Out riding, Blackwold brought his horse to a halt and watched the trap heading toward Blackrock. Even at this distance, he could make out the slender figure of Hannah, topped by a ridiculous old black bonnet of his grandmother’s. He grinned and his hands tightened on the reins as a desire to join the group filled him.

His horse, sensing the quickening of his interest, moved in the direction of the road, and he had to bring the mare, Hera, to a stop. Hera snorted and danced sideways, wanting to continue forward to join the old chestnut horse pulling the trap.

“You’re as bad as I am—wanting all the wrong things, eh girl?” He patted her neck and turned her around to gallop over the pasture sloping away from the cliffs behind them and the road bordering the other side.

The devil of it was, that despite everything else on his mind, his thoughts continued to stray to Hannah’s smiling face.

He rode for another hour, tiring Hera, before easing her down the trail to the beach. Searching along the beach for more debris from the Orion and any clues left behind by the wreckers, he reviewed what little Hannah had told him. A broken mast and huge pieces of the hull had washed up, along with bits of rope, a few bottles, and even a waterlogged bible that was too far gone to salvage. He studied the wreckage before climbing back up on Hera and guiding her up one of the steep paths leading to the cliffs from the small, secluded beach.

His early morning interview with Hannah had confirmed his concern that she’d been a witness to the bloody activities that night. His brow wrinkled in deep thought as he rode back to the house. The distinct impression that she hadn’t told him everything about the sinking of the Orion plagued him.

She didn’t trust him, that much was obvious. And really, why should she? She didn’t know any of them very well, and the Hodges were not known for being sensible or comfortably commonplace.

By the time he’d returned to the house and ensured that Hera was properly taken care of, the female members of the small party he’d seen on the road had disappeared indoors. Henry, however, had set out again almost immediately to drive the trap back to the inn.

Aware that the odor of horses and barnyards lingered around him, Blackwold ambled upstairs to wash and don a less fragrant set of clothes. His valet informed him that the dowager and the young ladies were in the Rose Drawing Room on the first floor, and Blackwold didn’t bother to resist his desire to join them.

“Where have you been?” his grandmother greeted him in a querulous, shaky voice.

He glanced at her, his brows raised in mild surprise before his incipient grin turned into a frown. Her brown eyes appeared sunken into deep hollows, and her normally ruddy complexion had turned gray, emphasizing the deep wrinkles around her mouth and eyes.

If her voice hadn’t alerted him, her appearance certainly did. She was not at all well, and, as usual when she didn’t feel up to snuff, she showed signs of extreme irritability.

“I was out riding.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered into the room. “I see the ladies have returned from Pencroft. How many ribbons did you buy from Mrs. Shaw this time, Georgie?”

Georgina rolled her eyes and let out a long sigh. “It’s Gina, as you well know, Blackwold. How would you like it if I persisted in calling you something dreadful?”

“Like what?” he asked with evident interest.

“How should I know?” Georgina raised her hands in a helpless gesture of exasperation. “Blackie, or Woldy, or Moldy-woldy, perhaps.”

“Those don’t sound so very terrible to me.” His mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “You’re free to use whichever pleases you—you have my permission.”

“Well, thank you ever so much. I’m just so grateful.”

Watching Georgina and Blackwold, Hannah held her hand in front of her mouth, trying not to laugh, but her blue eyes twinkled with merriment. Blackwold caught her gaze and winked.

A blush flooded her cheeks with color, and she hurriedly glanced down at her lap.

“Will you children stop being so nonsensical? You will call your cousin Georgina, Blackwold. And you, Georgina, will show your cousin the respect due his title.”

“And I believe I will call for the doctor, Grandmother,” Blackwold said. “It appears we are not free quite yet of all sickness at Blackrock.”

“What do you mean by that?” the dowager demanded, straightening in her comfortable wing chair.

“There is no need to send for the doctor,” Hannah added hurriedly. “I am quite well. All I needed was some fresh air, and our trip to the village provided that. Why, I am not even as tired as I expected to be, since we were able to stop at the vicarage for tea.”

Blackwold smiled at her. “I am relieved that you are well, but it is not your health that concerns me.” He turned his head to stare at his grandmother. “You, my dearest grandmother, are attempting once again to prove your resolve and iron constitution by not admitting when you are a trifle under the weather—”

“How dare you try to tell me what I do or do not feel?!”

“Well, that certainly explains it,” Georgina said, as if she’d known all along that something was wrong. “You know you always get irritable when you are not feeling well, Grandmother.” She caught the dowager’s angry look and rushed to add, “Not that anyone could have noticed such an infinitesimal change in your mood. You are quite as pleasant as ever—isn’t she, Hannah?”

Frowning, Hannah studied Lady Blackwold. “You do appear pale. I hope I haven’t made you ill—I could never forgive myself if you became sick because of me.”

“I am not ill and certainly not because of you, Miss Cowles,” the dowager said, glaring at all of them. Two hectic splotches of anger colored her cheeks, but instead of giving her a healthy appearance, the redness only accentuated the dark circles under her eyes and the grayness of her skin. Even her lips had developed an unhealthy purplish-blue hue that hinted that she was not at all well.

“Then you won’t mind a visit from Dr. Burland. Though, I must say, I don’t think Miss Cowles actually tried to make you ill.”

“What?” The dowager straightened. “Of course she did not. Why would you say such a nonsensical thing?”

“I am not the one who suggested it.” He held up a hand, forestalling the blistering comment that obviously waited upon his grandmother’s fierce tongue. “No matter. I will send for Burland, and in the meantime, you should consider retiring to get some rest.”

“I will not have that quack in this house!”

Blackwold’s brows rose. “I thought you approved of Burland. Didn’t you send for him to attend Miss Cowles?”

“That’s different—she is young.” Lady Blackwold’s tremulous hands began rubbing back and forth along the padded arms of her chair as she stared into the fire blazing on the hearth. She refused to look up at him, even when he stepped closer. “I will not be bled, do you understand me? I will not!”

Blackwold placed a hand on her fragile shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know you have a horror of blood; if we hide it from view—”

“No! I will not allow it.”

“But Grandmother,” Georgina said, interrupting. “Look how much good it did Hannah? If you are ill—”

“No!” The dowager’s grip on the arms of her chair tightened, the thick blue veins standing out starkly under the paper-thin skin of her hands. “I will retire, and you may send for your Dr. Burland, if you wish, but he will not drain me of blood, the despicable leech.”

“Very well. As long as you allow him to see you, I suppose that is sufficient,” Blackwold acceded to her request. At least she agreed to see a physician and get some rest.

He’d often suspected that a good bowl of broth was just as efficacious as being bled, or perhaps more so, since it didn’t leave one feeling wobbly-kneed and light-headed. However, he wasn’t a medical man and would be the last one to assume he knew anything about curing disease.

The dowager’s pallid complexion worried him, nonetheless, as he watched her stand, clutching Hannah’s arm.

“You will not go to London without me, Blackwold. You shall just have to remain here a few more days until I am ready to travel,” his grandmother stated firmly, staring at him.

“But Grandmother—my Season!” Georgina wailed, grasping the dowager’s free arm.

“You cannot be presented without me, so there is no point in crying about it,” the dowager replied sharply as she shook off Georgina’s hands. “And it will only be for a few days. I shall not remain abed long—you will see. A week at most.”

“A week?” Georgina’s voice rose. “Oh, please, say I can go anyway—you can always come later when you are feeling well again.” Her eyes brightened, and she took hold of her grandmother’s arm again. “Hannah can be my companion, and I promise we shall behave with perfect propriety.”

“How can you promise to act with propriety when I am not there, when you cannot do so when I am?” the dowager said crossly, shaking off Georgina’s hands once more.

“Oh, please!” Georgina begged, her eyes filling with tears.

Blackwold shouldered his cousin aside and nodded to Hannah. “Will you see that my grandmother gets some rest, Miss Cowles? And a cup of broth, perhaps.” He grinned. “There always seems to be hot broth bubbling away in a cauldron by the fire in the kitchen. Some of that witch’s brew might bring a bit of color back to her cheeks.”

“If it doesn’t poison me first! And how dare you speak of me as if I were not in the room!”

Blackwold chuckled and used the opportunity to kiss his grandmother on the forehead. The skin felt papery thin and burning hot. “Go on. The broth will be waiting for you before you even get to your room. The doctor will arrive shortly. For once, dear Grandmother, you shall be the one doing as you’re told.”

“Well, I never!” She glared at him, but despite her frown, her eyes sparkled with mirth—or fever.

“That is precisely the trouble, my dear. You’ve never in your life done as you ought. Dare I hope for an exception, now?”

The dowager elbowed him in the stomach as she stepped past him, dragging poor Hannah along with her. “You may dare whatever you wish, Blackwold. You are a marquess, and I have never seen you do anything otherwise.”

“Then I come by my hardheadedness quite naturally,” he called after her, his voice rich with laughter.

She waved her hand over her head as the two ladies passed through the door, and he watched them until they disappeared down the hallway. His smile slowly faded into lines of worry that tightened around his mouth.

His grandmother wasn’t in the first blush of youth like Hannah, and the American girl had been ill enough to cause them several moments of concern. In fact, while Mary slept on a trundle bed nearby, he’d spent several hours one night sitting next to her bed, wishing he could do something more than simply place damp rags on her forehead to calm her raging fever. Lady Blackwold would never survive such an ordeal, and he wasn’t prepared to do without her. She’d been a fixture and firm friend in his life ever since he could remember.

Of course he knew she wouldn’t live forever, but he’d hoped she’d be around a few more years. He needed someone to nag him and snort with disgust when he made an innocent comment or two. Someone who almost understood him.

The frown tightening his brow dug a bit deeper. No doubt, Lady Alice would be thrilled to at least pick up the role of general termagant and nag, though he doubted there would be any of his grandmother’s spirited good humor underlying it. His thoughts strayed to Hannah.

Now she wouldn’t hesitate to nag him at the appropriate times, if she could keep from laughing long enough to do so.

His tension eased a fraction. He rotated his shoulders and cocked his head to listen to the sounds of footsteps clattering overhead. Gradually, the sounds diminished. A door creaked open and then closed.

“Oh, can’t you convince her to let me go to London, anyway?” Georgina begged after Blackwold had rung for the butler and requested the broth for the dowager and that someone be sent for the doctor.

“No, my pet, I cannot.” The marriage papers awaited him in London. Even this small delay seemed like a godsend.

“You mean you will not.” Georgina’s lower lip stuck out and her dark lashes sparkled with the frustrated tears she’d shed a few moments earlier.

“Are you afraid all the eligible bachelors will be snapped up in the course of the next few days?” He grinned and tapped her gently on the chin with his fist.

She scowled at him and stepped away. “No, of course not.”

“Do you have an assignation, then? An appointment that can’t be missed?”

“Stop it! Why must you tease me so? I just want to enjoy myself, for once.”

“Dances? Balls?”

“The Royal Menagerie at the Tower of London,” Georgina said, clasping her hands. Her eyes shone with excitement. “The Hudson Bay Company gave us a Grizzly Bear named Martin—I’m sure even Miss Cowles would like to see that!” Her smile slipped a fraction and she glanced away. “Although I do hate to see an animal in a cage. They always look so piteous.”

“Your heart is perhaps too tender for such sights. You might be better off looking for birds in Hyde Park.”

A flush rushed over Georgina’s cheeks, leaving her looking almost as fevered as their grandmother. She pressed her lips together and shook her head, clearly embarrassed that he knew her secret. “Oh, we shall be too busy, I’m sure, to worry about such things.”

While she may not have spoken about it, and indeed, had done her best to hide it, no one who had been around her for long could miss her interest in the natural sciences. Everything from the smallest ant to the twinkling stars in the night sky seemed to fascinate her, and strangely enough, she seemed utterly fearless in her pursuit of all things natural. Even spiders that made other women shudder or scream in terror only made Georgina bend down and fumble for the small magnifying glass she kept in her reticule. And her father encouraged her, at least as far as astronomy went, considering that to be a fine subject for any curious mind, regardless of sex.

Oh, she tried to hide it by expressing a great deal of fascination in gowns and personal adornment, but it was all just for show. Given a choice between going to a dress shop and sprawling on the ground with a magnifying glass, there was no doubt in his mind which alternative would win.

He could only hope that whoever their grandmother elected as Georgina’s prospective bridegroom would be either just as curious as his wife, or else too blind to notice or care about her peculiarities.

To his relief, Georgina’s concern for the health of the dowager eventually overcame her frustrations at remaining at Blackrock a while longer. Without another word, she hurried away to see if she could be of assistance in the sick room.

Blackwold’s estate manager located him before he could escape, and he was soon absorbed in business, including the necessity of shoring up one of the bridges on the road leading out of Pencroft, which the storm had battered and made unsafe.

The mail brought additional news, which a lesser man might call bad. Lady Alice and her mother were leaving their estate a few days early to make their way to London. The proposed journey would take them through Pencroft, and although Lady Alice was too much of a lady to invite herself to stay at Blackrock, she mentioned that they would break their journey at the village.

The only polite thing to be done was to extend an invitation to the ladies to stay at Blackrock, even though the dowager was ill and it would be next to impossible to keep Georgina from insisting on traveling with Lady Alice and her mother to London.

There’d be no keeping her at Blackrock, now, he thought as he dipped his pen in a pewter inkwell and tapped off the excess ink. His reply was brief and to the point, inviting the ladies to break their journey at Blackrock. He almost added, “And the devil take you,” but he managed to end the sentence with a very firm period, instead.

Well, if she were going to be his wife, he’d better get used to her. Maybe she would grow more likeable with familiarity. Some women, like Mary, appeared sour and stern until sickness or some other tragedy revealed the soft heart underneath. Lady Alice might be similar. The dowager’s illness might bring out the kindness and warmth in Lady Alice.

Or quite the reverse. He sighed and shook the sand off the letter before sealing it.

His future was rushing toward him at an alarming rate, and he supposed, like dozens of titled men before him, that he’d fumble his way through it somehow.

After all, there were always the cliffs if one desperately wanted a way out.