. He abandoned the letter ‘til he could regain proper control over himself. Why on earth did Mrs. Rhoades persist in making him feel as if he'd let her down? He had his own concerns to look after, did he not? And his own plans for the future to attend to. Marriage was a big

step; it required a great deal of preparation and yes, even courage. Today, he'd also received a reply from the Havistock's, more specifically from Lady Mary-Edith herself. As expected, she was ecstatic over the invitation to visit Maitland and would do so as soon as practicable. The Season in London was in full swing and Lady Mary-Edith was sponsoring a protégée this year. After some important ball or other, Lady Mary-Edith had said she would excuse herself from her duties and travel post haste to the country; within a fortnight, she'd indicated. Truth to tell, Maitland had been a trifle taken aback by the news of Lady Mary-Edith's protégée, it having not occurred to him that she was of an age to undertake the introducing of another young lady into society. Although, if he'd thought on it, he'd have realized that she was well past her first bloom of youth. Truth was, she was quite possibly as old as ... well, as, Mrs. Rhoades. Aware suddenly that his thoughts had once again reverted to her, his lips thinned. With disgust, he angrily thrust the intrusive innkeep from his mind and purposely fastened his thoughts on his intended. At her advanced age, she was probably considered by the tabbies in Town to be on the shelf, perhaps even firmly on the shelf. What a feather in her cap to return to London and announce that she had brought the sixth Earl of Maitland up to scratch. He smiled with satisfaction, then felt the smile freeze on his lips. He certainly hoped that Lady Mary-Edith's advanced years did not mean that her ways had been set ... unfavorably. As they certainly had with Mrs. Rhoades! She was the most disagreeable, stubborn, independent, and intrusive lady he'd ever met. Dammit, he was doing it again! He strained to recall what he had been thinking about before Mrs. Rhoades interrupted him, or rather, before thoughts of her had interrupted him. Ah, yes. He was about to recount the exemplary qualities of his future bride. He thought a spell, but realized that nothing specific was springing to mind. Well, she was ... soft-spoken. Which he found quite admirable. She was most certainly not given to emotional outbursts such as Mrs. Rhoa—ah, ha! His chest swelled as he successfully nipped that thought in the bud. Back to Lady Mary-Edith. She was ... talented, could play the pianoforte within an inch and she could even sing. A satisfied grin split his face. He had never heard Mrs. Rhoades—stop! He began afresh. Soft-spoken, play, sing. He paused, wracked his brain. Suddenly, he recalled that Mary-Edith had a somewhat annoying habit of clearing her throat before she spoke. But, what of it? A minor flaw. No doubt, over time, he would grow accustomed to it. Wouldn't even notice it. Or be bothered by that funny little lopsided smile of hers that made her look like a ... he shifted uncomfortably on the chair. The young lady's smile did not signify. After all, it was far too much to expect that a man and wife find everything about one another agreeable. There were probably a good many things about him that Mary-Edith would like to see altered. Of course, Mrs. Rhoades had the prettiest smile he'd ever... Dammit! His eyes narrowed and he cleared his own throat. In all likelihood, there would come a time when he'd actually look on Lady Mary-Edith's throat-clearing, and her lopsided little grin, as ... well, endearing! At least Mary-Edith was not intrusive. Unlike the annoying Mrs. Rhoades. Why, since he'd known that woman, he'd scarce been able to think of anything else. By contrast, he barely thought about Mary-Edith. Just think how free he would feel actually wed to her! Think what a great deal he would be able to accomplish with Lady Mary-Edith as his wife. He leaned back and in his mind's eye, envisioned her busy in the house with the servants and children,

leaving him all the time in the world to pursue his own course. There were a great many ideas he wished to implement at Maitland, new farming methods, agricultural techniques and the like. With a helpmeet as undemanding as Lady Mary-Edith, that would all be possible, and then some; whereas to be linked with someone as intrusive as Felicity Rhoades ... confound it! He slammed his pen down, then scowled angrily at the ugly ink blot he'd made on the sheet of paper before him. No matter how hard he tried, he could not erase that young lady's concerns, or her face, or her bod—his chest heaved with rage. What, he demanded angrily, gave Mrs. Rhoades the right to continually intrude upon his thoughts? Simply because he'd agreed to help her did not give her the right to demand that he think constantly of her, that he put aside his own life and focus instead on hers. And, he had half a mind to go and tell her how he felt right now! He had his hand on the door latch before he realized what he was about, then he felt inordinately foolish and ... out of control. He slumped onto the bed, his thoughts a tangle, his emotions a jumble, and his body ... burning with desire. He may be angry with her, but he was furious with himself! In the few weeks that he'd been at the Arbor, Felicity Rhoades had not only stripped him of his reason, she had robbed him of the one quality in himself that he valued above all else—his self-control. There was no doubt in his mind that if left unchecked, the inexplicable allure of her charms, her extraordinary beauty, the soft curves of her body, would reduce him to little more than a rutting animal! He shook his head with derision. And yet, came another voice in his head, perhaps she had done something no other woman had ever done, touch a raw, untamed part of himself that heretofore, he had not had the courage, or the need, to probe. Truth is, he'd lived all his adult life in that safe region he'd invented, a bland, composed arena controlled by rigid military rules and self-imposed discipline. He contemplated that confusing thought. He knew of no civilized society that did not adhere to rules and regulations. It was necessary to establish order and to maintain it. Besides, to change himself at this juncture in his life would turn him into someone he no longer recognized, and worse, into a man he could not respect. He had no choice but to follow the only course he could clearly see, the one dictated by reason and honor. He would take Lady Mary-Edith to wife and honor his promise to Mrs. Rhoades. As soon as he solved her problem, he would betake himself from the Arbor, and never lay eyes on her again. It was the only way.

Chapter Fourteen On the day of the party, it surprised Felicity when one of the Pindiddle sisters, Miss Amelia, she thought, approached her with an unusual request soon after breakfast. "You simply must postpone tonight's soiree, Mrs. Rhoades!" "Postpone it, Miss Pindiddle? Whatever for?" "Because"—the grey-haired little lady wrung her hands together—"sister and I did not expect to be attending a gala when we came to the Arbor, and we both neglected to bring along our” ... her voice became a whisper ... “our frisettes." Not at all certain if she had heard correctly or not, Felicity had to ask the overset little woman to repeat the final phrase. "Our frisettes,” Miss Amelia said impatiently. Felicity managed to quell her initial reaction, which was to burst out laughing and instead assume a look of proper dismay. “Oh, my, I can see how troubling that must be for you, Miss Pindiddle,” she murmured. Her guest sighed loudly. “Sister brought along her chignon roll and she has quite sweetly consented to allow me to wear it, but it shan't look half so fetching without my rosette to set it off.” Her large grey eyes were quite imploring. “As soon as you announced the do, Mrs. Rhoades, we sent for our pieces, but the package has not yet arrived and we are quite beside ourselves. We decided there was nothing for it but to postpone the proceedings until our frisettes arrive.'' "But the invitations have already been sent, Miss Pindiddle, and everyone I invited has graciously consented to come. It should be quite an inconvenience now to tell them not to." "Oh, dear.” The little woman bit her lower lip so hard, Felicity feared it might bleed. “I-I expect sister and I shan't be attending the party, after all. And, we had quite looked forward to it.” She sniffed morosely. Felicity reached to pat her elderly guest's blue-veined hand. “You mustn't let such a small thing keep you from attending, Miss Pindiddle. I am sure you and your sister will look charming just the way you are.” Her tone was soothing. "No; no, we shan't. Not nearly so. In any case, I should never be able to convince baby sister of that. The Earl of Maitland is quite taken with Lucinda, you know, and she feels ... well, despite the slight difference in their ages ... the earl is quite an eligible parti." "Hmmm.” Felicity nodded. Apparently word had not yet got out among the Arbor guests that his lordship was near to becoming betrothed. “I am indeed sorry, Miss Pindiddle. It is far too late to postpone the party, but"—suddenly, she thought of something—"perhaps I might be of help to you after all." "Oh, Mrs. Rhoades,” Miss Pindiddle's eyes lit up, “baby sister and I should be ever so grateful! Ever so!" Felicity gave her guest a reassuring smile. When Miss Pindiddle had scurried away, Felicity made her way belowstairs to a little-used cupboard she had discovered in the pantry just beyond the scullery. Digging through the musty cabinet which was crammed full of assorted items, old kitchen utensils and even some sewing supplies, all of which Felicity assumed had belonged to William's mother, she at last

found what she was searching for. An odd-looking iron rod that she had come across weeks ago. In olden days the instrument was used to curl one's hair. Her own mother had had one. Moments later, both Pindiddle sisters were overcome with glee when Felicity rapped at their door and handed in the ancient implement. "A Frizzle!” exclaimed Miss Lucinda, who had answered the door. The empty wheeled chair, Felicity noted, sat abandoned beneath a window. "Now we shall have curls across our brows!” the elder Pindiddle chimed in happily. “Thank you, ever so, Mrs. Rhoades. I was certain you would help us. Now we shall look as fashionable as anyone!" Felicity directed a satisfied smile at the pair. Of all her Arbor guests, most assuredly the Pindiddle sisters were the least suspect. That night, Felicity was close on late to her own party, and for very nearly the same reason that had threatened to preclude the Pindiddles’ attendance. It had been an age since she had dressed her hair in any fashion more complicated than a simple knot at the nape of her neck. Tonight, after donning her pretty new gown with the tiny blue-sprigged flowers and blue satin sash, she gazed expectantly into the glass, only to frown at the image gazing back at her. The severe style of her hair made her resemble a dowdy governess dressed up in borrowed plumes! A quarter hour later, Felicity tore apart her coiffure for the second time and began afresh. When her third attempt proved no more successful than the first two tries, she wondered if she dare ask the Pindiddles to loan her the Frizzle. After another try she, at last, achieved the effect she wanted—her butter-yellow hair drawn forward to the crown of her head, the thick clump of soft curls held in place with a pearl-encrusted brooch that she'd pinned to a snippet of blue satin ribbon. Clusters of soft curling tendrils dangled in front of each ear. Before heading downstairs, where the muffled sounds of talking and laughter told her the drawing room and foyer were already full of people, she hurriedly dotted her temples and wrists with fresh lavender water. Quitting her chamber, she couldn't help wondering if Lord Maitland would remark upon the vast difference in her appearance tonight? And, for that vain thought, she didn't even chastise herself. This evening's soiree was the first such event she'd hosted since removing to the Arbor and it was vastly important that she look presentable for it. While married to William, she had hosted several such galas, the most ambitious being in honor of her late husband's elevation to the knighthood. But despite the reason behind any of the parties she'd undertaken for her husband, she had enjoyed none of them; in fact, had looked upon them as a duty, a duty she abhorred, especially after ascertaining the deplorable character of most of William's friends. Tonight was different. Despite the somewhat perfidious reason behind this event, she still felt proud. Proud of all that she had accomplished here at the Arbor, her home now. Which, of course, made it all the more imperative that the malicious vandals who were destroying it were apprehended tonight. Reaching the ground floor, Felicity stood near the top of the large hall and gazed about at each of her guests in turn. Which of them, she wondered, would prove to be the guilty party? Certainly not on the list of suspects were Squire and Mrs. Templeton, who were standing just inside the entry way engaged in conversation with their neighbors, the Hargraves. They all looked quite elegant this evening, the gentlemen dressed in somber tones, the ladies wearing gayer colors, with a modest smattering of jewels sparkling at their throats.

Felicity made her way across the room to greet her guests. "The Arbor is lovely, Mrs. Rhoades! I had no idea the farmhouse was quite so large, nor so grand,” said Mrs. Templeton, an ample woman with rather plain features. "Farm appears considerably improved since the property changed hands,” agreed her husband, the squire. "We've not yet met your guest of honor, the Earl of Maitland,” put in Mrs. Hargrave slyly, after Felicity had cordially greeted her. "I shall be delighted to present you to him,” Felicity replied with a smile, wondering if Lord Maitland was as yet aware that she had used his esteemed personage as the drawing card to lure her neighbors to the Arbor tonight? For them to have actually rubbed shoulders with a gentleman of such high rank would serve to elevate their stations for some time to come. "My girls are simply dying to be presented to the gentleman,” Mrs. Hargrave added. She cast a proud look at both her comely daughters, who at the moment were being singularly entertained by a posturing Mr. Chadwick. Following the woman's gaze, Felicity noted that both girls looked charming tonight, dressed in gowns similar in design to the one she wore, only theirs were plain white muslin with pale pink sashes, a style more befitting their youthful ages. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Mr. Chadwick. As a suspect, she could not rule him out. "I see the girls have met Mr. Chadwick,” she murmured. “He is quite a talented musician, you know. Perhaps we might persuade him to play for us later." Mrs. Hargrave's expression brightened. “There is to be dancing? How very splendid, Mrs. Rhoades! I simply must tell the girls! His lordship will surely join us then, will he not?" The woman was off before Felicity could reply. She moved toward the drawing room, spotted Mrs. Leads engaged in animated conversation with Constable Anderson. Felicity had not spoken with that man since the morning he questioned them about the dead body found near the stable. If memory served, Mrs. Leads had been quite interested in the murder that morning. She wondered what the pair of them had found to discuss now? Hovering near Constable Anderson was another man, whom Felicity did not recognize. Rather too plainly dressed to be thought Quality, Felicity decided he must be one of the constable's men. The slenderly built man was speaking with the Arbor's newest guest, Mr. Elsworth, who had arrived only this morning from London. By contrast, Elsworth was somewhat heavy-set and sported bushy gray side whiskers. Upon meeting him this morning, Felicity had been quite taken aback by his appearance. For a gentleman with such an elegant hand, she had expected a more elegant man. After properly greeting those of her guests clustered in the hall, Felicity paused on the threshold to the drawing room. It was ablaze with candlelight tonight and despite the rather shabby appearance of the furniture and the threadbare carpet, it looked quite grand. Standing before the row of long open windows that gave onto the terrace, the lace curtains beside him fluttering gently, was the elegant Earl of Maitland. Noting that the handsome gentleman was not alone, a stab of raw emotion gripped Felicity. The dark-haired young lady smiling adoringly up into his eyes was a stranger to her. Causing her further anguish was the fact that the pair seemed so engrossed in one another that were there

no one else in the room, they would neither one notice. Felicity worked to swallow the sickening feeling that welled up within her. The earl's betrothed—for that was who Felicity took the young lady to be— was undeniably attractive, in a mature sort of way. Trying hard not to stare at the young lady, Felicity knew she was failing miserably. Her appraising gaze took in every last detail of the brunette's shapely form. She wore an exquisite gown of pale green gauze, the skirt decorated with garlands of rosettes drawn up with darker green ribbons. The jewel-encrusted bodice of the gown was cut quite low, revealing two generous mounds of bosom that looked to have been verily stuffed into the dress, Felicity thought, blinking with astonishment at the brazen display. She swallowed tightly. No doubt, his lordship found that quite appealing. A sudden memory of his hand cupping her bare flesh flashed to mind. What an odious man he was! Not unlike her late husband in that regard. Thrusting her chin up, she advanced on into the room. But like a magnet, her eyes reverted once again to the handsome pair by the windows. Apparently Lord Maitland had just said something utterly fascinating, for the young lady's head was tilted to one side and she was smiling delightedly up into his eyes, her jet-black curls bouncing flirtatiously when she laughed. Felicity's nostrils flared afresh as she watched the earl lean over and whisper something else into the woman's dainty ear. Why, he actually appeared to be nibbling on it! A wave of revulsion flooded her as the pair dissolved into a fresh gale of shared laughter. Felicity worked to suppress the primitive emotions that had gripped her, but her efforts were to no avail. Lord Maitland, she told herself, was welcome to bring whomever he wished to the soiree tonight, after all this evening's assembly was his idea. Though, after he'd apprised her of the plan, he'd had nothing further to do with it. Flinging one last contemptuous look at the irksome pair, Felicity squared her shoulders and forced her attention elsewhere. No doubt the Earl of Maitland would not be the least bit of help to her tonight either. Pasting a smile upon her face, she caught the eye of old Mr. Tweed and his nurse Miss Hall seated side-by-side on the faded mulberry silk sofa. They looked freshly scrubbed tonight and, in the case of Mr. Tweed, exceptionally alert. The old gentleman generally took a long nap following tea and apparently this afternoon had been no exception. The frail gentleman lifted a feeble hand in welcome. "I hope you are enjoying yourself tonight, Mr. Tweed,” Felicity said pleasantly. She noted his watery eyes roaming quite freely over her form. She grinned when he said, “Ye’ look quite fetching tonight, Mrs. Rhoades." "Why, thank you, sir,” Felicity returned gaily. “May I get you something to drink?” She gazed about for Philips and spotted him across the room, looking quite splendid tonight in a pair of teal blue breeches, white stockings and a freshly laundered white shirt. At the moment, he was busy at the sideboard setting long-stemmed glasses of champagne onto a tray ... setting long-stemmed glasses of what onto a tray? Felicity's eyes widened as she forgot old Mr. Tweed entirely and instead made a bee line for Philips. She had only just reached the butler when a deep male voice spoke near her ear. "I took the liberty of bringing over several bottles from my cellar, Mrs. Rhoades." Felicity's head spun about. She worked to force down her recent anger with the earl, and to not notice the way he looked tonight ... nor the way he smelled, a delectable mixture of sandalwood and lime. He was wearing elegant black trousers, a finely-cut black coat over a charcoal-gray waistcoat. A neatly tied cravat spilled down the front of his tucked linen shirt. “I see,” she said tartly. Her lips pursed with annoyance.

Lord Maitland winked rakishly and lifted his long-stemmed glass in salute. “Despite the Friday-face you are wearing, Mrs. Rhoades, you look especially lovely tonight." Felicity's eyes narrowed. "Champagne can be quite good at loosening the tongue,” the earl went on, a grin lifting the corners of his sensuous mouth, prompting Felicity to wonder how many glasses of the sparkling stuff he'd already consumed tonight. “Perhaps you should have a glass,” he offered. "It is not my tongue that needs loosening, sir,” she snapped. She turned to address Philips. “What have you done with the nice fruit punch that I had Mrs. Allen make?" "The bowl is just there ... on the table, ma'am. But, if I may say so, most everyone seems to prefer his lordship's fine wine. This is the fourth bottle I've uncorked tonight." Felicity's eyes flashed angrily as she directed another look at Lord Maitland. When Philips stepped past them, the earl snatched a glass from the tray he carried and presented it to her with a flourish. Holding the earl's unyielding gaze, Felicity reluctantly took the glass and brought it to her lips. Apart from the bubbles dancing on the tip of her nose, the fruity-tasting liquid felt cool and tingly in her throat. “It's ... quite good,” she allowed. "I thought you would approve. Carry on. Philips,” the earl said, his elevated tone rich with humor. Philips gazed back at them and nodded. That his lips were also twitching further increased Felicity's ire. "So, what have you learned thus far about our guests this evening, Lord Maitland?” she asked tersely. “That being the primary aim of this little do." The earl gazed with interest about the drawing room, his eyes glossing right over the attractive brunette, Felicity noted, though even now that lady was blatantly staring at the pair of them. “I have learned that your newest lodger Mr. Elsworth is—" At that very second, they were set upon by the Pindiddle sisters. “La!” the elder Pindiddle said, the tight fringe of curls at her brow barely bobbing. “Mr. Chadwick has agreed to play the pianoforte for us, Mrs. Rhoades!" "Indeed,” Miss Lucinda exclaimed, the springy row of yellow-gray curls across her brow a bit less frizzy than her sister's. “I should like very much to dance if you don't mind!” Grinning ear to ear, she fluttered thin lashes at the tall handsome man standing beside Felicity. “You will stand up with me, will you not, Lord Maitland?" "Indeed, I should be delighted, Miss Lucinda,” he returned gallantly. He set his empty glass on the sideboard and turned to hail Philips. “Be a good fellow, Philips, and help me clear a space in the hall for dancing." Felicity headed back into the hall herself, her eyes still fixed on the handsome earl who, with the butler's help, were setting aside the few chairs and a small commode that would, no doubt, be in the way of the dancers. Mr. Chadwick had taken a seat before the pianoforte and a line, consisting of the Templetons, the Hargraves, Miss Priscilla Hargrave and Constable Anderson and the younger Hargrave girl paired with the unknown gentleman, had already formed. Felicity watched Lord Maitland and a rosy-cheeked Miss Lucinda take up a position at the end of the line. She wondered what the earl's betrothed would think of that?

Halfway through the lively country rig, Felicity was joined by the young lady in question herself. "He is quite attractive, is he not?" Felicity started. “Indeed,” she murmured. Then, forcing herself to be cordial, she added, “I am so pleased that you could join us tonight. Lady...?” It would not constitute so great a breach to elevate the young lady's position as to lower it by addressing her simply as Miss. "Do forgive me, Mrs. Rhoades. I am Lady Kenyon, a cousin of Elizabeth Templeton. I arrived quite unexpectedly on their doorstep last evening. The squire and Liz assured me you would not mind my following along tonight. I hope that to be the case." Felicity could not control the relief that washed over her, or the pleased smile that brightened her eyes. “Indeed, I am honored that you should want to join us, Lady Kenyon. I take it you have already met our guest of honor, the Earl of Maitland." Lady Kenyon's languid gaze rested on the earl at that moment. “Indeed. And I am exceedingly glad now that I acted on impulse and popped in on my cousin. One so often finds rusticating in the country a bit dreary." Felicity said nothing, but she knew a wicked urge to tell the lovely young woman that the object of her desire was already spoken for. She curbed the impulse, but feared that the gleam that shone in her eyes had grown somewhat smug as she and Lady Kenyon watched the dancers. She did not suppress a chuckle when she noticed that on the next turn, a beaming Miss Amelia stepped in and replaced her younger sister as Lord Maitland's partner. Apparently she was not the only one to notice the action, for very soon after an amused Philips paused near Felicity. “Perhaps I should push the Bath chair into the corridor, madam. It does not appear that either of them shall be needing it this evening." Felicity's eyes twinkled merrily. Which of the sisters had deemed it necessary to be wheeled to the party she did not know. She nodded assent to Philips even as a fresh sigh escaped her. The rarely used wheelchair was simply one more unsolved mystery among her odd assortment of lodgers. When the music had ground to a halt, Felicity watched Lord Maitland reach for yet another glass of the sparkling drink on the butler's tray. At the pianoforte, Mr. Chadwick launched into another tune, this one rather rhythmic and dreamy. "It's a waltz!” simultaneously cried Miss Lucinda and her sister. "Oh, do someone, please, dance it for us!” Miss Amelia exclaimed. Felicity gazed about, her eyes alighting on Lady Kenyon, who, standing near her cousin, was gazing expectantly at Lord Maitland. But, moments later, Felicity was startled by the sound of his deep voice near her ear. "Do you waltz, madam?" She slanted a look up into the earl's handsome face. Whether or not the champagne had loosened anyone else's tongue tonight she couldn't say, but it had certainly affected his. “You are asking me to stand up with you, sir?" His dark eyes sparkled mischievously as he gazed down upon her. “Permit me to say again how extraordinarily charming you look tonight, Mrs. Rhoades."

Despite the attractive gentleman being a bit foxed, Felicity could not help smiling her pleasure at his kind words. It was the first genuine smile she had favored him with all evening. “As do you, sir,” she replied softly. Her gaze slowly travelled the length of his masculine form, lingering in the vicinity of broad shoulders and strong chest, then down, down the full length of him and back up again to his eyes. Holding her appraising gaze, Maitland murmured, “My thoughts exactly, madam.” He put out a white-gloved hand. “Shall we?" Swallowing a sharp intake of breath, Felicity delicately placed her gloved fingertips in his palm. “I am ... not at all certain I remember how to waltz, sir,” she said. “It has been quite a long time since...” She bit her lip nervously as the handsome gentleman led her to the center of the floor. Once there, he placed a large hand at her back and turned her to face him. His dark gaze was intense as he addressed her in low, seductive tones. “I expect it has been quite a long time since you did ... other things, as well, madam; yet you seemed to experience no difficulty in remembering how.” His voice dropped another octave. “Dancing is a good deal like ... making love. A young lady has only to relax"— his lips curled rakishly—"and let the gentleman do the rest." Felicity fought off a sudden, uncharacteristic attack of maidenly vapours and worked to instead fix her attention on the rhythmic strains of the music. Had she been alone with Lord Maitland tonight, she feared she'd be unable to resist his magnetic charm. As it was, she suspected just getting through a single dance with him would prove difficult enough. "You dance remarkably well,” he said half way through the trying ordeal. “I daresay I am quite surprised." She drew back to gaze up at him. “Oh?" His dark eyes twinkled merrily as they met hers. “Talent such as yours, dear girl, should not be wasted.” With that, he drew her even closer to his chest and smoothly led her through a series of intricate steps. Felicity's eyes squeezed shut ‘til they'd pulled out of it. He was as masterful on the dance floor as he had been on the dirt floor in the greenhouse. She was inordinately grateful when the dance ended and he returned her safely to the sidelines. After that, Lord Maitland stood up with both the Hargrave girls, and yes, with the alluring Lady Kenyon. Twice. Soon afterward, Felicity decided it was time to adjourn to the dining chamber for a late supper. After all, they had thus far made no progress whatsoever in solving the Arbor mystery. And that was the primary aim tonight. Perhaps over supper, she or Lord Maitland could learn something of import. Since Felicity's staff of servants was so very small, she chose not to sit with her guests but instead to assist Philips and Mrs. Allen with serving the small meal. Etiquette had demanded that Lord Maitland escort the highest-ranking lady into the dining hall, that, of course, being Lady Kenyon, who, Felicity noted, remained happily seated beside the illustrious gentleman throughout the hour-long interlude. When everyone had enjoyed the simple repast, topped off by Felicity's favorite blackberry cream tarts, Lord Maitland at last took the lead and suggested the party retire to the verandah for a breath of fresh air. Once there, the gentlemen formed a knot near the steps, a few of them enjoying a smoke, all twirling glasses of rich dark brandy in their hands, one more luxury that Felicity assumed had come from the

Maitland cellar since she had never laid eyes on the stuff before. For the ladies, seating themselves delicately on either the chaise, the painted bench or a handful of cane-bottom chairs, Felicity served fresh cups of piping hot coffee. Walking several times past the cluster of gentlemen, Felicity was privy to bits and pieces of their conversation. Once she overheard Lord Maitland's deep baritone enlightening Mr. Templeton as to the work being done at Maitland. Her ears perked up when she heard the earl mention the new hot air heating system he was having installed at the estate. "On the order of the central heating system the Prince Regent enjoys at the Royal Pavilion in Brighton,” Maitland said. Felicity had heard of the modern innovation, but had never seen one close up, though, of course, she longed to. "Is such a thing safe?” inquired Mr. Hargrave. “What with a fire going so near the house and all." "Entirely safe,” Lord Maitland replied. “A servant is always on hand to feed the furnace and see that the temperature inside it remains constant. Once the desired state has been reached, the warmed air flows through a system of pipes to circulate throughout the house. Is quite effective.” He nodded with satisfaction. "And quite costly, I'll wager,” Mr. Templeton exclaimed, spewing a puff of smoke as the men around him laughed in agreement. Felicity yearned to hear more about that progressive new idea, and all the other new innovations that she was certain Lord Maitland was installing at his home, but she didn't dare interrupt the gentlemen. She was glad, however, when, at last, the earl remembered the real reason the guests had been invited to the Arbor and deftly steered the gentlemen toward the ladies at the opposite end of the porch. When the sexes had once again mingled, he expertly broached the topic of his choice with ease and aplomb. "I received a letter from my Aunt Poole recently,” he said, directing a candid gaze at Mrs. Leads. “I recall the two of you were acquainted." The elderly woman nodded agreeably. “Indeed, we are. Lady Poole is a frequent caller at my home in London." "Ah, then certainly you are aware of Aunt Poole's interest in the occult?" Felicity's breath froze in her throat as she took a quick survey of her lodgers, gauging their reactions to that remark. To her surprise, they every last one seemed to sit up a bit straighter, including old Mr. Tweed! Oddly enough, she realized now that Mr. Elsworth was not among the guests on the porch, but since that gentleman had only just arrived this morning, she did not suspect him anyhow. "When I was a boy,” Maitland went on, “my Aunt Poole used to entertain my cousins and myself for hours with ghoulish tales of apparitions and whatnot. I don't suppose you know any such stories, do you, Mrs. Leads?" The woman studied him intently. “I was given to understand that you share in your aunt's fascination with the supernatural, Lord Maitland,” she said in a measured tone. The earl shrugged. “I daresay it was only a passing fancy with me. I expect there have been dozens of

fresh sightings since I witnessed the Brown Lady at Houghton Hall." "Oh-h-h!” The Hargrave girls exclaimed simultaneously. “Do tell us more, Lord Maitland!" "Yes, please do,” Lady Kenyon put in, a flirtatious tilt to her chin. She patted a place beside her on the painted bench where she sat, and smiled with satisfaction when the tall gentleman strolled over and sat down beside her. Felicity forced down her ire in favor of what she hoped would soon become a lively discussion among her guests. Oddly enough, it was Mr. Hargrave who spoke up first. “I understand the Old Priory at Yattendon is haunted by a ghost." "Quite a charming one,” his wife added. “She always appears dressed in black watered silk." "And leads rectors’ wives to undiscovered hen's nests when there are no eggs in the house,” her husband concluded jovially. Everyone laughed at that, then, not to be outdone, Constable Anderson said, “Certainly we are all familiar hereabouts with the Uffington White Horse." Several nodded assent, while it was Felicity who asked, “The what?" Mr. Hargrave turned a smile on his hostess. “Some say it is the site of St. George's triumph. Dragon Hill, you know. The outline of a white horse is cut clean through the turf to chalkland." "Oh, my,” Felicity murmured. "One is to stand in the center of the horse's eye,” put in young Miss Hargrave, “and make a wish." "Hmmm,” Felicity nodded. Suddenly Mr. Chadwick said solemnly, “A great deal of ghostly activity has been reported near here at Farmingdon." Felicity shot a glance at Lord Maitland, but was irked to note that once again he was paying more attention to the lovely Lady Kenyon than the important matter at hand. “Please, do go on, Mr. Chadwick,” she said, her tone a trifle shrill, hoping to arrest the earl's attention. Before Mr. Chadwick spoke again, however, she thought she noted him cast a surreptitious glance at Mrs. Leads, but, in the dim light on the verandah she couldn't be certain. "A headless ghost has been seen at Oriel Cottage,” Mr. Chadwick announced gravely. A hush fell over the assembled guests, then Miss Hargrave said, “Well, I think the most romantic story I've ever heard is also about a headless ghost.” She leaned forward, her eyes bright. “He travels the highway in search of his lost bride. It is said that be brandishes a huge pistol and that he waylays carriages and forces the occupants to the ground. Then he peers inside in search of his bride.” She glanced about at her now very rapt audience, then added, “Once, he kidnapped a young lady and she was never seen or heard from again." "That is quite enough, Priscilla,” said the girl's mother. “Lord Maitland will think you quite dim-witted, and of course,” she laughed nervously, “that is not at all the case.” She cast a peevish glance at the preoccupied earl.

"But the story is true, Mama,” Miss Hargrave insisted. "Rubbish,” muttered Mr. Templeton. He rose to his feet. “Come along, Elizabeth, it is time we took our leave." Mrs. Templeton stood, and directed a look at her beautiful cousin, Lady Kenyon. “Mr. Templeton is ready to leave now, Laura,” she said quietly. "Oh, must we?” Lady Kenyon's dark eyes never left Lord Maitland's face. “It is quite early yet. In Town, a party rarely breaks up before dawn. But, then, I forget, I am in the country now, aren't I?” She smiled beguilingly at her companion, who was already on his feet. He extended a hand to Lady Kenyon. "You will see me to my carriage, will you not, Lord Maitland?" He sketched a polite bow. “I would be most honored, my lady" "Oh, dear.” Lady Kenyon gazed fretfully about her. “I have left my shawl inside. I shall simply have to go and look for it, it is quite dear to me. Do you and Mr. Templeton go on ahead, Elizabeth. I expect I can persuade Lord Maitland to—" "Here is her ladyship's shawl.” Philips stepped from the shadows and presented the silken affair to the chagrined young woman. "Oh,” she silently mouthed. After the farewells had all been said, Felicity watched the foursome advance down the steps and toward the drive. Their exit prompted others of the party to also leave: Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave, the constable and his man. Felicity was a bit sorry to see them depart, but what could she say to it? Thus far, it appeared Lord Maitland's idea had not been the least bit successful. No new light had been shed on the Arbor mystery tonight. Yet, when the earl returned to the verandah and the resident Arbor guests, who were all still seated on the porch, he surprised Felicity by broaching the charged topic once again. "You might be interested to learn, Mrs. Rhoades,” he said, directing a steady gaze at her, “that according to my Aunt Poole, there is a legend associated with Rhoades Arbor." Felicity started. “A legend?" "A tale of buried treasure, actually." An audible intake of breath coming from the assembled guests accompanied the erratic lurch of Felicity's stomach. Apparently she had been dead wrong about Lord Maitland's intentions tonight. Apparently he was as determined as she to get to the bottom of this. Apparently he meant to do so now. A satisfied set to her mouth, she settled back to watch the proceedings with renewed interest.

Chapter Fifteen "According to the tale,” Lord Maitland went on, “the treasure is guarded by a huge black raven." Felicity nearly choked. Why had the earl not told her of this earlier? Her eyes wide, she gazed from one to the other of her lodgers in turn. No one seemed so alarmed as she. Not even the Pindiddles. Every last one of them were listening raptly, even old Mr. Tweed! "When the black bird has chosen who shall unearth the treasure,” the infuriating earl said, “it takes human form and chants a rhyme." "A-a rhyme?” Felicity fought to control the rapid thumping of her heart. "'If wealthy and wise ye would be, take up your spade and follow me,'” Lord Maitland quoted matter-of-factly. A palpable silence followed. Except for the thunderous pounding in Felicity's chest, the air on the porch hung as heavy as that found in a graveyard at midnight. At length, Felicity gave a nervous little laugh. “How you do go on, Lord Maitland. I shudder to think what foolish notions such a tale could inspire.” She rose jerkily to her feet. “Of course, not a one of us here believes such nonsense.” She cast a wild gaze about. “D-do we? No, of course not!” She turned another terrified look on Lord Maitland, her eyes begging him to retract what he'd just said, or at least admit that he'd fabricated it; that there was not a shred of truth to it! Instead, he simply took a small step backward. “Well, then. I have quite enjoyed myself this evening, Mrs. Rhoades. If you will excuse me, I feel near to exhaustion and I have a great deal of work awaiting me at Maitland tomorrow. Good night.” He sketched a polite bow, then with no further word, not even so much as a parting look at Felicity! he disappeared into the house. She gulped her alarm, then turned once again toward the semicircle of guests seated mutely before her. Mrs. Leads was the first to spring to her feet. “It was indeed a lovely party, Mrs. Rhoades,” she said shrilly. “But, I fear I am also fagged to death. Good night.” She scurried into the house with both the Pindiddles and Mr. Chadwick close on her heels. Right behind them, Miss Hall also seemed in quite a hurry to assist doddering old Mr. Tweed inside. Felicity watched in horror as the small parade filed past her. “Oh, dear,” she breathed helplessly. What would the Arbor grounds look like tomorrow? She glanced anxiously about for Philips, but apparently even he, too, had mysteriously disappeared. “Oh, no. Not Philips!" In a daze, Felicity wandered back into the house. From abovestairs, she could hear the muffled sounds of door latches clinking into place as her guests entered their respective bedchambers. She fervently hoped they all remained sequestered within them until the morrow. Exhaling another frustrated breath, Felicity saw nothing for it but to also turn in for the night. Woodenly, she set about extinguishing the candles in the drawing room and the hall herself since Philips was nowhere to be seen. When she'd completed the task, she nestled a single flickering candle in a branch and was

about to ascend the front stairwell to her bedchamber when a shadowy figure stepped from the corridor to block her path. "I beg a private word with you, Lady Newbury." Stunned speechless, Felicity stared numbly at the man. When, at length his identity registered in her brain, she muttered, “Mr. Elsworth." "You want we should talk right here?” he asked roughly. "No.” Spinning about, Felicity led the way back into the drawing room and closed the door behind her. Then she set the candle down on a table and turned to face the man. “Who are you and what do you want?” she demanded icily. Elsworth snorted. In the eerie light, his rude features and bushy side whiskers gave him a grotesque appearance. “You know what I want. Word is, your late husband, Billy-boy, diverted a veritable fortune of Rothschild's gold. I want what's due me." Felicity glared at him. “I haven't the slightest notion what you are talking about. Whatever fortune William had in his possession went to the bottom of the sea along with him." "Ain't the way I heard it. Besides, what about the millions he amassed before he died? If he died." "Of course, William is dead!" "Ship was never recovered. Bodies never found." Felicity's lips pressed together firmly. “As you well know, ships that have sunk to the bottom of the Channel are very rarely raised. And if the ship did not go down, I hardly think it likely that an entire crew and a cargo of two hundred wounded men could have disappeared without a trace,” she added frostily. "Ah, yes, the gallant Sir William and his voyages of mercy.” The man pulled at his side whiskers thoughtfully. “Billy-boy was quite the inventive sort, weren't he? To this day, I scarce think anyone was the wiser. Least of all, the bloody English. Bumbling Prince and his Tory cabinet all thought William Newbury was the poorman's savior, risking his own life to save that of his wounded countrymen. Quite a clever ruse, wouldn't you agree, my lady?" "What do you want, Mr. Elsworth? My husband is dead and gone and I assure you he left none of his ill-gotten gain behind. Even if William did have a fortune, which I assure you he did not, I would have turned whatever remained of it over to the authorities. I have made it my mission in life to see that nothing that belonged to my husband, including his name, survives him." Elsworth snorted. “That supposed to explain why you call yourself, Mrs. what-ever-it-is?" "I am Mrs. Rhoades, and I insist that you leave my home at once." "I ain't ready to leave!” the man sputtered angrily, so angrily that Felicity gave a little gasp of alarm. She jumped back when the man seemed to make a lunge for her, but he was only after the candlestick, which he snatched up and proceeded to make his way about the room lighting the few candle stubs that remained upright in the wall sconces. "Wh-what are you doing?” Felicity cried, fearful that perhaps the man meant to set the house on fire. "I ain't searched this room yet."

"Searched? But, there is nothing...” she blanched, “are you saying that you have been digging up my garden in search of the treasure?" Elsworth flung a puzzled gaze her way. “Take me for a fool, do you?” He yanked open several drawers from the sideboard and rifled through them. “William wouldn't be stupid enough to bury it, that's for sure." Felicity drew a bit closer to the man. “Then what do you think to find here, Mr. Elsworth?" "The list! Give over the list and I shall be on my way!” He spun about and headed for the revolving bookcase, where he began to toss books helter-skelter onto the floor. "Mr. Elsworth, I assure you, I haven't the least notion what you are talking about.” Felicity cast a worried gaze at the mess he was making in the center of the drawing room floor. "I done searched your quarters, and I found nothing. It must be hidden in here." "There is nothing hidden anywhere in this house, Mr. Elsworth." "Then give me the names!" "Names?” Bewildered, Felicity merely wrung her hands together. “Mr. Elsworth, please—" "I intend to take up where William Newbury left off! I need the list of Frenchmen he dealt with ... his contacts; a few Englishmen among them, I expect." Felicity saw red. "Traitors! Every last one of them traitors! I have no such list and even if I did, I would not give it to you! If you do not leave at once, Mr. Elsworth, I shall send for the constable!" Just then, a disturbance arose behind them, near the open drawing room windows. "That won't be necessary, Mrs. Rhoades, er, that is, Lady Newbury." Felicity spun around in time to see Constable Anderson and his man step through the open window and into the room. Both men were brandishing pistols. At the same instant, Felicity felt something cold and hard being jabbed into her back. Behind her, the man Elsworth coiled a rough arm around her neck and pulled her toward him. "I'll kill her,” he sputtered. "Oh-h...” A gasp of alarm escaped Felicity. Her fingers clutched at Elsworth's arm, now squeezing the very breath from her throat. "I don't think so,” came another male voice from the shadows. Felicity instantly recognized Philips. She heard a thump, then felt Elsworth sag against her. She sprang away just as he sprawled limply to the floor behind her. "Philips, where have you been?” she cried. Constable Anderson and his man ran toward them. “Well take over from here, ma'am.” The two men made haste to bind Elsworth's wrists and feet, the constable talking all the while. “Don't think you'll be bothered with interlopers again, Mrs. Rhoades. This one here's a murderer and a thief." "Murderer?” Felicity breathed. She stared at the prone figure of Mr. Elsworth. She really should have taken the time to check his references.

"Yes, ma'am. Philips here alerted us when the reprobate showed up at the Arbor. It was Elsworth what killed the Gypsy, though as it turned out, the man weren't no Gypsy. Seems he and Elsworth were on the same trail, that is, they both wanted the same thing from ... from your late husband, ma'am.” The constable stood up and politely touched the brim of his hat. “We be off now, ma'am. Lieutenant Philips will answer any further questions ye’ might have. Lovely party, ma'am." Still in a daze, Felicity turned to Philips. "Lieutenant?" Philips nodded solemnly. “I am a detective with the Bow Street Police in London, Mrs. Rhoades." Blinking back her surprise, Felicity reached for the arm of the sofa for support. “I had no idea, Philips; why did you not—" "Please forgive me for deceiving you, madam. When I arrived on your doorstep last spring, I hadn't come to answer your advertisement for a butler, truth is ... well, when you mistook me for a candidate, I looked on it as the perfect opportunity." Wonder still shining in her eyes, Felicity gazed up at him. “The perfect opportunity for what, Philips?" Philips looked away, then back at her. “I had vowed to avenge my brother's death by bringing William Newbury to justice, madam. You see, your late husband's activities came to the attention of the authorities some time ago. When he was still alive, I was one of the detectives assigned to the investigation. When I learned that my brother was on board the ship that went down ... well, to say truth, I was not entirely convinced that the blackguard Newbury, if you'll pardon me for speaking ill of the dead, madam..." "That's quite all right, Philips, please, do go on." Philips inhaled a long breath then began afresh. “I was not certain your late husband had, indeed, gone down with the ship, madam. Then when you changed your name ... well..." "Are you saying, I have also been under suspicion?" Philips nodded slowly. “Though your name was cleared long ago, Mrs. Rhoades. But I had to see for myself that William Newbury was no longer alive, that he was not hiding here. That is why I came." "Oh, Philips.” Felicity's hands flew to cover her mouth. “I am so sorry about your brother,” she murmured. "Thank you, madam.” When Philips had sufficiently regained himself, he added, “It was the least I could do for my brother.” He paused, then said, “I am more than satisfied now that you were never involved with your husband's nefarious activities, Mrs. Rhoades." A small smile wavered across Felicity's face. “Thank you, Philips. I am most relieved to hear you say that. In turn, I wish I could say something to ease the pain of your loss.” Feeling a sad rush of tears suddenly cloud her vision, she blinked them away. "My brother died a hero." "I am certain of it,” Felicity said softly. She watched as Philips knelt to gather up the books that had been carelessly strewn about the floor. “No, please,” she said, dropping to her knees beside him. “You mustn't.” She smiled ruefully. “I expect I shall be faced with finding myself a new butler now." Philips’ tone was gentle. “I shan't be leaving yet, madam."

"No?” Felicity gazed at him. He continued to gather up the books and then to methodically reshelve them. “There's still the matter of ... the digging." "Oh-h-h.” She rolled her eyes. “I had quite forgot about that.” She exhaled a frustrated breath. “I own I simply cannot think further on it tonight.” She moved across the room and began to absently extinguish the red-gold flames that were again sputtering in the sconces along the wall. "Allow me to do that for you, madam. And, you have my word that I shall also keep an eye out for the mischief-makers." "Whatever would I do without you, Philips?" "Good night, madam." At last, in the darkened hallway abovestairs, Felicity gazed toward Lord Maitland's bedchamber. That gentleman must have been prodigiously tired this evening to have slept clean through the commotion belowstairs. Still, she was glad he had, else her true identity would now be known to him. As it was, he had no idea that two of the many puzzles at the Arbor had come unraveled tonight: who had killed the Gypsy and who was Philips. She supposed whatever the earl had learned about Mr. Elsworth didn't signify now. Yet, she couldn't help feeling a prick of curiosity as to what it might have been.

Chapter Sixteen "I have invited the vicar, Mr. Stevens, to the Arbor for dinner this evening,” Felicity told Lord Maitland three mornings later. Standing in the hall, the earl was drawing on his gloves in preparation to depart for the day. “I should like very much for you to be on hand,” she added crisply. A preoccupied expression on his face, the Earl of Maitland turned a gaze on her. “I have a full day ahead of me, Mrs. Rhoades. Apart from the furnace being installed for the forced-air heating system this morning, I've a wood carver coming to begin work on the fireplace surround in the drawing room. In addition to that, plasterers and stuccoists are still underfoot. Scaffolding is in everyone's way." "Be that as it may, sir,” Felicity returned tartly, “I have asked the good vicar to speak to my guests this evening on a subject that I believe even you will find enlightening." Maitland cocked a brow. “Very well. I shall do my best to oblige, Mrs. Rhoades.” He inclined his dark head ever so slightly before taking himself off. Her chin still held aloft, Felicity watched her esteemed guest depart. Since the night of the party, he had barely spoken to her. Which was just as well, she decided, keeping a civil tongue in her head where he was concerned was very nigh beyond her capabilities at the moment. The first morning after the party, the Arbor grounds could have easily been mistook for an excavation site. Yesterday the destruction had been even worse, and this morning, Felicity had found a score of new places in need of regard. The blame for all of this new destruction, Felicity lay solely at Lord Maitland's feet. Had he not planted that absurd notion in everyone's head about buried treasure here, none of this would have happened. As it was, poor Philips was working like a veritable slave in order to stay abreast of the mischief and Felicity felt simply horrid about it, especially when one took into account that he wasn't even a bona fide servant. She had begun to wonder if her brother Robert didn't have the right of it all along. Rhoades Arbor could have aptly been called Felicity's Folly from the start. "I daresay there is not a clump of earth left unturned,” she had complained to Philips that first morning after the party. “All of my lodgers must have been up all night long digging. I wonder that they did not trip over one another!" "Or into the trenches one another had dug,” Philips had replied drolly. And did Lord Maitland care? Felicity continued to angrily watch that gentleman as he climbed atop the bench of his curricle this morning. Apparently not a jot. The lofty earl had not even broached the subject. Why, the man must be blind not to have noticed the devastation as he sallied back and forth from the house each day. It was beyond maddening to Felicity, it was infuriating. Consequently, she had decided to take matters into her own hands once again. With the result that tonight, following dinner, Mr. Stevens would address the Arbor guests on the topic of false prophets and fortune tellers, and the sin of subscribing to superstitious beliefs. Felicity had high hopes that the man of God's words would make a vivid impression on her guests’ minds and result in the cessation of the infernal digging! That night at dinner, Felicity's vexation with the irritating earl increased by the second, as throughout the overlong meal, his place at the table remained conspicuously vacant. Just before the vicar rose to speak, she slipped from the room to anxiously inquire of Philips if he had yet seen the earl this evening?

"No, madam. I've not laid eyes on the gentleman." Felicity exhaled an exasperated sigh. It was not as if she continually asked favors of the man. One would think that given these particular circumstances he could see fit to honor her simple request just this once to join them for dinner. By the time Mr. Stevens had concluded his exceedingly enlightening talk, the errant earl had yet to put in an appearance. Felicity was nigh on furious with the nobleman. To her mind, the vicar's points had been exceptionally well made, and the examples he'd given regarding the effects of erring, excellent. If Lord Maitland had heard the talk, or even a small part of it, she seriously doubted that he, or anyone, could continue to believe in supernatural phenomena. That nearly every last one of her guests had asked questions of the pious man, leading him to expound even further upon the church's view on such matters, had pleased her immeasurably. It all made perfect sense to her, and judging from the nods and murmurs of agreement amongst her lodgers, it had also struck a chord with them. For which, she thanked the dear Lord in heaven. As her lodgers filed from the dining chamber, Felicity hurried to the top of the room to express her sincere gratitude to the good vicar for coming. "You are quite welcome, Mrs. Rhoades,” the fresh-faced young man said. He was of a slender build, with a wise look about him, though he was only a few years older than Felicity herself. Moments later, Mr. Stevens again smiled his pleasure when Felicity pressed a basket containing a variety of Mrs. Allen's flaky pastries and three jars of fresh blackberry preserves into his hand. "I should be happy to come again, Mrs. Rhoades, if you should need me. And ... if you don't mind, that is, if I might have your permission to ... to—” The young man seemed to grow a trifle nervous, glancing down at the tops of his boots, running a finger along the inside of his high collar. After a lengthy pause, he said, “Your father was quite an inspiration to me when I was a young man just starting out, Mrs. Rhoades. He often mentioned you ... that is, you and your brother. What I mean to say is, I was quite pleased to discover that you ... that you now reside in this area,” he concluded, his face having grown a shade pinker than it had been at the outset. "Robert lives near here, as well,” Felicity hastened to add. Having guessed where the gentleman's hesitant comments were leading, she decided it best to escort him to the front walk where his horse and gig awaited before he plucked up the courage to propose to her. Near the drive, they were obliged to step ‘ round an especially deep hole that had appeared there only this morning. "Oh, my,” the young vicar said, eyeing the muddy trench, “is this one of the...?" Felicity nodded sadly. “I'm afraid it is. There are a score of other places, each as large and equally as conspicuous." The gentleman's brow furrowed solemnly. “God willing, Mrs. Rhoades, my talk tonight will signal the end of the devil's work here." "I have every confidence that it will, sir. I especially liked your reference to the people being bewitched by sorcerers. From the book of Acts, was it not?" The young man fairly beamed. “Your biblical knowledge is most impressive, madam." "Well"—Felicity smiled weakly—"I am a vicar's daughter. I am certain your talk will turn the tide, Mr. Stevens."

"I pray God will forgive the sinner,” the vicar murmured. "Thank you, sir.” And, God grant me the courage to do likewise, Felicity added to herself. After a final farewell to the vicar, Felicity made her way back up the path to the house. Noting that lights shone from nearly every last window of the half-timbered building, both above and below stairs, satisfaction swelled her breast. Surely, that meant her lodgers were each safely inside and preparing to retire for the night. She glanced toward Lord Maitland's bedchamber window and sure enough, a light flickered there, as well. Only that sight caused her stomach muscles to tighten with renewed aggravation. Perhaps it was just as well she hadn't met up with that gentleman tonight, for in her present state, she'd very likely find it difficult to behave as cordially to the earl as she ought. In an effort to calm herself even further, Felicity decided to sit a bit on the verandah. She needed a respite from the turmoil that had plagued her these past weeks. Inhaling a deep breath of the fresh night air, she eased onto the pretty painted bench Lord Maitland had brought over and curled her legs up under her. She felt some tension relax when the sweet scent of honeysuckle and roses drifted toward her from the opposite end of the porch. How still and peaceful it was here now. She gazed up at the dark velvet sky dotted thither and yon with tiny pinpricks of bright light. How she wished it might remain this way forever. It had been close on a month now since the first of her guests had taken up residence at the Arbor, but, she owned, it felt a good deal longer. She thought back to when old Mr. Tweed arrived, and then Mrs. Leads. The next to appear at her doorstep was Lord Maitland. Her back stiffened at that thought. The odd occurrences had actually begun with his arrival, beginning with his absurd tale about the headless horseman. Suddenly, a shiver of apprehension ran up her spine as she recalled the legend that young Miss Hargrave had told the night of the party, about the headless horseman who waylaid carriages in search of his lost bride. Mulling the story over, she nibbled thoughtfully on her lower lip. The facts surrounding that tale were very similar to Lord Maitland's experience. Had he noted the similarity, she wondered? She considered rapping at his door just now to ask him. Since he had missed dinner altogether this evening, no doubt he was feeling quite peckish. She could take a tray up, or simply offer to fetch something for him. Feeling a fresh surge of anger toward the gentleman wash over her, she thrust the idea aside. If he desired something to eat, he had only to ask. She worked to turn her mind to other, less irritating, topics, but for some reason, her thoughts seemed determined to remain fixed on the aggravating earl. Her feelings toward the gentleman had travelled quite a distance since she first met him. In the beginning, she had found him arrestingly attractive. Apart from that, he'd been the first man she'd ever known who'd given a care for her well-being, even offering to protect her from her volatile brother. She had to admit that for the most part, Lord Maitland had been all that was kind. She had greatly enjoyed his company those few evenings they had spent right here, quietly talking to one another. And, of course, how could she forget those now infamous moments spent alone with him in the greenhouse? Feeling her cheeks flush scarlet, she covered her flaming face with both hands. He had overset her equally as much the evening he'd asked her to play a piece for him. Once again, her eyes squeezed shut with remembered agony ... or was it pleasure? Oh, why did she feel such a strong pull toward the gentleman? A tearful sigh escaped her. Her feelings toward him were a mix and stir of confusion. How could she continue to miss him and feel angry with him all at the same time? Had she judged him unfairly? After all, he had offered to help her sort out the puzzle, and he had attempted to help, albeit in his own peculiar

way. It was also true that at the same time, he was busy with his work at Maitland. His work was of great import to him, as important to him as the renovation of Rhoades Arbor had been to her. She gazed upward toward his chamber again. Perhaps it had been wrong of her to expect him to drop everything and do as she asked tonight. No matter how badly she wished it. At length, Felicity rose to her feet. The hour was late and all her cogitation had wearied her. Inside the hall, she latched the front door and silently moved through the darkened house toward the back stairs. Upon reaching the first landing, however, a muffled ruckus coming from outdoors brought her to an abrupt standstill. Her breath grew ragged as she paused to listen. The din continued. Unable to halt the fury that began to boil inside her, Felicity flew back down the stairs and flung open the door that gave onto the covered walk that led to the wash house. Whomever was causing the disturbance tonight would have to answer to her! Though it was quite dark outside, Felicity could still make out the shadowy form of a man standing with his back to her near the wash house. He was leaning forward, but it was too dark to see precisely what he was doing, although judging from the scraping noises he was making, it was not too great a stretch to conclude that he was digging. In a blind rage, Felicity lunged at him, flinging the full weight of her body against his back, her arms clamped rightly about his neck, her legs straddling him pig-a-back. Like a woman gone mad, she clung tenaciously to him, her fingernails clawing angrily at his throat and chest. “I've caught you now!” she cried. “You shan't get away from me, you shan't!" The sheer unexpectedness of the attack was so startling to the Earl of Maitland that he was unable to say a thing. Instead, he reacted as any trained infantryman would. He grasped the attacker behind him with one strong arm and easily flung the exceedingly lightweight body over his shoulder and was about to hurl the attacker to the ground when he realized just how very delicate and small-boned the enemy was. "M-mrs. Rhoades,” he muttered, when recognition hit him. The absurdity of the situation soon followed. Grateful he hadn't hurled the young lady to the ground, but had instead managed to encircle her waist, he now stood with her squirming body clutched firmly to his side. "Let go of me! I shall kill you; I shall!" Lord Maitland's eyes crinkled at the corners. “Had I any inkling that missing dinner would overset you to such a degree, Mrs. Rhoades, I assure you I would have been on hand." "Oh! You are a vile man! I hate you!" When her protests has lessened somewhat, Maitland set her down on her feet, but still kept a tight grip on her arms with both hands. Grinning down into her upturned face, it became evident to him that not all her anger had yet abated. On impulse, he drew her into his chest and wrapped his arms tightly about her. “I shall restrain you until I deem it safe to let you go,” he declared, his tone laced with amusement. "Oh!” Felicity fought against him, her back arching as she worked to free herself. “You are all that is cruel. I hate you! I swear, I do!" Laughter bubbled up inside Maitland. “You don't hate me, peagoose. You...” Still holding his squirming captive tightly, he leaned to nuzzle her tousled hair with his nose. “Hmmm. Your hair smells of lavender again."

The quick intake of her breath accompanied the shudder of longing that quickened within him. Damn! Would he never cease wanting the chit? He had hoped his feverish activity of late would obliterate the fierce desire he felt for the delectable little innkeep, but instead, his longing for her had been eating at him like an obsession. It had heated up again the night of the party when he'd held her in his arms as they danced. She'd looked a vision of loveliness that night; all creamy skin, golden hair and alluring turquoise eyes. In his arms as they'd waltzed, she'd felt like an angel, floating effortlessly with him as their feet glided in perfect concert across the floor. He had wanted her so fiercely that night he could hardly bear it. In fact, the only way he could bear it was to flirt shamelessly with the rather vulgar Lady Kenyon instead; and then take himself off earlier than the other guests for fear of what he might do if left alone with the tempting Mrs. Rhoades afterward. The ache to taste her lips even now burned like hot coals within him. "Let go of me!" He heard her cry again. Maitland responded by setting his jaws angrily and thrusting her from him as if she were poison itself. "I trust you can conduct yourself in a rational manner now,” he spat out, though a smoldering gaze was still trained on her lips. Felicity pressed hers together as she glared up at him, her hands busily straightening the bodice, and then the long skirt of her gown. She primly brushed recalcitrant locks of gleaming golden hair from her brow. “I am sorry I mistook you for the vandal. I thought you were already abed. It did not occur to me that you would be prowling about outdoors." "I was not prowling about." She glared at him accusingly. “Well then, what were you doing?" Maitland's eyes narrowed. “I was attempting to scrape clots of mud from my boots before I entered the house. There appears to have been a ... good deal of ... digging going on hereabouts." Felicity folded her arms across her chest. “And who do we have to thank for that?” she asked archly. Maitland's jaws ground together. For a farthing, for less than a farthing, he'd gather her again into his arms and kiss that smug look right off her lips. He worked to drive that compulsion from his mind. Apparently Mrs. Rhoades was holding him responsible for the additional damage that'd been done to the Arbor grounds. Maitland's nostrils flared afresh. Well, perhaps he was partly to blame. He should not have so recklessly blurted out the contents of his Aunt Poole's letter in front of everyone that night on the verandah. Apparently he'd just tramped through the results of his own thoughtlessness. Quirking a brow, he finally said, “I am feeling quite peckish tonight, Mrs. Rhoades. If anything remains from the dinner I missed tonight, I should be most grateful for a scrap of it." He watched her chin shoot up. “A place was set for you at table, sir. And went begging." "I was unavoidably detained,” he retorted angrily. “One of my workmen fell from the scaffolding just as I was preparing to leave. I felt obliged to drive the man into Reading to consult with a doctor." "Oh,” Felicity murmured. With some satisfaction, Maitland noted the veriest hint of contriteness soften her pretty features. “I'm very sorry. Is he...?"

"Unharmed. Aside from a broken leg and one or two cracked ribs. Unfortunately, it was a pile of lumber that broke the man's fall." Mrs. Rhoades was silent for a moment longer, then she said, “I expect there is food aplenty in the kitchen, my lord."

Chapter Seventeen In the middle of the next morning Philips delivered the daily mail to Felicity. Apart from a handful of final reckonings, one from the company where she'd ordered the paper for the suite of rooms that Mr. Elsworth had occupied for less than a day, and another for lumber and nails that Philips had used to repair the sable loft, there was a welcome letter of introduction from a prospective lodger and a franked one from a Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds. At first glance, the woman's name did not register with Felicity, but once she'd begun to peruse the letter, she realized the lady was the ‘expert’ that Lord Maitland's aunt had recommended she consult in regard to the mysterious happenings at the Arbor. Felicity's heart beat faster as she read, and then reread, the woman's words. Oddly enough, it appeared that Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds had already investigated the buried treasure legend here, back when the property had been known as Newbury Farm. At the time of her investigation, the woman said, the farmhouse had been unoccupied and the grounds quite overgrown, though “with an interesting array of unusual vegetation.” For some reason, that sentence gave Felicity pause, though at the moment, she couldn't think why. Nonetheless, Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds said she'd found nothing to substantiate a claim of buried treasure. At the outset, the news filled Felicity with joy. Then, she reread the post script, in which Lady Emma asked that her name not be revealed to anyone in regard to her findings at Newbury Farm. She'd not yet had a chance to officially file her report with the Psychical Research Society in London. "I generally do not reveal my findings until the report has been published in the P.R.S. Journal, but in this case, I decided to make an exception. Consequently, I must ask your cooperation in protecting my identity, Mrs. Rhoades. Thanking you in advance, I remain ... your faithful servant, etc., etc." Her mind whirling with fresh questions, Felicity folded up the letter and slipped it into the pocket of her apron. That Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds would give her permission to reveal the outcome of her findings but to not reveal the identity of the investigator who had drawn the conclusion seemed extraordinarily odd to her. What good would telling her lodgers that no treasure existed if she did not have it on good authority that the claim was true? And what could it possibly matter to anyone here that the outcome of Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds’ investigation was announced before the report was officially filed with the society? The woman had indicated in her letter that Lord Maitland had said the situation here had become intolerable. Her eyes narrowing with suspicion, Felicity unfolded the letter again and read it through once more. What if Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds were not being entirely truthful, she asked herself? What if there really were a treasure buried here and by putting out the opposite conclusion, the woman could continue to search, to dig, for the treasure herself, unfettered by other searchers? Mulling this possibility over, Felicity went about her duties that morning in a bit of a daze. If Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds were indeed convinced that a fortune was buried on the Arbor grounds, then why was the woman not here, now, digging for the gold? On the other hand, if she had already found the treasure, and did not want anyone to know about the find, then why let on that she knew anything of it in the first place? Why tell anyone that she had even investigated the matter? The more Felicity thought about it, the more convinced she became that the expert, Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds, did, in fact, believe that the treasure existed, and by putting out the word that it did not, she hoped to throw those who were already searching for it off the scent. She further decided that by

publicly announcing the expert's conclusion, she would be playing right into the devious woman's hands. Felicity spent the bulk of that day trying to decide what she should do about the pressing matter now? Three days ago, she'd have wasted no time at all in blurting out the news to her lodgers. That there had been no new places dug up this morning, however, led her to believe that perhaps the good vicar's talk last evening had done the trick. Perhaps she no longer needed the official findings of a nameless authority in psychical matters to seal the coffin. Perhaps the matter had already been resolved. Later that afternoon, it occurred to Felicity that since Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds was not now a guest at the Arbor, and thus had not heard the clergyman's words last evening, that could mean that the woman might still be planning to run the fox to ground herself at some future date. A fresh stab of anxiety overtook her at this point, but, almost as quickly, the solution to the new dilemma hit her. She had simply to never invite Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds to reside at the Arbor! A smug look on her face as she delivered an arm load of soiled linen to Alice in the washhouse, she congratulated herself once again for having the superior business sense to demand impeccable references from her guests, excluding her recent lapse, of course, in the case of Mr. Elsworth. Notwithstanding, however, an immense sigh of relief escaped her. Her troubles, she concluded, were very near to being behind her. Quite late that evening, after assuring herself that all of her lodgers were once again, safely ensconced in their respective bedchambers, Felicity was quietly putting the drawing room to rights when Philips approached her. "Good evening, Philips,” she said pleasantly, glancing up from her task of fluffing the cushions on the sofa. “I trust all is well with you." The large man nodded, although Felicity thought the expression on his face more closely resembled a grimace than a smile. "What is it, Philips? Is something amiss?" The butler-cum-detective lowered the brace of candles he was carrying and glanced surreptitiously about, almost as if to determine that he and Felicity were, indeed, alone. Apparently satisfied that no one else was about, he drew closer to her and withdrew a slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her. Upon it was written a single word: LEADS. Felicity stared at the initialed letters, then lifted a curious gaze upward. "I am of the opinion, Mrs. Rhoades,” Philips said in a low tone, “that Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds and your Mrs. Leads are one and the same person." "Oh!” Felicity gasped with alarm. Stunned, she sank onto the arm of the sofa behind her. “I ... I don't know what to say." "The name escaped my attention when I first shorted through the post this morning, madam,” Philips said solemnly. “However it must have stuck in my mind, for I found myself thinking on it several times today. As a detective, I learned long ago not to ignore my hunches. That's when I began to play around with the initials. Lady Emma is the expert Lord Maitland wrote to on your behalf, is she not?" Felicity's eyes were round. “But, how did you know about that. Philips?" The butler shrugged. “I am a detective, Mrs. Rhoades. His lordship asked me to post a letter several

days back addressed to the woman. Then, Mrs. Leads received a packet of mail soon after. I expect someone in London is forwarding hers to her.” He paused. “Am I not correct that the letter you received today concerns the unusual occurrences here?" Felicity nodded. “Indeed. Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds asked that I not reveal to anyone that she had determined that buried treasure does not exist here." Philips snorted. “How convenient for her.” After a pause, he asked, “What would you have me do about the matter now, madam?" Felicity exhaled a weary sigh. “I don't know, Philips. Perhaps I should sleep on it. I had hoped the vicar's talk last night would dissuade the culprit ... but..." "It appears to have done some good, madam." Felicity sighed afresh. “What a coil this has become." The butler continued to gaze at her, his cool gray eyes almost warm. “I will not leave ‘til you are safe, madam." A sad smile softened Felicity's features. “Thank you, Philips. I am exceedingly grateful you are here." As she rose to her feet, their eyes locked for the veriest second, then the tall man said, “If you've nothing further for me to do tonight, Mrs. Rhoades, I shall just take a tray up to his lordship's room and be gone." "Has Lord Maitland not yet returned this evening?" "No, madam." As Philips headed for the hall, Felicity said, “When Lord Maitland returned to the Arbor last evening, Philips, he discovered a tray already in his room. Did you take that one up, as well?" "Indeed, I did, madam." "Ah. That explains the light then." "The light?" Felicity smiled, “It is late, Philips. I shall take Lord Maitland's tray up tonight." "Very good, madam." A short time later, Felicity had just set the tray of covered dishes on the commode beside Lord Maitland's bed when a rustling noise coming from the treetops outside the long window at her side startled her. The disturbance sounded far too loud to have been made by a mere bird. Not wanting to frighten away whatever might be lurking there before she had got a good look at it, Felicity quickly doused the single candle flickering on the mantel top. Then she stole nearer the window and slowly lifted the sash. It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and although she could still hear the rustling sounds, she found it far too dark to see clearly outdoors. The massive oak's thick foliage was indistinguishable against the dark sky. Below, wispy curls of fog were already hugging the earth like a tattered shroud. Slowly, carefully, Felicity leaned her upper body from the opened window. The rustling noise was replaced with a plaintive cawing and moments later, she caught a glimpse of a huge black raven perched

like a statue on a sturdy branch of the tree. Suddenly from the ground, she heard, “Tell me your secret, pretty bird. Tell me now!" At once recognizing the voice of Mrs. Leads, suddenly, rage like Felicity had never known before propelled her into action. She raced across the room and began to tear at the linens on Lord Maitland's bed. Flinging back the heavy coverlet, she ripped off the quilt and flung it and the large feather pillows to the floor. Then with all the might she could muster, she yanked the bedsheet from the bed and flung it over her head. With the white cloth billowing about her, she darted again to the window and had just got one leg over the sill when the sound of Lord Maitland's bedchamber door coming open jarred her senses ‘round. In his hand, the earl was carrying a lighted candle, which he placed on the mantel top before espying Felicity with the bed sheet draped over her, her small body half in and half out of the opened window. "Good God!” he sputtered. He snatched up the flaming candle again and held it aloft above his head. "Oh, do keep still!” the ghost said. Maitland drew nearer. “M-mrs. Rhoades? Is that you under there?" Felicity exhaled an exasperated breath as she backed down from the window ledge to the floor. One hand shoved the sheet away from her face as she stood glaring up at a speechless Lord Maitland. “I was preparing to be an apparition in order to scare Mrs. Leads, if you must know,” she said tersely. "I ... you ... confound it, Mrs. Rhoades! You are the most dashed unpredictable female I have ever known!” Following that pronouncement, bursts of laughter spilled from his lips and bounced off the walls of the small room. Her lips tight, Felicity disentangled herself from the bed-sheet. “Well, thanks be to you, my plan is ruined now!" Lord Maitland was laughing so hard he didn't hear her. Holding his sides, he backed down onto the disheveled bed. Glaring daggers at him, Felicity waded the bed sheet she'd been wearing into a ball and disappeared with it into the corridor. A moment later, she returned carrying an armload of fresh linens. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Lord Maitland, it appeared, hadn't even noticed she'd been gone. "Oh, do be still,” Felicity muttered irritably. “I shall put the bed to rights and be gone from here in a thrice." His chest still heaving with laughter, Lord Maitland sprang to his feet as Felicity angrily jerked the bottom bed sheet from beneath him. He spun about and parked both fists on his hips. “Well,” he quipped, “it appears I've missed all the fun here, too." Felicity flung a contemptuous look at him. “This would go a good deal faster if you'd be a gentleman and lend a hand,” she said. Maitland leapt into action, reaching for a corner of the bed sheet, the other hand lifting an edge of the feather mattress and tucking his corner of the sheet beneath it. In seconds the bed was made up. As Felicity smoothed the coverlet into place, Maitland reached to study the contents on the tray Felicity had brought to his room.

"I shall just be going now,” she said. Not about to let her off that easy, the earl replied, “Not so fast.” Having set his supper tray onto the desk, he drew up a chair and proceeded to remove his coat, which he draped over the back of it. “I daresay there is a perfectly rational explanation—rational to you, that is—for tonight's masquerade.” His lips twitched as a hand indicated a chair for her to sit. “I daresay I am quite a-tremor to hear it.” His dark eyes twinkled mischievously as he settled down and began to munch on his supper. Her mouth a thin line of annoyance, Felicity watched as he bit into the cold roast beef sandwich she had prepared for him. "Well?” he glanced up. “What sort of din was poor Mrs. Leads making that prompted you to resort to such a charade? Though, I daresay the idea of you wearing nothing but a bedsheet ... well...” Pining her with a rakish look, he cleared his throat suggestively. "I was properly clothed beneath!” Felicity cried. "Nonetheless, you were still quite a charming ghost." Felicity folded her arms across her middle and glared at him. “One wonders if the eminent Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds would agree?" Maitland started, “I say, did the expert arrive in my absence today?" "Oh, she's arrived all right. And, for all intents and purposes, it appears she thinks that Rhoades Arbor exists for the sole purpose of having the grounds dug up." Maitland turned back to his food. “You've lost me, old girl." Felicity sprang to her feet. “I am not your old girl!” she returned hotly. “You can be exceedingly irritating at times, my lord." Maitland gazed at her lazily as he chewed. “Only at times?” He washed down the bite of sandwich in his mouth with a long draught of the stout ale before him. “Not half so irritating as you,” he muttered beneath his breath. Felicity's eyes grew round. “At least I don't make a habit of laughing at you when something has overset you beyond bearing!" Lord Maitland gazed at her again. Something about the raw anger in her tone and the hurt look he perceived in her darkened sea-green eyes bit him to the quick. She was right. He was being cruel; poking fun at what was to her, and should be to him, a very serious matter. For weeks now, he had tried every tack he knew to keep thoughts of her at bay. But, nothing had worked. All day today, he'd been barraged with memories of her kiss that night in the greenhouse, and of the feel of her sweet body in his arms last night. As a last resort, he suspected, he was now trying to get at odds with her of a purpose, hoping that by sparing with her, he could drive a permanent wedge of anger between them. But, something told him the scheme would never work. To see the hurt his teasing words brought to her eyes was far too painful, even for a cold-hearted chap like himself. There was only one way to silence his all-consuming need for the pretty inn-keep. He cast a furtive glance at the freshly made up bed. To arrive home late this evening and miraculously find her awaiting him here, dressed in a bedsheet, no less, had at first glance seemed an example of spirit intervention at its finest. But, alas, he was also a gentleman. He drug his eyes from the bed and inhaled a ragged breath. “Forgive me for making sport of you, Mrs.

Rhoades. I promise to listen quietly if you will tell me what is amiss now." Felicity glared at him a second longer, then she blurted out, “Our Mrs. Leads is Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds. I received a letter from her today,” her words spilled out in a rush, “in which she assured me that no buried treasure exists here. I was further instructed to tell my guests the same, only to not disclose the source of my knowledge." A dark brow quirked. “Hmm." "It was Philips who sorted it out. L-E-A-D-S. Lady Emma Arlington-Dodds,” she said pointedly. "Hmmm," Maitland murmured, a trifle louder this time. "So, what do you say to that?” Felicity challenged. Maitland nodded thoughtfully. “Well, that coupled with the fact that Aunt Poole said Lady Emma often travels incognito, does appear to shed new light on the matter." "Then you'll help me?” Felicity asked anxiously. Maitland drank in her fresh-faced loveliness, the delightful tilt to her sweet pink lips, which were parted quite invitingly at the moment, the unabashed trust in her turquoise eyes. He'd seen that same soft, vulnerable look upon her face the day he'd come upon her perched atop the ladder in the west wing the morning he'd overheard her brother shouting at her. He'd clamped a lid on his sympathetic bent that day. But, his desire to help her now soared beyond all hope of squelching. He felt the last fetters on his heart slowly melt away. Felicity Rhoades had him in her grip. He'd do anything she asked, although fierce male pride demanded he not let her know that. "I've a plan." He heard her say now, her tone hopeful. The bubble of her sweet innocence burst before his eyes. “Somehow I suspected as much,” he muttered flatly. He chewed up the final crumb of sandwich, and washed it down with what remained of the ale. “Just don't ask me to part with my clothing and parade about the Arbor grounds wearing a bedsheet." "Why, I hadn't thought of that! It might—" "Not a chance!" The Earl of Maitland exhaled a low groan. What sort of tomfoolery had his weakness got him embroiled in this time, he wondered?

Chapter Eighteen The next day, Lord Maitland returned to the Arbor in plenty of time for tea. After the small meal, he and Philips took themselves off to prepare for the clandestine activity that Felicity hoped would take place later that night. It had quite delighted her to find Lord Maitland in such a congenial frame that afternoon. In fact, he had seemed especially obliging since last evening when he'd agreed to help her. After apprising him of her plan, he had surprised her further by insisting upon contributing a little something to the pot, as he put it. "I will pay you back every penny,” Felicity had declared. "On the contrary,” the earl had replied, his tone every bit as firm as hers. “When one considers the additional damage my thoughtlessness has caused to the Arbor grounds, this will scarcely repay Philips’ salary to repair it." Though Felicity had argued a bit longer over the point; in the end, she'd acquiesced, deciding once again, that the Earl of Maitland was quite the kindest man she had ever met. At supper now, Felicity felt so a-tremor over both her new-found footing with Lord Maitland and the prospect of the mischief at the Arbor finally drawing to a close, she could barely contain her glee or eat the delicious meal of sautéed fish and green peas and carrots that Mrs. Allen had prepared. Felicity sat opposite the earl at the large round table in the dining chamber. She was as enchanted as the rest of her guests as he entertained them with a steady stream of quips and humorous comments. She had never seen this side of the gentleman's personality and found it quite to her liking. Beneath the many smiles and looks he directed her way, she felt warm all the way to her toes. Miss Lucinda couldn't take her eyes off the handsome man. "Do tell us more about your lovely home, Lord Maitland,” that lady said, her button brown eyes bright with interest. "I shall do better than that,” the earl replied roundly. “Once the renovation is complete, I shall invite you all to tea and you may see it for yourself." "Oh, my! Did you hear that, sister, he has invited us to tea!” The younger Pindiddle's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. After dinner, the amiable group drifted into the foyer where Mr. Chadwick promptly took a seat before the pianoforte and began to play. When he'd pleaded exhaustion and quitted the bench, Lord Maitland directed a gaze at Felicity. "Our hostess, Mrs. Rhoades, is quite an accomplished musician,” he said, an agreeable smile on his lips. Felicity felt a rosy blush creep to her cheeks as well. She feared her pleasure at being singled out by the handsome earl was every bit as obvious as Miss Lucinda's had been. "With just a bit of encouragement, she might be persuaded to play for us,” he added. "Oh, please, do!” cried both Pindiddles at once. "Sister so loves the music,” Miss Amelia added.

"We all appreciate fine music,” put in Mrs. Leads, her tone a bit more reserved, though she, too, was in an agreeable frame tonight. "I fear I am not nearly so talented as Mr. Chadwick,” Felicity murmured. "Nonsense,” the earl protested. Felicity directed a warm smile his way and slid onto the bench. From beneath her lashes, she did not fail to see the gentleman move to stand closer to the boxy instrument, the position affording him a clear view of her face as she played. It dismayed her to note her own breath shorten. With his brown eyes fixed so intently upon her face, how was she to direct her attention to the black-and-white keys in front of her? She chose a lilting sonata by Mozart, her favorite composer, and was relieved when throughout it, she struck only a few false notes. She was exceedingly grateful when Mrs. Leads next suggested they all adjourn to the drawing room for a game of charades. Felicity quite enjoyed the next hour. During the silly gyrations of the game, the many looks and smiles Lord Maitland directed her way made her feel that the pair of them were at last in tune. She couldn't recall ever feeling that way with a gentleman before. She quite liked the feeling. Though loath to see this evening draw to a close, her lodgers eventually began to bid one another good-night and head toward their respective chambers. At length, only she and Lord Maitland remained in the room. "I found tonight especially pleasurable,” he said, his gaze holding hers as he moved to stand beside her near the hearth. Felicity smiled up into his eyes. It never ceased to amaze her that to simply gaze upon him was enough to send quivers of pleasure coursing through her. “I expect this could very well be the last evening we will all spend together,” she said. She cast a furtive glance toward the corridor. “If all goes as planned, I rather expect Mrs. Leads will be leaving on the morrow. And perhaps others of them, as well." "I hope they do not all vacate the premises at once." Felicity's eyes became a question. “Why?" "For your sake,” he replied softly. A smile curved his lips and the look in his eyes plainly told Felicity that his concern for her welfare was genuine. "Oh.” Felicity felt the crimson in her cheeks deepen. “It is exceedingly kind of you to think of me, sir." "I find I think of you—” Abruptly, he halted. When he began again to speak, his tone had become a trifle brusque. “Perhaps it is time we took up our posts." As if on cue, Philips appeared in the drawing room doorway, a jerk of his sandy-colored head telling them it was, indeed, time. Feeling her pulse accelerate, Felicity flung an anxious gaze at Philips, then up at the earl. "Don't worry,” Maitland said. “Philips and I shall both be there." Felicity smiled shakily as both men hurried outdoors, then she flew to the kitchen to grab a small bundle she had hidden there earlier.

Less than a quarter hour later, the loosely orchestrated skit was set in motion. That it was a chilly, moonless night worked in their favor. With the Arbor grounds shrouded in a gossamer veil of fog, no swaths of bright light from above illuminated anyone's face or figure. Felicity hurried to catch up to the men, who, with Philips in the lead, were moving stealthily through the orchard toward the spot where an anxious Mrs. Leads stood peering up into the leafy branches of a chestnut tree. Felicity quietly donned her garb as she tiptoed up behind the men. Coming to rest beside Philips, well hidden now behind a hedgerow, they both watched Lord Maitland steal on ahead of them toward a gnarled old oak, which he proceeded noiselessly to climb. Once he'd settled himself into position in the shadows, he commenced to loudly rustle a leafy branch. Holding her breath as she watched the action, Felicity noted with satisfaction that the noisy rustling did indeed arrest Mrs. Leads’ attention. The woman went scurrying that direction. "Ho, there, pretty bird!” she called up into the tree. Felicity could easily imagine the woman's greedy eyes straining for a glimpse of the ‘black raven’ she imagined was perched somewhere up above. With her eyes thusly trained, she did not notice Philips’ swarthy movements nearby on the ground. But Maitland did and presently he ceased his rustling noises and in a ghostly voice began to chant: “If weal-thy and wi-ise ye-e-e would be-e-e; pick up your spa-a-de and fol-low me." "Oh! Oh, my!” Mrs. Leads’ exclaimed, her agitation and excitement almost palpable. By this time, Philips had drawn so near the woman he could have touched her. Instead, he made quick work of sliding a spade along the ground to where it lay so close to Mrs. Leads’ feet that even in the darkness she could not miss it. Although, as yet, she had not drug her eyes from the treetops. "Pick up your spa-a-de and fol-low me,” Maitland said again. “At your fe-et,” he added, when it appeared that the woman might not be going to look down at all. Hiding in the bushes, Felicity clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Following a flurry of groping about in the dark, Mrs. Leads finally spotted the tool, and gleefully snatched it up. "Oh, dear,” she cried, her eyes quite large and round. “I fear I shall swoon! But, I mustn't! No! Of course, I mustn't. I came to the Arbor to unearth the treasure, I must keep my wits about me.” Then, as if she feared there might be another searcher nearby, she whirled about, holding the spade poised before her like a weapon. "You are qui-i-te a-lone,” came a reassuring voice from the treetops. On the ground, Felicity and Philips both smothered additional gurgles of laughter. Mrs. Leads stared again up into the tree. “Tell me where I am to dig, pretty bird,” she crooned. Felicity was also looking upward. According to the rhyme, at this point the bird was supposed to take human form and lead the searcher to the treasure. A nudge from Philips brought her around. “Oh, that's me,” she murmured, suddenly recalling that she was to act out the next part of the drama—that of leading the searcher to the quarry. Her heart in her throat, Felicity sprang from behind the hedgerow. Wearing a filmy robe over her clothes,

she stood poised like an ethereal statue ‘til she'd caught Mrs. Leads notice, then she began to dart thither and yon about the mist-shrouded orchard, her gauze-covered arms floating eerily about her body. Upon reaching the precise spot where the men had earlier buried the treasure—though Felicity knew it had taken a bit of doing to find a fresh place in the orchard that had not yet been dug up—she flung herself prostrate upon the ground. Before Mrs. Leads drew close enough to recognize her. Felicity leapt again to her feet and returned to her hiding place behind the hedgerow. Breathless, she and her two conspirators watched as Mrs. Leads carelessly flung dirt and leaves helter-skelter in her haste to unearth the coveted prize. Felicity could hardly contain her own glee. "It's over!” she exclaimed, her voice an excited whisper as she and the men watched a wide-eyed Mrs. Leads uncover the small leather pouch and hug it to her breast. "Indeed, it is,” Lord Maitland replied, his tone also low. “We'd best return to the house before she spots us." "I shall repair the fresh damage on the morrow,” Philips said before he disappeared in the shadows on his way to the mews. Moments after Felicity and Lord Maitland had gained their respective bedchambers, Felicity heard the rear door to the farmhouse open and shut, and then the creak of the loose floor boards in the corridor as Mrs. Leads made her way toward her room. A wave of relief washed over Felicity as she rested her head against the inside of her bedchamber door. Dear God, she would rest tonight. Most assuredly, she would rest very well tonight. But, she didn't. Now that the trouble had been resolved and her mind was no longer fretting over the damage being done to the Arbor grounds, she was alarmed to discover her thoughts fixed intently upon ... him. After tossing and turning for an interminable length, she at last gave up and let her mind roam at will. Yet all she could think about was Lord Maitland. She had never seen him look handsomer than he had tonight. He'd worn a coat of dark brown superfine, the rich colour emphasizing his thick dark hair and his eyes. And when he smiled ... Felicity's heart skipped a beat as she recalled the many dazzling smiles the gentleman had directed her way this evening. She shivered beneath the covers, then snuggled down, unable to squelch an image of his arms wrapped protectively about her. Her breath grew short recalling the dancing lights in his eyes and the tiny crinkles that appeared at the corners when he laughed outright. He'd been so deliciously congenial tonight, so kind, so attentive, had she not known better, she might think the gentleman harbored ... well, the way he had looked at her tonight could mean he harbored romantical notions about her. He had certainly not acted like a gentleman betrothed to another. At that, a snort of derision escaped her. What a perfectly absurd idea. To Lord Maitland, she was a mere lodging-house keeper, little better than a serving wench. Perhaps he thought her pretty, but, the eminent Earl of Maitland could give her no more serious consideration than perhaps a ... suddenly, the memory of the kiss they'd shared on the greenhouse floor flashed to mind. In the darkness, Felicity felt her cheeks flame scarlet and her breath again grew alarmingly short. To be sure, he had wanted her that night! But wanting her in that way did not mean he cared for her in the way Felicity would like him to ... that is, in the way she would ... she swallowed fitfully. Something

would not let her complete that thought. But, what did it matter in any case? She'd made a firm decision where men were concerned. With William's death, she'd had done with men for good and there was the end of it. To think on Lord Maitland, or any man for that matter, was a complete waste of time. A vexatious waste of time. She angrily tossed the covers aside and pushed thoughts of Lord Maitland—who was, no doubt, fast asleep in his bed a mere two doors away and certainly not thinking of her—from mind. The truth was, she told herself firmly, she was far too elated tonight to spoil it by ruminating on anything so troublesome as a ... a mere man! Still, in the darkness, she felt a silly grin return to her face. With Mrs. Leads departing on the morrow— as most assuredly she would—that would leave the remainder of the week for Felicity to fully enjoy Lord Maitland's delightfully, agreeable company. A grin on her lips, Felicity fell fast asleep. **** "Now? You are leaving now?" "Indeed, I have guests awaiting me at Maitland." "Guests,” Felicity repeated dully. All day long, she had eagerly looked forward to this evening, had mindlessly allowed herself to indulge in childless daydreams, most of which centered around whiling the long evening hours away on the verandah with Lord Maitland. It had been a warm day and she'd imagined the two of them enjoying a leisurely walk in the garden at sunset, their eyes meeting as they talked and laughed over last night's shared escapade, the enjoyment of which had been aborted when they had raced back to the house to avoid being seen by Mrs. Leads. All day today, Felicity had barely been able to contain her joy as, just as she'd predicted, that woman had announced right after breakfast that she was departing within the hour. And depart she did. All day long, Felicity had ached to tell Lord Maitland of their triumph, to share her jubilation with him. Now, she'd never get the chance. "But it's ... you've not yet had your supper,” she protested weakly. Both his gaze on her and his words were cool. “I rode back to the Arbor for the express purpose of settling up with you in person, Mrs. Rhoades, and, of course, to retrieve my things. If you'll just tell me what I owe, I shall be on my way." Though her stomach was churning frightfully and her cheeks felt hot with fire, Felicity bit back any further protest. “Very well, sir. I shall just consult my ledger." After the earl had wordlessly paid Felicity the sum she asked, she could not take her eyes from him as he turned and with deliberate steps ascended the stairs toward his chamber. His back seemed especially rigid, and his jaw, excessively hard. Felicity frowned. Something in the gentleman's manner was ... not quite right. Just before he reached the landing, Felicity watched him pause and cast another gaze her way. A dark brow cocked, then he disappeared from sight. A few moments later, he joined her again in the hall. "You're the ... second lodger I've lost today,” Felicity said quietly.

"The secon ... ah, yes, Lady ... that is, Mrs. Leads." "Yes.” Felicity nodded, a tight smile on her lips. She raised sad eyes to search his and was certain she saw a fleeting spark of something light his shuttered orbs, then it quickly disappeared as the mask he so often wore fell again into place. "I am happy for you, Mrs. Rhoades." A pain not unlike suffocation gripped Felicity's breast. When Lord Maitland presented this face to her— his distant, oh, so aloof, so inapproachable face—she knew that to reach him, to penetrate that near hostile barrier, was next to impossible. She blinked back the unwelcome moisture that welled in her eyes. Still, despite her firm resolve to have done with men forever, something within her urged her to try and reach this man. Not with words. No, words would fall flat, would be ineffectual against his thick wall of resistance. Besides, on such short notice, with her own feelings in such turmoil, she knew she could not think of the proper words to say. But perhaps there was another way to reach him. Lord Maitland thought himself an unfeeling man, but Felicity knew otherwise. He was kind and thoughtful and capable of very deep emotion. Had she not seen him act upon his feelings a number of times on her behalf? She knew that beneath his cool, aloof exterior, he was a sympathetic and caring man. With a soft smile on her lips and eyes brim full of gratitude, she said, “I am deeply in your debt, sir." Felicity instantly saw the impact her heartfelt words had on him, although he said nothing. But, holding her gaze, he reached and gently tilted her chin upward. For a long moment she thought he meant to kiss her, hoped he meant to kiss her, but he did not. He merely ran a strong thumb along the outer edge of her lower lip. The caress was so very gentle, his touch so very sensual, she feared that in that one charged moment, she might die of sheer longing. A small answering smile curved his lips as he murmured, “My pleasure, Mrs. Rhoades." Thinking on it later, Felicity realized that in that instant, something within her snapped. She had no idea when it had happened, or even how, she only knew that she loved him, that the Earl of Maitland's supreme kindness, his generosity, his tenderness toward her when it counted, had restored her faith in the male gender. The feeling was not a generality, a respectful admiration for the good qualities that some gentlemen possessed, no; it was instead an affirmation, a knowing that not every man was as corrupt as William had been. Toward Lord Maitland, however, the feeling took the form of a painful, uncontrollable wrenching at her heart. She loved him. Dearly and truly. And now, he was gone from her forever. Today was surely the saddest day of her life.

Chapter Nineteen Mrs. Leads departure from the Arbor precipitated a virtual exodus. Within three days, every last one of Felicity's guests had gone, leaving her to surmise that all of them, with perhaps the exception of old Mr. Tweed—though his nurse was not above suspicion—had arrived with a single purpose in mind, that of digging for buried treasure at Rhoades Arbor. Since the departure of all her lodgers at once had left quite a deep hole in her pocket, in a twisted sort of way, Felicity was glad she hadn't conceived the notion to act out the Arbor legend any sooner than she had. As it was, she had just barely managed to scrape together the few gold coins she'd deemed necessary to insure that the ‘treasure’ would indeed be worthwhile. As it turned out, Lord Maitland's contribution toward the bounty had made it a substantial find, indeed. How she wished she could repay the gentleman, but without a single lodger in residence now, repaying what she owed him was beyond any hope of possibility. Even Philips was gone. Satisfied that all the mysteries plaguing the Arbor had been resolved and that Felicity was in no further danger, he'd taken his leave the same day as the Pindiddles, neither of them seated in the Bath chair. Apparently it, too, Felicity smiled ruefully, had been yet one more ploy, designed to divert suspicion from them. Now, with no one about, except Mrs. Allen and her twelve-year-old son, Josh, whom Felicity had consented to take in in exchange for the boy doing odd jobs about the place, she had spent the last several days mindlessly cleaning up after her guests. Other than a bit of conversation each morning with Mrs, Allen, Felicity's human contact had dwindled to practically nothing. Even the daily post was thin, with not the single prospect of a new lodger in sight. Sadly, Felicity realized that all the enthusiasm and energy she'd thrown into her project in the beginning had disappeared along with her guests, more specifically, with Lord Maitland's departure. While he had resided here, it had not once crossed her mind that she might be falling in love with him. Now, the thought seemed never to leave her. Each day, she awoke to a fresh wave of anguish that seemed to become more acute with each passing hour. By nightfall, the raw ache in her soul was so fierce she could scarcely swallow a mouthful of the delicious supper Mrs. Allen had prepared for her. "Try some of my nice potato soup, Mrs. Rhoades. They's fresh leeks in it. Josh turned ‘em up this morning. Perhaps a bit of bread?” the kindly woman urged. “There's a good girl." Felicity smiled weakly at the identical pair of eyes anxiously regarding her across the table. She broke off a crust of bread but had to work to chew it up and swallow it. “I am not at all peckish this evening, Mrs. Allen." On Felicity's fourth day alone, her brother Robert came to call. As usual, the visit was not pleasant. The gloating look on Robert's face only sickened Felicity further. "You've no choice now but to give it up, sis,” he declared smugly. “Despite your previous stubbornness in the matter, Libby and I are prepared to receive you with open arms." If that was meant to cheer her, it didn't. Felicity refused to meet her brother's eyes. “Not yet, Robert." "Hummph,” he snorted with derision. “Pray, what will it take, Felicity? From the look of it"—he glanced into the hall, a long gaze alighting on the piano, then darting back to the new bookcase beside the sofa where the two of them sat in the drawing room—"it appears you've already squandered whatever profit you realized from your first set of lodgers. The cost of the japanned bench I spotted on the verandah

could not have been insignificant." Felicity winced. Must everything remind her of Lord Mailland? Not wishing to explain how she'd come by the new pieces of furniture, Felicity instead rose woodenly to her feet. She hoped the action would signal to Robert that the call was at an end. “I promise to consider coming for a visit soon, Robert,” she murmured. His lips pursed. “Well, I suppose that will have to do.” He moved to follow his sister into the foyer. Near the front door, he paused. “By the by, I encountered that oaf you hired to butle for you in Reading a day or so back." "Philips?” That he was still in the area stirred a bit of interest within Felicity, though only a bit. "At least you had the good sense to let him go." "Goodbye, Robert." That afternoon, Felicity let Josh drive his mother into the village for a fresh supply of foodstuffs. Felicity could have gone along, or even gone alone, but she realized she simply hadn't the inclination. Maintaining a pleasant countenance with anyone for any length was becoming more and more a chore. She much preferred to sit alone in the garden, unseeing eyes staring off into the distance, her mind dulled even to the scents and sounds of nature about her. This afternoon, she'd been sitting thusly for perhaps an hour, maybe two, when a sudden racket arose in the treetops overhead. Her senses jarred momentarily to awareness, Felicity gazed upward to behold the now familiar black raven. Perched on a low limb, the bird was situated so very near her, its intelligent black eyes seemed to bore into hers. Felicity gazed at the bird for some length. The velvety blue-blackness of its feathered coat shone richly in the sunlight. She noted the brittle hardness of its dark beak and the wrinkled toughness of its sharp talons. Certain that it was the same bird that had so intrigued Mrs. Leads, she was glad she and Philips had been unsuccessful in catching it. It was far too beautiful to destroy. Suddenly, the huge raven arched its enormous wings and gracefully lifted itself into the air. The leafy branch beneath it shuddered violently at the loss of weight. Caught up in the spectacle, Felicity turned to watch the enormous bird soar across the stretch of greensward toward the farm house behind her. Hovering low in the cloudless blue sky, it made a lazy circle over the rear of the house, then settled itself onto the stone path that led to the breezeway. Oddly enough, more than once it seemed to cock its shiny black head her direction, almost as if to ascertain that she was, indeed, still watching. By nightfall, Felicity had forgotten the incident. But the next day, the black raven seemed to follow her everywhere. She spotted it both in the garden and the orchard, even saw it trembling on a weak branch of a hedgerow as she wandered across the meadow toward the pond; the place where he had sat angling his first day at the Arbor. That night, the bird came to rest on the railing of the verandah, its beady black eyes watching her as she sat, silently whiling away the long evening hours, alone. It came as no surprise to Felicity when far, far into the weary hours of yet another fitful night, she again heard the rude cawing noise made by the bird. Only this time, the disturbing sound seemed mingled with that of a human voice. In her semi-wakeful state, Felicity could not clearly make out what the voice was saying, but the hauntingly familiar rhyme seemed to draw her outdoors, onto the breezeway. She gazed about at the familiar surroundings, the stone flagway and shadowy contours of the wash house now shrouded in eerie darkness. Thinking she saw a movement up ahead on the flagway, she noiselessly

tiptoed that direction. But as she stepped onto the moon-dappled path that would take her into the garden, a soft oomph escaped her as she stumbled over something that lay across her path. Groping at her feet in the shadows, her fingers curled ‘round the long, slim handle of a tool. Chills raced up Felicity's spine when she realized she had picked up the garden spade. Josh must have left it there, she told herself heading back to prop the tool against the workhouse wall. But, suddenly, of its own accord, the spade flew from her hands to land again at her feet. "Oh!" Felicity jumped back. She spun around, her eyes blinking wildly as she strained to see behind her, ahead of her, anywhere, on the breezeway. But, she could see no one. "J-josh, is that you? Mrs. Allen?" No answer came. Deciding she was behaving like a silly nodcock, Felicity reached again for the spade, but this time it jerked from her grasp to stand upright of its own accord, one end of the scooped out implement wedged over a jagged corner of a bumpy flagstone. "Beneath this stone and beyond the mold ... lies an ancient cask of jewels and gold." "Oh!" Felicity gasped again, her eyes as round as dinnerplates. Was she dreaming? She clamped one hand over her mouth as she stared wildly into the shadows. She edged closer to the spade which was still standing upright a few feet in front of her. She reached out to furtively touch the tool, then jumped back when beneath her fingertips, the rough-hewn wood seemed to quiver. "Oh!" she squeaked again. Ten minutes later, on her knees before the bare spot on the flagstone floor, where she had effortlessly removed a few stones and then allowed the spade to dig through several layers of hard, crusty earth, she lifted out yet another heavy, leather bag and set it beside the others. When the cache was finally emptied, there were eight bags in all, each one heavier than the last. Using her hands, Felicity scooped the small pile of black earth back into the empty cavern, then she carefully settled the flagstones again into place. The spade that had earlier proved so helpful now lay spent on the stone floor beside her. Still in a daze from the otherworldly experience, Felicity leaned the bewitched tool up against the wash house wall, then she laboriously carted the heavy bags, two at a time, into the house. In her own room, she lit a candle and knelt down on the floor to examine her find. **** The next morning, Felicity had not recovered completely from the strange occurrence of the night before, or decided what she ought to do with the immense fortune she'd unearthed. She was still mulling it over, when the following afternoon, Josh came running to fetch her from the side garden. "Mum, it's a gen'leman come to see ya. Sets a fine ‘orse, he does. A spanking fine sorrel." "A gentleman?” Felicity rose heavily to her feet. Oddly enough, the huge treasure she'd found hadn't served to lift her spirits one bit, the ache in her heart for the one thing money could not buy was as painful as ever. “Did the gentleman give his name?” she asked Josh. The boy shook carrot-colored curls. “No, mum. Just said he wished to speak with you. Fine looking

sort, he is. Bang up dresser. I put ‘im in the drawin’ room, I did." Felicity smiled weakly at the boy. “Thank you, Josh." On her way inside, Felicity absently adjusted her cap and smoothed the folds of her long dark skirt. Still, nothing could have prepared her for the welcome sight that greeted her in the drawing room. Spotting him, his back to her as he stood gazing from the long window toward the little pond in the meadow where he'd once gone angling, Felicity's heart plummeted to her feet, then bounced back up again to lodge like a rock in her throat. She fought for air as she stared at the tall, dark-haired man. A handsome navy-blue superfine coat stretched across the broad expanse of Lord Maitland's shoulders. Beige pantaloons were tucked into a pair of shiny black long-boots. Behind his back, gloved fingers gripped the curly brim of his black beaver hat. He looked even more dashing than she'd remembered. Felicity took a step into the room. "Lord Maitland,” she murmured, coming up behind him. He spun to face her. “Mrs. Rhoades." Felicity felt a rush of hot color suffuse her cheeks but knew there was nothing she could do to halt it. “What a ... pleasure to see you again, sir." "The pleasure is all mine,” the tall gentleman said, his tone as mellow, as smooth as silk. Felicity nearly melted at the glorious sound. She managed to hold his gaze and was pleased to see a slow smile soften his chiseled features. Her spirits soared when the smile moved upward, lighting the granite depths of his deep brown eyes. Though both the smile and the expression on his face were warm, the sad, troubled look she detected there troubled her. "Is ... something amiss, sir?” she asked. "No.” He spoke quickly. She watched him make an effort to shake the disquiet from his eyes, but what he said next told her he'd not succeeded. “I merely wished to ... there is something I ... if we might sit down, madam?" "Of course.” She turned what she hoped was a calming gaze on him as she led the way to the sofa. “I could ask Mrs. Allen to bring us a fresh pot of tea, if you'd like, sir. I expect you noticed that Philips is no longer about, but Mrs. Allen is still here. And her boy. You met Josh.” She turned an expectant look upward as she sat down, a delicate hand inviting him to do likewise. Lord Maitland paused before he settled himself on the faded silk sofa. Dark eyes indicated the sideboard. “I brought along a bottle of champagne." "Oh?” Felicity glanced in that direction. "I had hoped we might drink a toast." "A t-toast?” Had the gentleman somehow learned of her new-found treasure? Or, perhaps he had had something to do with ... ? No, not even Lord Maitland could contrive to make a spade stand on end, or to dig unaided. He would find the phenomena extraordinarily interesting, of course. Even fascinating. She ached to tell him about it, all about it; but ... not just yet. First, she wished to know why

he had come to call. Lord Maitland fervently wished to tell her. But ... where to begin? In the near week he'd been gone from the Arbor, he'd never felt so miserable, so out of sorts, so ... unlike himself in all his life. He'd had guests —the Havistocks—and workmen, underfoot the entire time. Lady Mary-Edith, it seemed, had guessed at his reason for inviting her to Maitland and had arrived with very nearly all her worldly possessions in tow. She'd also brought along her personal maid, a hairdresser, and a retinue of other servants that apparently she couldn't live without. He had not objected to any of that, after all, where women were concerned, it was to be expected. It was the rest of the affair that had got his back up. Since the young lady had apparently expected to not be leaving Maitland, she had at once taken it upon herself to initiate a daily schedule amongst his household staff that made the commanding officer in him sit up and take notice ... but the woman's undeniable affrontery gave the future husband in him pause. Enormous pause. More like mind-boggling standstill. Maitland had never seen anything like it in a woman before. He'd admired the self-assured manner in which Mrs. Rhoades dealt with her small staff, but Lady Mary-Edith's manner was quite another matter. The final straw came yesterday morning when she'd actually fired his works supervisor, a man Maitland greatly respected, as much for his organizational ability as for his personality in general. The man's crime? Tracking sawdust into the orangery, a place where a certain element of dust and debris was to be expected! It was an abominable offense; not the works supervisor's, but Lady Mary-Edith's. Maitland had put his foot down, of course, had re-instated the works supervisor and last evening, with no small regret, had announced to both Havistock and his sister, Lady Mary-Edith, that he'd been called away on business and would be happy to accompany them both back to London. He felt dismayed, not only for the imposition on their parts, but for his impropriety, however subtle it may have been, for leading Lady Mary-Edith to believe that he meant to offer for her. He had meant to, of course, the thing he had not expected to find was that she was so ... well, so dashed objectionable! It was no wonder she'd already earned herself a permanent spot on the shelf. Her ‘talents’ gave new meaning to the phrase ape-leader. So ... here he was, back at Rhoades Arbor, seated again in the magical presence of a golden-haired goddess named Felicity Rhoades. He had dreamt of her every day and every night since he left here ... what was it now, a decade ago? It seemed longer. He swallowed tightly as a gaze lingered on the sweetest pair of soft pink lips he could ever recall kissing. Ah, what havoc those lips had wrought to his self-control! Which brought another instance regarding Mary-Edith to mind. As a mere matter of course, he had attempted to kiss her one evening in the garden, only to be singularly informed that physical contact of that sort was proper only after their wedding vows had been exchanged and then, only within the confines of the ... at this point, the young woman had—to her credit, Maitland allowed—lowered her lashes ... before she murmured the ‘marriage bed'. But at that precise juncture, Maitland had been besieged with an acutely vivid memory of a very improper kiss he'd shared with the widow Rhoades on the floor of the greenhouse at Rhoades Arbor. He was hard pressed to imagine Lady Mary-Edith on her back on the floor of a greenhouse, or on her back anywhere. But, Felicity Rhoades. Ah, there was a woman who was unafraid of herself, of the sensual side of her womanhood. In the past months, her spirit and liveliness had shown Maitland all that was missing from his life. Effortlessly, she had uncovered those hidden parts of himself that since his nanny had called him a brave little man for keeping his feelings in check, he'd been too frightened to acknowledge, let alone express. And not only unhappy feelings, or ones that sent fear racing down his spine; no, Felicity Rhoades had

managed to bring out a playful side to his nature that he did not know existed. She had made him laugh. Hell, she had got him to climb a tree and pretend to be a black bird! And, what's more, he had enjoyed it! It was plainly evident to him now that the distant, unfeeling self he'd gone to such lengths to cultivate was merely half a self. There was a gentle, caring side to his nature that he must have always known was there, else why had he worked so hard all his life to cover it up, to hide it away so that no one, least of all himself, could see it? He felt his heart melt now as he gazed once more on the achingly familiar countenance of Felicity Rhoades. With her by his side, as his wife, he would indeed be a complete man. Swallowing convulsively, he suddenly blurted out, “I have come to ask you to be my bride, Mrs. Rhoades." The stunned look she turned on him both alarmed and frightened him. But, it was too late to retract his hastily spoken words, or to soften them with a flowery sentiment. "Sir, I...” Her mouth gaped a bit, then she closed it and began afresh. “But I had thought you were already spoken for." "No, madam. I am not.” Why could he not tell her what was in his heart? “We ... did not suit." She surprised him then by laughing aloud. “And we do? You are larking with me, my lord. You and I would be at daggers drawn inside a week! Inside a day! We are both strong-willed and stubborn and ... and I could never allow a man to rule me. No; no, my lord, we would never suit." She sprang suddenly to her feet and began to pace. Maitland stood also, his eyes not leaving her face for an instant. He noted a sort of nervous twitch begin at the corner of her mouth but could not begin to guess what that meant. Finally the truth dawned on him. Following their lusty kiss in the greenhouse, she had informed him roundly that she meant never to marry again. Though it tore at his very soul to do so, he said, “You ... must have loved him a great deal." Her glorious turquoise eyes met his. “Loved ... whom?" "Your late husband, of course. Why else would you vow never to marry again?" "Ah." Why else, indeed. Felicity thought numbly. Why else, indeed?

Chapter Twenty Still reeling from the shock of the Earl of Maitland's surprising offer of marriage, it was several hours later before Felicity realized she'd been too dumbstruck to apprise the gentleman of her good fortune. Although, she didn't really perceive it that way herself. Jewels and wealth paled in comparison to the wondrous offer he'd made her. Never, ever again, would she meet a man like Lord Maitland. He was kind and thoughtful where her husband had been cruel and ruthless; he was intelligent and refined where William had been coarse and surly. Yet, though the Earl of Maitland professed now to want her, she knew it could never be. To marry him would mean asking him to bear the awful scandal of William's life, and to share the terrible burden of his death. She loved him far too much to ask such a thing of him. She could never do it. Nor, she realized the moment she awoke the following morning, could she continue to live here. At the Arbor. Where every breath she drew, every room she entered, even the very furniture upon which she sat, reminded her of him. She could not do it! Suddenly an idea took shape in her mind, and she dressed hurriedly. She'd decided once to spend the rest of her life alone. Now, she renewed that vow afresh, only this time she added a post script. She would spend the remainder of her life alone, without love and without passion, both of which she might have had with the Earl of Maitland as her beloved husband. She choked back the painful sob that caught in her throat. She must never think on him again! But to save herself a lifetime of additional grief, she would not only leave the Arbor, she would leave England altogether. She was free to do as she pleased and she now had the funds to go where she pleased. There was nothing to stop her. Energized by the direction her thoughts were taking, she sent Josh into the village first thing that morning for Constable Anderson. Before spending a farthing of the treasure she'd found, she must consult with him as to the legal ownership of it. She truly did not believe the money had been put there by her late husband, or that it in any way had anything to do with him. William had hated the farm and so far as she knew had not set foot upon it since he left, well over two decades ago. Not knowing where the money had come from, however, she did not know if a previous claim to it existed but if a claim did exist, she was prepared to honor it. After briefly explaining how she'd come by the money, the constable merely shrugged his shoulders. “Appears to me you are the rightful owner of anything you might find on your own property, Mrs. Rhoades. Especially when one takes into account who you really are. You inherited the property fair and square, ma'am. Most likely, the jewels and gold were put there by one of ‘ye own kin." Felicity thanked the man for coming at her request and bid him a good day. Well, then. There it was. She would first to go to London. There, she'd hire a professional man-of-business to handle her her financial affairs for her, then she'd secure a competent lady's maid who would double as a paid companion. With sufficient funds to do so now, she meant to travel in style, with all the accouterments of proper respectability. Although her steps were continually dogged that day by thoughts of Lord Maitland and the realization that her last hope for a full and satisfying life with him had been dashed forever, she persisted in thrusting the handsome earl from her mind in order to forge ahead with her own plans. She chose not to inform her brother Robert of her itinerary, she would write to him from London. Let him

wonder where she'd got the means to travel, it would do him good. In Town, she'd also have her man-of-business set up a fund from which Mrs. Allen could draw what she and Josh required to see to the upkeep of the Arbor until she returned and decided what was to be done with the property. Perhaps before she left England for good, she'd even post a note to Lord Maitland—with a bank draft enclosed to repay him what she owed him. She could easily afford to do that now, too. By late that afternoon, Felicity had penned copious notes to herself, had informed Mrs. Allen of her decision and packed those of her few belongings that she wished to take along. Since she meant to replace the bulk of her wardrobe in London, she saw no point in taking much beyond the barest necessities. By tea time, everything that she could do was done and she was suddenly besieged with a restless urge to be off. Attempting to nibble at the sandwich Mrs. Allen had prepared for her, instead the open wound in her soul left by her refusal to accept Lord Maitland's offer began to eat at her. Abruptly, she sprang to her feet. "Mrs. Allen, I should like to send Josh into the village again. To hire a private coach for me. I have decided to leave now instead of in the morning." "Now, ma'am?" "Indeed,” Felicity replied crisply. “All is in readiness. I see no need to tarry a moment longer." "But, it will be dark by time you get on your way, ma'am. Perhaps you should wait ‘til the morrow. "There will be plenty of time to travel a short piece down the road. We shall easily make Reading. I shall stay overnight there and be in London by noon tomorrow. My decision is final." Indeed, the sun had already set by the time Felicity climbed into the private carriage she'd hired to take her to London. Though, she'd only a driver and no outrider, she was unconcerned for her own safety, they were only going a short piece tonight. At the inn where she'd stay the night, she'd hire a proper postillion for the last leg of the trip. Settling herself into the dark interior of the closed carriage, she felt her chin tremble afresh as a rush of scalding regret welled up again in her eyes. How she'd adore to see the dashing Lord Maitland one last time before she departed. But, she attempted to swallow the huge lump that had formed in her throat; that was neither possible, nor prudent. To indulge herself at this juncture would be to run the risk of flinging herself into the gentleman's arms and never letting go. This was far and away the best course. Still, she turned for one last look at the rambling farm house she'd called home for the past half year. She loved the Arbor dearly, and felt so very proud of all that she'd accomplished here. She continued to gaze from the cloudy window at her side as the heavy coach lurched forward and rumbled down the dusty road toward the highway. A long gaze lingered on the wide verandah, forlorn now and empty save for the chaise lounge, the cane-bottom chairs ... and the pretty painted bench. She gulped back another sob, her vision now obscured by the gnarled old oak that stood just outside ... his bedchamber window. Felicity's throat tightened fitfully. She could never stay here. Pulling her thin cloak tighter about her, she turned and rested her head against the frayed leather bench. In less than a quarter hour, they were upon the main highway that would take them to Reading. Felicity raised her head again to gaze from the window. How close were they to Maitland now, she wondered? How very dearly she had wanted to see the earl's lovely home. Perhaps she could catch a glimpse of it

yet. She twisted about on the bench to peek from the small window at her back, but was dismayed to find it far too dark now to see anything, anything at all. She had just turned back around when suddenly the thunderous rumble of horse's hooves filled the very interior of the coach. Alarmed, Felicity spun about again to peer from the rear window. She could see nothing, but at that instant, the driver of her carriage let out a blood-curdling scream, and suddenly, the vehicle teetered dangerously to one side as apparently the driver leapt from the platform and ran screaming for his very life into the woods. A chill of terror raced down Felicity's spine as the carriage shuddered to a shaky halt. "Oh!" she cried, reaching to jerk aside the leather curtain to see what was amiss. Suddenly, with an angry whoosh, the carriage door flew open from the outside. Through the opening, Felicity caught a glimpse of the muscled forelegs and powerful chest of a midnight black stallion. The man sitting astride the horse leaned forward and thrust a black-clad arm inside. Felicity screamed when a huge gloved hand grabbed hold of her arm and savagely drug her from the couch to the ground. "Alight!” came a ghoulish voice. Blind with fear, Felicity attempted to wrench free of the man's fierce hold on her, but he'd have none of it. She at last managed to dig her heels into the dirt and throwing her head back, gazed for the first time at the vicious highwayman who'd overtaken the coach. And saw for herself why her driver had fled for his very life! The creature mounted atop the prancing black stallion, its nostrils spewing angry columns of smoke was ... headless! Wild-eyed with fear, Felicity suddenly recalled the terrifying tale young Miss Hargrave had told the night of the party, about the headless horseman who haunted the byways in search of his lost bride. "No-o!" Felicity screamed when the creature leaned down once again and with his free arm, clutched at her shoulders, her waist, in an attempt to drag her up into the saddle with him. "No!" She fought the creature off. Suddenly, the very air was again filled with the thunderous rumble of horse's hooves. "Be gone! Be gone, I say!" When a single shot rang out, the headless rider's horse reared up. Felicity screamed again when in seconds, its gleaming hooves came crashing down mere inches from her head. "Begone!" In a swirling cloud of dust, the prancing horse and phantom rider galloped away just as the Earl of Maitland leapt from his horse and raced to Felicity's side. "My darling, are you safe?" "Oh!” Felicity sobbed, her heart pounding with terror as she sank into the earl's protective embrace. “I would have been killed had you not come along!" Wrapping his arms tightly about her, the earl said, “You are safe now, my precious. No one will ever harm you again. Ever!" Felicity could not control the tears that spilled onto her cheeks. “Oh, my Lord Maitland, I am so very grateful you happened along when you did.” She drew back a bit and through a veil of tears gazed up at

him. “How did you happen along just now?" He pulled her close to him again, a large hand at her back pressing her trembling body into his warmth, his strength, his love. “I, too, am searching for my bride,” he said hoarsely. “And, you, my darling, are my bride. I love you to distraction. I cannot live without you. Say you will marry me, or I shall ... I shall..." Felicity felt the sob of emotion that rose up in his strong chest. Oh, how dearly she loved him! And yet ... she could not marry him, she could not! Her eyes squeezed shut as she buried her head into his shoulder, her cheek warm against the smooth wool of his cloak. “I ... cannot,” she sobbed. “I cannot marry you." "Do not cry, my love. I know all about him. And it does not matter to me." Felicity lifted tear-filled eyes to meet his. “You ... know?" He nodded. “I saw Philips in the village today. He asked me to look in on you." "He ... did?" Maitland nuzzled her tousled golden hair with his chin. “He told me everything. I love you all the more for refusing to acknowledge your tie to your late husband. Your honor and fierce loyalty to England is to be admired, Felicity Rhoades. I love and admire all that you are." "But, I am not—" "Hush. You are the woman I wish to marry. And that,” he grinned down at her, “shall be the end of it." They stood gazing into one another's eyes for a long moment, then slowly, Lord Maitland settled his sensuous mouth onto Felicity's parted lips and kissed her tenderly. As he deepened the kiss, a plaintive cawing sound arose from overhead, from the shadowy depths of the trees that hung like a dark canopy over the deserted road. When the disturbance grew loud enough to disrupt the kiss, Felicity gazed up, up, up, into the treetops, and there she saw the familiar outline of the huge, black raven. She smiled. "There's an additional something I've yet to tell you, my lord." His eyes still intent upon her lips, Maitland said, “Whatever it is, it can wait. For now, all I wish to hear is that you love me and that you will be my bride." Felicity's eyes filled with fresh tears. Happy ones, this time. Gratitude swelled within her as she thought again of her friend in the treetops. The raven had been looking out for her all along. “I do love you, Lord Maitland." "Preston,” he said. “My name is Preston." "I want nothing more than to be your bride ... Preston." The smile on Maitland's lips became a joyous laugh as he picked up his bride-to-be and twirled her about in the middle of the deserted highway. Then, tightening his arms about her, he again pressed hungry lips to hers. As she emitted a soft purr of pleasure, Felicity's eyes drifted shut. From overhead, she heard the tell-tale

quiver of a leafy branch as the huge black raven spread its mighty wings and soared away into the night. That the bird was gone forever did not matter. Suddenly her life felt fresh and new again, filled with love and wondrous possibilities. Letter to Readers: If you are like me, you also feel an over-whelming longing to experience life as it was in the romantic time-period known as the Regency. Then, a real man was a gentleman, right down to his polished Hessians, and a proper young lady still blushed when caught staring overlong at Milord's broad shoulders —not to mention his thigh-hugging inexpressibles! For me, the pull was so great I simply had to delve deeper, to learn more about the past I found so intriguing. Not even traveling to London, or visiting Brighton and Bath, was enough to satisfy me. I had to know more! From this longing came The Regency Plume, a bi-monthly newsletter dedicated to accurately depicting life as it was during the English Regency. Each issue of The Regency Plume is full of fascinating articles penned by your favorite Regency romance authors. To learn more about The Regency Plume newsletter and the wealth of research material and maps available on the Regency period, I invite you to visit my website at: theregencyplume.tripod.com/ Thank you! I hope you enjoyed reading Bewitching Lord Winterton and will want to read all of my other Regency novels—Brighton Beauty, Felicity's Folly, The Unsuitable Suitor, Miss Eliza's Gentleman Caller and Miss Darby's Debut. Sincerely, Marilyn Clay

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