After spending a pleasant hour at Swindon Hall, Therese and the children returned to the manor for luncheon, then leaving the mare to a well-deserved rest, they walked down the long drive and across the lane to the church and the vicarage.

With a view to sparing Reverend Colebatch’s sensibilities, Therese left the children playing with the vicarage cats on the lawn in the shadow of the hedge between the church and the vicarage, then she climbed the steps to the vicarage porch and rapped smartly on the door.

As she had hoped, the door was opened by Mrs. Colebatch.

“Lady Osbaldestone! Do come in, my lady.” Mrs. Colebatch stepped back and waved Therese in. “Jeremy’s just gone to his study to work on his sermon, but I know—”

“No, no—I haven’t come to disturb the reverend.” Therese smiled. “It’s you I’ve come to consult, Henrietta.”

“Oh! Well.” Henrietta Colebatch blushed. “In that case, please come into the sitting room, and we can talk in peace.”

Once they were settled amid a profusion of chintz, after denying any wish for tea, Therese got straight to the point. “I visited Lord Longfellow this morning—a courtesy call given I knew his parents in years gone by and I now intend to make the village my home, as well as to learn if any of his people had any knowledge of our missing geese.”

“Oh, dear me, yes. Poor Tooks! And now all the village without their Christmas dinner. Bilson has said he’ll do his best to get in enough cuts of beef, but really! What could have happened to those dratted birds?”

“Indeed, the dearth of birds continues to be a concern. However, while that was my principal reason for calling, I discovered that all is not as it should be at Dutton Grange.”

“You mean his lordship shutting himself up and not seeing anyone.” Mrs. Colebatch primmed her lips disapprovingly. “I assure you, dear Lady Osbaldestone, that all of us have called—indeed, Mr. Colebatch has been around several times—but to no avail. I assume that large brute of his turned you away?”

“Actually, no. Thanks to the good offices of my grandson, Lord James, we—the three children and I—managed to breach Lord Longfellow’s walls and gain an audience.”

“Did you, indeed?” Henrietta Colebatch was agog. “And you spoke with his lordship?”

Therese inclined her head. “We took tea with Lord Longfellow, but it’s clear he intends to cling to life as a recluse. Tell me, how long has he been hiding in Dutton Grange?”

“He arrived in July. The first we knew of it was from Mrs. Wright and Cook, and then Jeffers—he’s the Grange footman—and Johnson, the stableman, told those at the Cockspur Arms the next evening. They’d known he was on his way home from the war after being injured, and he had to stay recuperating in some army hospital on the coast. But then he arrived without even a day’s warning, along with two men. One is that hulking brute who says he’s his lordship’s majordomo.”

“Hendricks,” Lady Osbaldestone said. “He appears devoted to his lordship.”

Mrs. Colebatch sniffed. “That’s as may be. Of course, the others have been a part of the household since the old lord’s time, but that Hendricks and the other weaselly-looking one, Jiggs—I believe he’s his lordship’s groom—they keep to themselves, even in the Arms. Not given to talk—not at all.”

“I daresay,” Lady Osbaldestone murmured, “that the army trains men to be discreet when in situations where they are unsure of their welcome.”

Mrs. Colebatch all but bridled. “As to that, if they weren’t so set on keeping us from his lordship, we might see our way to being more welcoming.”

“I believe that in the matter of enforcing his lordship’s privacy, they are acting entirely—and if I read the signs aright, reluctantly—on his lordship’s direct orders.”

Mrs. Colebatch blinked, then she frowned. “We thought…well, that maybe Christian wasn’t yet strong enough to override his keepers, if you know what I mean. It sometimes does happen, and as we haven’t seen him, we have no way of knowing if he’s in his right mind…you do hear stories of those who return from the wars, and they are not the same people…”

Firmly, Therese stated, “It’s nothing like that, I assure you. Lord Longfellow is very definitely running his own show.”

Mrs. Colebatch’s frown deepened. “Then why on earth would Christian want to keep us at arm’s length? We’ve all known him since he was an infant.”

“I rather suspect it’s because you—all the village—did know him before. No doubt you remember him as a very handsome young man.”

Mrs. Colebatch’s face softened as she smiled. “Oh, dear me, yes. He was like an angel fallen to earth—quite beautiful, but in a masculine way.”

“Well, in his eyes, he is now only half that man you knew. He’s not beautiful anymore.”

“What?”

“I take it none of his staff have mentioned his disfigurement?”

“Disfigurement?”

Briefly, Therese described the scars she’d seen. “And I suspect they extend significantly beyond his face. His left leg is also damaged in some way—he walks with a dragging limp.”

“And him who was always so energetic!” Mrs. Colebatch’s expression had sobered. “The poor boy—although I’m sure he wouldn’t want my pity.”

“Indeed.” Therese paused, then added, “More than anything else, I suspect it’s a fear of pity that keeps him hiding away.”

“But…it’s not healthy.” Mrs. Colebatch’s voice strengthened. “Major Swindon heard that he—Christian—was very highly regarded as a fine and courageous officer. His command was sorry to lose him. We can’t have him hiding away for the rest of his life—what sort of a reward would that be?”

“Precisely.” Therese nodded approvingly—encouragingly—at the minister’s wife. “While I can understand Christian’s reluctance to go about in wider society—society outside Little Moseley—my feeling is that the village is his home, and he needs to be reminded that those who live here don’t believe that scars define the man or in any way lessen his worth.”

“Oh, indeed. We need to make him understand that we consider him a member of the village regardless of anything so superficial as scars.”

Therese smiled. “I’m so glad we see eye to eye on this.”

“I’ll tell Jeremy the instant he’s free.” Mrs. Colebatch paused. “But how are we to reassure Christian when he won’t even meet us face to face?”

“Even disfigured, and then perhaps even more so, gentlemen do have their pride. We will need to tread warily, my dear Henrietta, if we are to rehabilitate Christian Longfellow to his rightful place in the village. Leave it with me.” Therese rose, bringing Mrs. Colebatch to her feet. “Having succeeded in breaching his walls once, I believe I know of a…weapon, as it were, that will allow me to widen the breach. I will keep you and Jeremy informed of progress, and when and how I believe you can help. But for now, I must away and speak with Miss Fitzgibbon.”

“Miss Fitzgibbon?” Mrs. Colebatch accompanied Therese to the vicarage’s front door. “In that case, you won’t have to go far.” Mrs. Colebatch opened the door and met Therese’s questioning look. “It’s Saturday—Miss Fitzgibbon always does the vases in the church every Saturday afternoon. You’ll find her there.”

Therese smiled. “Thank you. I’ll go and speak with her directly.”

As she descended the porch steps, she couldn’t help but feel that God was smiling on her enterprise.

The children deserted the cats and came running to join her as she walked across the lawn and through the archway in the high hedge. The church, a fine Norman nave with a square tower, rose before her; the front entrance lay to the left, in the shadow of the tower.

The path she was following cut through the gravestones to the vestry door, which was presently set wide.

Lottie slipped her hand into Therese’s and skipped along by her side. The graveyard, however, proved irresistible to Jamie and George. They started playing a game of tag around the stones and monuments.

Viewing the boys’ antics with an indulgent eye, Therese murmured, “I believe we’ll leave them to it.” She glanced down and met Lottie’s curious gaze. “Meanwhile, you and I can proceed in our quest to put right those things that are presently amiss in village life.”

Lottie smiled and looked ahead with transparent eagerness.

Therese’s smile deepened; she felt much the same.

They walked through the vestry and into the church. Therese paused by the lectern to survey the nave, which was helpfully deserted. With Lottie’s hand still in hers, she walked on and turned to view the sanctuary; a semicircular dais raised three steps above the nave, it housed the altar and the choir stalls beneath the church’s lovely stained-glass rose window.

Handsome brass urns stood on twin pedestals, one on either side of the altar. Eugenia was putting the finishing touches to a massive arrangement of evergreens, holly, and Christmas roses in the urn nearer the vestry. The other urn had already been completed and stood resplendent in its Christmas glory.

On hearing their footsteps, Eugenia glanced around and saw them. She was fetchingly gowned in a walking dress of pale blue with a warm wool coat of peacock blue over it. She hadn’t worn a hat—leaving nothing to dim the glory of the gold-and-brown curls piled atop her head—but a scarf of patterned blue Norwich silk hung loose about her neck.

Therese smiled. “Good afternoon, Miss Fitzgibbon.”

Eugenia bobbed a curtsy. “Lady Osbaldestone.” What brings you here? hung in the air.

Still smiling easily, Therese nodded at the bloom Eugenia held in her hand. “How lovely. Those Christmas roses are perfect for the season—a touch of white against all the dark greens. Hope blooming in the darkest days, as it were. Are they from the Hall’s hothouse?”

Eugenia nodded. “We provide them every Christmas.”

Therese nudged Lottie toward the front pew. “Winter is about to descend on us in earnest, I fear. The cold is intensifying.” Therese sat; Lottie leant against her knees, observing Eugenia with an unwavering gaze. “This morning’s frost was decidedly crisp.”

Somewhat warily, Eugenia nodded. She turned back to the urn and carefully slid the white Christmas rose into place. “The village lake has already frozen over. They’re predicting we’ll have a good solid surface for the skating party.” She glanced at Lottie. “That’s usually in six days’ time, on the twentieth of the month, provided the ice is solid enough.” She raised her gaze to Therese’s face. “Will the children still be here?”

“Yes, they will. Their father’s illness will keep them banished from their home until at least the end of the year.”

“Ah, well.” Eugenia smiled at Lottie. “At least they’ll have plenty of village activities to enjoy. We have the carol service soon and the re-enactment of the nativity as well.”

“So Crimmins was telling us.” With one hand, Therese stroked Lottie’s neat plaits. “The children plan to participate in everything. And as I plan to make Hartington Manor my permanent home, I’ll be attending, too. I’m quite looking forward to it.”

“I see.” Eugenia slipped the last of her blooms into place, then glanced at Therese, plainly wondering if there was a reason for Therese being there.

Therese smiled; Eugenia Fitzgibbon was not at all slow. “As part of my settling into village life, I called at Dutton Grange this morning.”

“Ah.” Eugenia nodded crisply. “And you were turned away as all others have been.”

“No, as it happens. We took tea with his lordship. But that wasn’t why I wished to speak with you, my dear.” Without giving Eugenia a chance to ask about that meeting with Lord Longfellow, Therese smoothly continued, “On leaving the Grange, we turned into the lane to the east, on our way to call on the Swindons. And on the right a little way beyond the Grange drive, we discovered a gate that has been staved in. Smashed, more or less.”

Eugenia frowned. “That must be on the Grange estate.”

Therese nodded. “Indeed. Rather more pertinent to you, however, is that there are streaks of bright-blue paint on the smashed gate.”

Eugenia stared at Therese for several seconds, then her shoulders fell. A moment later, her features set, and her expression darkened. “Henry! I might have known.”

“He didn’t mention it?”

“No. He didn’t.” The anger that had sparked in Eugenia’s blue eyes subsided to a smolder, and her chin firmed. “Yet another mess I’ll have to clear up and put right.” She surveyed the arrangement in the urn, tweaked one branch of conifer, then with sharp, abrupt movements collected her trimmings and stepped down to the nave. “I’m finished here. I’ll go home immediately and see about putting things right.”

“As to that”—Therese rose and, with Lottie beside her, trailed behind Eugenia as she carried the detritus of her flower arranging into the vestry—“as I mentioned, I called there this morning. Although we did win through to converse with his lordship, that wasn’t a concession easily gained.”

Eugenia dumped the clipped stems and leaves into a basket, then plied a small pump handle set over a trough and washed her hands—and angled a questioning look at Therese.

Therese leant against the counter a few feet away. “It transpires that as well as being afflicted with a dragging limp, his lordship is badly scarred on one side of his face. Consequently, he believes himself to be so hideous that common decency requires that he hide himself away.” Therese looked down at Lottie. “But he wasn’t frightening to look at, was he, poppet?”

With all the gravity of her five years, Lottie shook her head from side to side. “He was grumpy and growly and yelled when Jamie first found him, but when we went inside, he behaved and was gentlemanly.”

“Exactly.” Therese looked up and caught Eugenia’s eyes. “Yet he believes his scars and injuries preclude him from rejoining society. That’s not at all true, yet, men! They can be so vain, they quite put us ladies in the shade.”

Eugenia humphed, but distractedly. After a moment of gazing vacantly into space, she offered, “I remember him, of course, but he’s six years my senior, and we were never friends. That said, anyone in the area would remember him—he was so exceedingly handsome, yet he was also…cheery, and easygoing, gregarious, and always ready with a laugh, and never one to put on airs.” She met Therese’s eyes. “People liked him despite his outrageous handsomeness.”

“Oh, he’s still outrageously handsome when seen from one side. Indeed”—Therese lightly frowned as she pondered the effect—“I would suggest that the destruction of beauty on one side makes the unmarred perfection shine even more dramatically.”

Eugenia raised her brows. “He was the gentleman all the young ladies around about dreamed of, but thinking back, I suspect he would have been that even had he been much more plain featured. His beauty caught the eye, but it was his character and temperament that drew one in, drew one closer.”

Therese studied Eugenia Fitzgibbon with a discerning eye and saw rather more than that young lady might have wished. More, what Therese perceived spurred her on. “Well,” she said, straightening from the counter, “contrasting your view of Christian Longfellow-as-was with the brooding presence I encountered this morning, I believe it behooves us—all of us in the village—to make a push to correct his rather disparaging view of our intelligence.”

Eugenia uttered a scoffing laugh. “Given the extent of the Peninsula campaigns, I doubt there are many villages in England that haven’t learned the truth that scars and injuries do not make the man.” Somewhat exasperatedly, she continued, “And great heavens! Everyone knows that in Christian’s case, his scars and injuries were gained fighting for our country, rather than in some idiotic curricle race, like his brother.”

Therese blinked. “Is that how he died?”

Eugenia nodded. “Cedric Longfellow’s death was all of a piece with his life. He was irresponsible in every way. There are more than a few who were close to his father—my father among them—who were of the opinion that it was almost a relief to Leslie Longfellow that Cedric took himself off, leaving Christian to inherit. Christian was always the steady, sensible, reliable son.”

“Hmm.” Therese pondered that insight as, with Eugenia, she and Lottie stepped out of the vestry into the increasingly gloomy day. “I daresay that reliability is why Christian is here at all—he will see the estate and his workers right, even if he deems himself unfit to join even village society.”

“Yes, well. Now I have to attend to this business with the gate.”

Therese bent a shrewd gaze on the younger woman. “If you don’t mind me asking, dear, how do you propose to approach the matter? Send Henry to apologize?”

Eugenia halted; her expression grew more harassed as she thought the matter through. “I should send Henry—it’s his apology to make, after all. Only if I do…” After a moment, she sighed. “With matters standing as they are with Christian, I’m not sure I should risk it. I certainly can’t be sure of Henry’s tactfulness. There’s no saying what he—or even more likely, one of his stupidly arrogant friends—might blurt out.”

“Indeed. I have often noted that young men can be quite thoughtless over issues such as extreme disfigurement. Especially to a previously strikingly handsome man.”

“Exactly. And I definitely do not want, much less need, any bad feeling giving rise to awkwardness between the Hall and the Grange.”

Clasping her hands on the head of her cane, Therese nodded sagely. “Being one of the two major households in the village does bring with it a certain responsibility.”

Eugenia sighed again. “Yes, it does, and at this time, that responsibility rests entirely on my shoulders.” She glanced at Therese. “I’ll go and speak with Christian myself and explain about the gate and that we—the Hall—will have it repaired.”

Therese nodded. “A wise decision.” She was conscious of Lottie watching her expectantly, as if the little girl knew there was one step more to be achieved in Therese’s subtle maneuverings. “However, with regard to speaking with Christian—and I agree entirely that you should speak directly to him and not simply leave a message with his majordomo—the fact that my imps and I managed to inveigle our way past Christian’s barricades should not be taken as a sign that he has in any way stepped back from his habit of having his people deny him to all callers.”

Eugenia frowned. “Well, I have to see him. I am certainly not going to apologize by proxy. Even if I am, in effect, a proxy myself.”

“Quite so. Which, my dear, is why I believe I should accompany you on your mission. I—” She broke off as Jamie and George came pelting up to join them; they looked like nothing so much as happy, exhausted puppies with their tongues lolling out. She smiled and amended, “We have already breached Lord Longfellow’s walls once today. I’m perfectly certain we can replicate the accomplishment and ensure you get to speak with Christian face to face.” She arched an eyebrow at Eugenia. “If you’re of a mind to accept our help, of course.”

Eugenia thought for only a moment, then her chin firmed, and she nodded. “Thank you. I would be glad of your company”—she looked at the three children—“and your help in getting past the door of Dutton Grange.”

Therese smiled. “Right, then. When would you like to storm the Grange?”

Eugenia’s lips twitched. She looked at the sky, which was heavy with dark-gray clouds, but the sun, screened by the louring mass, had not yet sunk too far into the west. She glanced at Therese. “No time like the present. There’s hours still left in the day. If you’re free, that is?”

Therese’s smile deepened. “You’re a lady after my own heart, my dear. I—and my retinue—are entirely free and ready to assist you. If you will wait in the lane in your gig, we’ll fetch ours and join you.”

Eugenia nodded.

Dramatically, Therese waved across the lane toward Hartington Manor. “Onward.”

The children grinned, then, laughing, pelted across the lawn toward the lane.