Faith had never before experienced a village festival quite like the Little Moseley Christmas pageant. It seemed that everyone in the village and all the surrounding farms had made their way to the village green, eager to watch the children’s re-enactment of the Nativity and enjoy a few hours of celebration in company with their neighbors.

“I suppose,” she said to Richard, close beside her as they eased their way through the throng, “in this season, there’s not so much to do on the farms, and they can spare the time to cheer on their offspring.”

Richard huffed in agreement. “And the day’s fine, thank goodness.”

The heavens had chosen to cooperate, and the sun shone palely from a clear, ice-blue sky. Everyone was rugged up against the chill carried on the crisp air, but the absence of wind and clouds definitely contributed to the crowd’s smiles and the good-humored atmosphere.

The focal point for the massed villagers was the makeshift stable to which Mary and Joseph would soon come and in which the Christ Child would be laid in the manger and visited by various shepherds, animals, and the three kings.

The special guest choir was to supply the voices of the heavenly host.

While Reverend Colebatch marshaled the children, Christian Longfellow, standing on a wooden crate, directed the crowds. He saw Richard and Faith approaching and waved. As they neared, Christian raised his voice to be heard above the hullabaloo. “We’ve staked out an area for the choir on the rise below the vicarage wall.” He pointed.

Richard looked and nodded. “Thank you. We’ll assemble there.”

“Do you know your cues?” Christian asked as Richard guided Faith past.

“Yes,” Richard replied. “Reverend Colebatch explained the program to us yesterday afternoon. We’ll commence the first chorus as Mary and Joseph start through the crowd on the donkey, and the second when Reverend Colebatch reaches the end of his narration.”

“You won’t be able to see Mary and Joseph until they get closer,” Christian said. “If you keep an eye on me, I’ll wave when they appear, so you’ll know when to start your first piece.”

Richard nodded his understanding.

Faith wove through the crowd, denser on the rise, which afforded a good view of the stable. Her nerves felt just a little taut, tensed in expectation of the upcoming performance. Ahead, she glimpsed the others—Melissa and the children and Henry and his friends—already in the staked-off enclosure; they saw her and Richard and waved madly. Hendricks stood nearby. Although the choir had set off from the church in a group, the others had forged ahead; Hendricks must have spotted them and directed them to the improvised choir-corral.

“This is exciting!” Lottie chirped. “Last year, we were down there”—she waved at the seething throng before the stable—“and I couldn’t see it all. I can see much better from up here.”

“I wonder if the animals will run amok at the end,” George said. “Like they did last year.”

Jamie replied, “I heard Lord Longfellow talking to the farmers about being on hand to grab their animals at the end, so probably not.”

From Jamie’s tone and George’s reception of his news, Faith couldn’t tell whether the boys thought the new arrangements a good thing or not.

Regardless, judging from their expressions and the way the children jigged and Melissa and the four gentlemen shifted on their feet, every one of them was prey to the same nervy excitement that had infected Faith. She knew that, before a performance, such tension wasn’t a bad sign, and indeed, after all the hard work they’d put in practicing, they had every reason to feel confident.

Yesterday morning’s practice session had run late, and as they’d all been reluctant to call a halt, Henry had suggested that, after luncheon, they should continue working on the second a cappella chorus—the one from the book of carols—and all had agreed. Given they’d been expected at their separate homes for luncheon, they’d dispersed. As Richard’s cottage lay along the route to Swindon Hall, Faith had offered to take him up in the gig, and he’d accepted.

The interlude alone, just him and her behind the plodding horse, had been…pleasant. A moment in time when they’d set aside music and spoken of other things—observations of the village and, for each, their plans for the coming days.

Richard had been waiting in the lane by his cottage gate when she’d driven back to the church at two o’clock; she’d laughed and taken him up again, and they’d beaten the others back to the organ.

Those moments alone with him shone in her mind and warmed her with their remembered glow.

But now, it was nearly time for them to sing; the rising anticipation of the crowd was palpable as all craned their heads to look back toward the far end of the vicarage wall around which, Faith understood, the children playing the roles of Mary and Joseph would come, Mary perched upon Christian’s donkey and Joseph leading it. As aware of the approaching moment as she, Richard marshaled the choir into order, then waited, watching Christian, who, from his vantage point, was looking over the crowd’s heads.

Then Christian turned, looked at Richard, and waved.

Richard faced Faith and the others. “Right, then. This is it.” He raised his hands, one holding a thin conductor’s baton, and looked at Melissa. “Ready?”

Melissa was the one who would sing the first note. Eyes wide and trained on Richard, she nodded. Richard gave her the beat, then she filled her lungs and started—and the others joined in, fluidly and faultlessly blending their voices into the swelling sound.

As one, the crowd turned to look at them, and smiles spread over every face. After several seconds, the collective attention swung back to the small procession that was wending its way along a path through the crowd that the Whitesheaf family worked to keep clear. The path led to the stable, and the choir’s combined voices sang the couple and the donkey along.

The chorus came to an end on a high, sweet note—held by Faith, Lottie, Jamie, and George—then, at Richard’s direction, the sound faded and thinned, until a profound silence engulfed the scene, and a shiver of expectation, of anticipation, rippled over and through the onlookers.

Even the choristers felt it; they exchanged glances, delighted to have elicited such a frisson purely with their voices, then, along with everyone else, they gave their attention to the re-enactment as, before the stable, Mary scrambled down from the donkey’s back.

It was as though their music had spun and cast a magical web over the scene; despite the inevitable moments of high drama—when the geese took exception to a nosy lamb, and when Mary’s sleeve got caught on the manger and she nearly dumped her child on the ground while struggling to get free—the underlying meaning of the re-enactment shone through, and when the full cast of children held their final pose and the choir filled their lungs and gave voice to the triumphal Christmas chorus, the uprush of feeling was so glorious it brought tears to many an eye.

Their voices soared and, at the last, blended in one powerful and ecstatic Hallelujah! The choir fell silent, and Reverend Colebatch stepped forward and, in the almost-eerie quiet, ended the pageant with a special benediction.

With smiles of delight on every face, the crowd milled, talking, laughing, and exclaiming, gathering children and beasts, and making much of all who had played a part. Many villagers made a point of fighting their way through the throng to congratulate and thank the special guest choir and Richard most especially.

When he attempted to disclaim, Mrs. Tooks patted his arm. “But without you, it would never have happened.”

To the choristers’ delight, the comment left Richard with nothing to say.

A few minutes later, after conferring and agreeing to meet later that afternoon to start practicing for the carol service, the choir dispersed, the members moving into the crowd to find and talk to others. It was going on for noon, and the sun continued to shine, albeit weakly; no one was in any hurry to quit the green.

As the others wandered off, Faith found Richard by her side.

“I think I spied your uncle and aunt over there.” He pointed to the other side of the crowd.

Faith glanced in that direction, then returned her gaze to his face.

He was looking at her. He met her eyes…

In that instant, Faith realized that, after years of thinking love had passed her by, she’d finally started to believe—in her heart, she’d finally started to hope—that at last, she’d found a gentleman she could trust. A gentleman who saw past her spectacles and recognized and valued the person she was.

A truly estimable gentleman in every way.

She smiled and didn’t care if her feelings showed in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “I’d best find my way to them.”

Immediately, he offered his arm. “Allow me.” His eyes said much more—spoke of much more—than merely escorting her across the green.

Faith smiled and laid her hand on his sleeve, and Richard guided her down the rise.

Richard was amazed at the intensity of the hopeful anticipation that surged within him. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so positive about his life, so eager to go forward.

Having Faith Collison on his arm—having her look at him with gentle encouragement and seeing the support he always seemed to find in the soft green of her eyes—was, he knew, a large part of what drove that wonderfully uplifting feeling. Doubtless, the echoes of their performance bolstered the emotion; they’d done remarkably well. In his humble opinion, their performance had been worthy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields or even King’s College in Cambridge.

While he guided Faith through the joyful crowd, with he and she stopping and being stopped every yard or so by someone wanting to congratulate them and tell them of how moving they’d found the choir’s performance, or when they met a child they wished to congratulate and encourage in turn, he debated taking the risk of telling Faith all.

He had never been so drawn to a lady—indeed, to any other person. Her practical, no-nonsense style combined with her instinctively caring personality attracted him on a level deeper than the norm and with a power he couldn’t deny. With her by his side, he felt complete and, being so, that he could take on any challenge and win.

Even the challenge awaiting him—the one he’d run from.

Perhaps he’d been meant to run—to take refuge there, in Little Moseley, so he would meet Faith and find his salvation.

Those who believed in Fate would certainly deem that likely.

But if he told her all, what would she think?

How would she respond?

What would she say or feel about him once she learned that he’d deceived her and, indeed, the whole village?

Admittedly, he hadn’t truly lied, but he’d certainly been guilty of omissions.

Major omissions.

Meaningful omissions.

When Faith learned who he truly was and of the duties awaiting him…

Would she turn from him, or would she understand and at least give him a chance to prove himself?

He should make a decision soon, but luckily, both he and Faith were fixed in Little Moseley for the immediate future. The carol service was looming, and—together with the members of his quite amazing special guest choir—he wanted to make the occasion and their performance the very best it could be. A gift to all in the village who had accepted him so welcomingly.

At the thought of his time in the village coming to an end—as it inevitably would—the specter of his family and all else he’d left behind rose in his mind. Returning would be another hurdle—one he wasn’t all that well equipped to handle.

What would his family say when he informed them that Faith was his chosen bride?

Richard paused for an instant among the happy, chattering villagers. A chill passed over him as if a cloud had crossed before the sun, but when he looked up, the sky remained clear.

Then Faith tugged his sleeve.

He looked down, into her glowing eyes and joyful face.

“Uncle Horace is over there, speaking with Lord Longfellow.” Faith waved to their left, then tipped her head as if sensing he’d been thinking of other things and more gently said, “We should join them.”

He banished all thoughts of his family and returned her smile—returned his mind to enjoying the day. “Yes.” He closed his hand over hers on his sleeve. “Let’s see what they thought of our performance.”

Therese passed slowly, regally, through the crowd. Despite the gentle, almost-vague smile on her lips, she was watching, listening, and observing intently.

In many ways, for her, Little Moseley and its inhabitants now featured as an alternate society, one she visited from autumn to late winter before she returned to the hothouse of the ton. She was who she was; she’d been a grande dame for most of her life, and while she probably could rein in the associated impulse to meddle in people’s lives, she didn’t really see why she should.

She always acted in the best interests of those involved.

Of course, her attention was even more intently engaged when it was family she had in her sights.

She glimpsed Melissa and Dagenham through the crowd and paused to take covert stock. Henry, Kilburn, and Wiley were part of the group, and, Therese noted with amused approval, Lottie was holding firmly to Melissa’s hand. Therese’s younger granddaughter was looking up, watching the interplay between Melissa and Dagenham—watching Dagenham especially—indeed, as acutely as Therese herself.

She had met Dagenham on and off since his infancy; her gaze resting on him, she had to admit that she’d never seen him so…not shy—never that—but unsure of himself. Cautious and wary of putting a foot wrong—yes, that was it. Interesting. And, she suspected, rather revealing.

Melissa, in contrast, was as cool as a cucumber, quietly assured in the way she responded to Dagenham and the others—always appropriately and with not the slightest hint of encouragement thrown Dagenham’s way.

Naturally, her apparent imperviousness was the equivalent of issuing a challenge to Dagenham; regardless of whether that was Melissa’s intention, he appeared to be growing ever more fixated on her.

And in Therese’s expert opinion, that was even more interesting.

She should probably inform Henrietta—Melissa’s mother—of the unexpected acquaintance. Nothing might come of it, and indeed, nothing could come of it for years yet, not until Melissa was considerably older, but there was no denying that for a young lady like Melissa, Viscount Dagenham, heir to the Earl of Carsely, would be a perfectly acceptable, not to say quite brilliant, match.

Imagining Henrietta’s reaction to such news, Therese smiled and moved on through the crowd. She was keen to assess the status of the budding romance between Faith and Richard Mortimer; she finally spotted the pair chatting with the major and Christian Longfellow.

She paused some yards away, screened by the bodies passing between her and the group as the villagers started slowly returning to their homes and businesses. The pageant had been a huge success with nary a major glitch, and most had been inclined to linger and wallow in the associated glow.

Therese studied the way Richard Mortimer stood with Faith’s hand anchored beneath his on his sleeve. Studied the way he angled his head and gazed at Faith as she responded to Horace’s and Christian’s comments.

In particular, Therese noted the glow in Faith’s face and the quick glances she directed at Richard, meeting his gaze.

All in all, matters between the pair appeared to be progressing smoothly. Therese could see no reason to interfere; with luck, all would proceed in the customary fashion, and soon, Richard would be calling at Swindon Hall to seek counsel from the major over contacting Faith’s parents.

Therese was smiling somewhat smugly to herself when Sally Swindon halted by her side. Glancing at Sally, Therese saw that Sally’s gaze, too, was focused on the young couple speaking with her husband.

“It will do, won’t it?” Sally didn’t shift her gaze from Faith and Richard Mortimer.

“Oh, I think so.” Therese paused, then added, “We might not yet know a great deal about Richard Mortimer’s background, but he is indubitably a gentleman, and his behavior speaks well of him. Other than his initial reclusiveness—which Faith has largely cured—there’s little I’ve seen to fault.”

Sally nodded. “My thoughts exactly.” She met Therese’s gaze. “Shall we join them?”

“Indeed,” Therese returned.

Together, they negotiated the intervening yards. After being dodged by racing young Foleys from Crossley Farm and pausing to compliment Mrs. Mountjoy on her new hat, they fetched up between Christian and Faith.

Therese smiled at a beaming—thoroughly satisfied—Christian and thought how far he’d come since the previous year. The scars marring his face no longer seemed to impinge on his awareness, any more than they influenced the way others truly saw him. He was such an inherently commanding personality—one who commanded by character, as it were—that all others looked to him to take charge, and this year, he’d been the primary organizer of the pageant. She caught his eye. “You should be proud—this year’s event has set a new and very high standard.”

He looked mock-concerned. “That sounds as if I should commence planning next year’s festivities this afternoon.”

She laughed and patted his arm. “You’ll come up with something even better now that you have the reins in your hands and have taken your team once around the park, so to speak.”

Christian chuckled, and his gaze moved to Richard. “Mortimer’s contribution was the standout addition.”

“That was Eugenia’s idea,” Therese pointed out. “You will have to thank her.”

Christian’s smile grew fond. “Oh, I will.”

Sally Swindon was speaking with Faith, discussing their plans for the rest of the day.

Therese looked at Richard Mortimer and succeeded in capturing his gaze. “I wanted to thank you, Richard, for your exemplary work in forming and guiding your special guest choir. Not only was the performance evocative, not only did it contribute in a very real way to the village’s enjoyment of the event, but your enterprise has kept my grandchildren occupied in a thoroughly unexceptionable way. I fear you, being a bachelor, will not properly appreciate the favor you have done me, but I do sincerely thank you from the bottom of their mothers’ hearts.”

Everyone laughed.

Smiling, Richard inclined his head in response. “I will only note that leading a choir of such talented people is, in itself, an honor, and the result was more their doing than mine. Such voices are a blessing, and it’s to all the choristers’ credits that they were willing to put those voices to use and to devote the time needed to practice.” He met Therese’s eyes. “I was impressed with the dedication shown by all of them.”

She felt quite ridiculously pleased—almost as if they were her own children. Apparently, grandchildren could fulfill the same role. “I was speaking to Christian about the new standard he’ll be expected to better next year. You, too, won’t be allowed to rest on your laurels—we’ll all be looking forward to your choir’s a cappella performance next year.”

A cloud passed through Richard’s eyes; Therese saw it clearly, but then he blinked, and it was gone, and after the slightest of hesitations, he smiled—although now the gesture seemed a trifle strained. But “Indeed” was all the reply he made.

Therese’s instincts twitched rather violently. Was Richard not expecting to stay in the village? That, she felt certain, was what she’d sensed behind his sudden reservation.

But before she could frame any probing question, Faith turned to Richard with a sweet smile. “Aunt Sally wondered if you would care to take luncheon with us. I explained that we had a choir practice scheduled for this afternoon, but we could drive back in the gig—we would be back in good time.”

The warmth returned to Richard’s face, then he looked past Faith to Sally Swindon and half bowed. “I would be honored to have luncheon at Swindon Hall.”

Therese concealed the sudden whirl of her thoughts behind a parting smile as the group broke up—the Swindons heading for their coach with Faith still on Richard’s arm, while Christian turned to deal with an inquiry from Bilson, the butcher, who had been in charge of dismantling the stable.

When Christian returned his attention to her, Therese briskly patted his arm. “I’m going to go and speak with Eugenia and see how young Cedric enjoyed his first pageant.”

Christian grinned and pointed out his son and heir, cradled in his wife’s arms as she stood beside Cedric’s pram close to the opening in the vicarage wall that would allow them to skirt the rear of the vicarage and the church and reach the Grange stables. Hendricks stood nearby with Duggins the donkey’s leading rein in his hamlike fist.

“I note that Duggins behaved like an old hand this year,” Therese observed.

Christian snorted. “Perhaps the singing calmed his inner beast.”

Therese laughed, waved, and started up the rise toward Eugenia.

Looking down as she managed her skirts, Therese found her mind swinging back to what, somewhat to her surprise, was fast becoming “the vexed question of Richard Mortimer.”

The hesitation she’d sensed in him minutes ago—and the uncertainty that had raised regarding his commitment to the village and the post of church organist—had reminded her of all the questions about who he was to which she had yet to find answers.

Head down, she muttered, “No matter how exemplary his behavior and his outward character, as he presents at this time, Richard Mortimer, as the youngsters are apt to say, simply doesn’t pass muster.”

As she toiled up the rise, Therese concluded that the only explanation for all she’d seen and sensed in Richard was that he was hiding something. Quite what, she had no idea. “And I still find it difficult to believe he is villainous in any way. But what is his problem?”

Regardless, with his concern over the carol service resolved and that weight lifted from his shoulders, he and Faith seemed to be growing ever closer…

Therese absolved Richard of any intention to hurt Faith in any degree whatsoever. Yet… “I do hope,” she murmured beneath her breath, “that he knows what he’s doing.”

The truth was that, in the matter of Richard Mortimer, she was honestly unsure whether she needed to be concerned—whether she needed to take a more definite hand in his and Faith’s evolving romance. For Therese, when it came to promoting desirable marriages, uncertainty was an unusual and unwelcome feeling.

Finally gaining the plateau where Eugenia was waiting, Therese set aside all thoughts of her “vexed question,” released her skirts, raised her head, and went forward with a delighted smile to greet two-thirds of the product of her previous year’s Christmas meddling.

The following morning, in something of a state, Mrs. Haggerty popped her head around the door of Therese’s parlor to report, “I’ve just come back from the shops, my lady, but I’ll have to go out again. I was planning on using honey for glazing the ham, but the children have raided my honey supply and made a honey-and-lemon drink—for their throats, apparently, so Mrs. Crimmins says—and they’ve left me only a smidgen.”

Therese considered her flustered cook. As Therese had arranged to host a special celebratory dinner tomorrow evening after the hopefully wildly successful carol service, she felt somewhat responsible for Mrs. Haggerty’s stress. Mrs. Haggerty was a perfectionist, a fact Therese and her guests appreciated.

Setting aside the letter she’d been perusing, Therese glanced at the window, confirming that the day remained fine. “I was intending to stroll outside and get some air at some point. There’s no reason I can’t go now and stroll in the direction of Mountjoy’s.” She grasped the head of her cane and pushed to her feet. “Will a single jar be enough?”

“Oh, thank you, m’lady!” Mrs. Haggerty gushed. “That’ll allow me to get on with plucking the goose. And yes—one of Mountjoy’s large jars will be plenty.”

“Consider it on its way.”

With a bob, Mrs. Haggerty rushed back to her kitchen.

Reflecting that a honey-and-lemon drink for her four choristers’ much-used throats was arguably just as important as the glaze for Mrs. Haggerty’s delicious ham, Therese walked to the bellpull to call for Orneby to fetch her coat, gloves, thickest scarf, and bonnet. Judging by the way the branches were whipping, the breeze today was brisk.

After allowing Orneby to fuss and wrap her up in multiple layers of wool and to firmly tie on her bonnet against the breeze, Therese set off for the village’s general store. She saw no reason to rush. Despite the season, the clear weather had left the drive and footpaths firm underfoot; she reached the lane in excellent time and crossed to the footpath that followed the lane north to the village proper.

A few yards along, she reached the entrance to the church drive. The voices of angels spilled down the rise and wrapped around her. She halted and listened, smiling as she recognized Melissa’s alto and then heard Lottie’s piping voice soaring over all. Seconds later, Therese picked out Jamie’s and George’s clear, boyish sopranos, blending well with Faith’s more mature voice.

Dagenham’s tenor was distinguishable, but at this distance, the other men’s voices were a rumble.

And supporting all, the organ and harp laid down a complex, interweaving accompaniment that was rich beyond measure.

Therese smiled to herself and walked on. Sadly, the glorious sound faded rapidly, blown in the opposite direction by the brisk northerly breeze.

Therese had passed the village green and was nearing Mountjoy’s Store when she looked ahead and saw a familiar face—one that seemed entirely out of place. The old lady—a few years Therese’s junior, yet still old—was standing in the middle of the lane between Mountjoy’s and Bilson’s Butchers and looking about as if she was completely and utterly lost.

Or at a loss. Given who it was, Therese wasn’t willing to guess which.

A carriage that was plainly the lady’s was drawn up outside one of the cottages a little farther along.

The lady had glanced back in that direction; now she turned fully that way and looked north up the lane—away from Therese.

Therese continued on, then halted outside Mountjoy’s and raised her voice. “Maude Helmsley—what on earth are you doing in Little Moseley?”

Maude swung around so fast she nearly toppled. She caught her balance, stared at Therese, then Maude’s shocked expression dissolved under what seemed a veritable tide of relief. “Lady Osbaldestone! I had no idea I might find you here.” Maude quickly approached and halted two paces away. She glanced around, then asked, “Are you visiting?”

“No,” Therese said. “My dower house is here…”

She suddenly knew of whom Richard Mortimer reminded her—namely, the Helmsleys. Therese kept her eyes from narrowing and maintained an even tone as she asked, “But what brings you here, dear? You appear quite lost. Perhaps I can help.”

“Oh, I do hope so…” Apparently recollecting to whom she was speaking, Maude suddenly looked wary. But after two seconds of internal debate, she sighed and met Therese’s eyes. “You’re sure to hear all about it in short order once the news gets out—as it inevitably will if we don’t succeed in running the boy to earth and getting him back where he belongs.”

Therese allowed her brows to arch high. “Boy?” She certainly wouldn’t have labeled the man who called himself Richard Mortimer a boy—but perhaps that was part of the reason Maude had lost him. Assuming it was he Maude was searching for. “Who, precisely, are you looking for?”

Maude sighed resignedly. “The rest of the family and I have been trying to locate the new head of the junior branch—my nephew, Richard—and Totty Firbanks wrote to tell me she was sure she’d spotted him when she drove through Little Moseley on her way to her cousin’s house in the New Forest.”

Therese folded her hands over the top of her cane. “How old is this nephew?”

Maude compressed her lips, but then reluctantly admitted, “Richard is thirty-one.”

“Indeed?” Therese’s brows couldn’t get any higher. “If you don’t mind me saying, Maude, thirty-one seems a trifle old to be running away from home.” Therese tipped her head. “Is he touched in the upper works or…?”

“Good God, no!” Maude stared at Therese.

Therese waited.

Again, Maude’s reluctance to say more was excruciatingly clear.

With her expression revealing nothing more than polite interest, Therese waited for Maude to realize that she had no choice but to explain all if she wanted Therese’s help.

Eventually, Maude softly huffed and said, “As you no doubt realize, by ‘family,’ I mean the Shropshire Helmsleys.”

Therese nodded. The Shropshire Helmsleys were the junior branch of the same family that held the earldom of Montcargill.

“What most don’t know is how very wealthy the junior branch is—not in land but in funds and other investments. My oldest brother, George, has done well by us all and grown the estate, as it were, significantly during his tenure.”

Therese frowned. “George is still alive.” She opened her eyes wide. “Or is he?”

“Oh, George is still there, sitting in Shropshire, but he’s very old and feeble now, which is why it’s us younger ones—my sisters and I—who are trying to find Richard.”

“But why are you trying to find Richard? He’s a grown man, and his older brother…” Therese saw a glimmer of light. “Ah—so it’s true.” She fixed her gaze on Maude’s face. “Richard’s older brother, Roddy—a profligate rake if ever one was born—was the idiot who cuckolded Lord Denbigh and the man Denbigh subsequently dispatched in a duel that has been as hushed up as a duel ever was.”

Maude gritted her teeth and nodded. “Yes. Roddy died a week after the duel, and no one thought it right to lay his demise at anyone’s door but his own. Truth be told, the family viewed Richard—who is a much more sober sort—stepping into Roddy’s shoes as George’s heir to be the silver lining to that dark cloud.”

“Hmm.” Therese had to agree. “So what went wrong? Why did Richard bolt—as I assume he has?”

Maude exhaled gustily. “We—the family—thought we knew Richard. He was always so much quieter than Roddy—indeed, he hid behind his flashier older brother and devoted himself to the study of music. He was a Fellow at Cambridge, you know. But after Roddy’s death, Richard had to come home, of course. And then… Well, from what we’ve pieced together from the little the family’s man-of-business—who seems quite devoted to Richard now—deigned to tell us, apparently, Richard discovered that George had let go of the reins years ago, and Roddy’s depredations had made a sizeable impact, and although I gather there’s still plenty in the coffers, things about the house and elsewhere are in a serious mess. However, if I understood Phillips—the man-of-business—correctly, he believes that the changes Richard has made should see all right again shortly. Consequently, I fear that money—the managing of and responsibility for it—isn’t the issue that sent Richard fleeing.” Maude met Therese’s eyes and announced, “I suspect it’s marriage, you see.”

Therese’s brows rose to new heights. “Indeed? How so?”

Maude paused as if to marshal her thoughts, then went on, “Naturally, Roddy’s unexpected death acted as a powerful reminder of mortality, to George especially.” She tipped her head in admission. “And on the rest of the family, too. We all depend on the estate for the bulk of our incomes, and if Richard was to meet with some accident… Well, other than my other brother, Harold, who is a confirmed bachelor now in his eighties, there isn’t another heir. The estate would revert to the principal line after Harold’s death—which might occur sooner rather than later. Given his gout, Harold might even go before George.”

Therese narrowed her eyes. “And once George and Harold are gone, you don’t believe the principal line—the earl, in fact—will continue the payments to you and your sisters.”

Maude primmed her lips, then parted them to confide, “As you know, Cecil is the current earl, and we know he’ll do right by us girls. But his son…” Maude’s features pinched in disapproval. “He would cut us off without a farthing and laugh while he was doing it.”

“I see.” Therese did, indeed, understand; she’d recently had the misfortune to meet the Earl of Montcargill’s only son, a spendthrift and gamester just waiting for his father to die to gamble away every last sou. “Sadly, I fully comprehend your dilemma. However, that doesn’t explain why Richard fled his home.”

Maude colored. “I’m afraid that might have been due to us—my sisters and I.” She twisted her gloved fingers together. “We were so desperate to have Richard wed and start his nursery that we…might have pushed a little.”

Therese eyed Maude. “Don’t you mean that you and your sisters pushed rather a lot?”

Maude looked guilty. After a moment, in a small voice, she said, “We might have been a tad insistent—but really.” Her voice gained in strength. “Richard’s obsession with music to the exclusion of all else was utterly insupportable. How he could hope to find a suitable chit when all he would do was attend the most academic of concerts and spend all his spare time—the time he should have been strolling in the park or dancing at balls and chatting at soirees—playing music or meeting with other musically minded gentlemen, I simply do not know.”

Therese studied Maude’s now-flushed face. “You might as well confess—what did you do?”

Maude drew in a long, slow breath through her nose, then in a tone of righteous indignation said, “We organized a house party—it was to run this week. We invited the pick of the suitable, unmarried young ladies and their mamas. Everything was in train—all Richard had to do was come downstairs, look them over, and make his choice.” Maude huffed. “But no. He vanished weeks ago—the day after we told him of our plan. I left my sisters to cope with writing to all our guests, claiming we’d had an outbreak of illness and putting them off, while I set out for London to find Richard and, if necessary, haul him home by his ear!”

Therese’s gaze could not have been more chillingly severe.

Seeing it, Maude abruptly deflated. In an almost childish whine, she countered, “Well, what else am I to do?”

“For a start, you might reflect that applying such an attitude to a thirty-one-year-old gentleman who has, it seems, very capably organized his life until now might not be the wisest course, no matter the appropriateness of the outcome you desire.” Therese paused, then asked, “Did he leave any note or communication?”

Maude sniffed. “Richard was always the soul of consideration—which is why we were so overset by his kicking over the traces. He left a letter with Phillips. In it, Richard wrote that he was leaving for a time to sort out what he wanted in his life—how best to balance our demands with his own wishes. By which, of course, he means music. He said—and Phillips confirmed—that all decisions that needed to be made for the next months have been dealt with, and there’s no reason the estate can’t function normally until after next quarter day.”

Therese thought rapidly—of Richard and Faith and all that might be—while Maude again looked around. Eventually, Therese returned her gaze to Maude’s face. “Where are you staying?”

“I’m expected at Totty’s for the night.” Maude waved to the north. “Her house lies east of Romsey.”

Therese thanked the Almighty that the wind was blowing the music emanating from the church in the opposite direction. If Maude heard it, even she would guess…

Maude’s eyes narrowed on Therese’s face. “Totty was certain she’d spotted Richard in this village, and she’s met him often enough to be sure it was him.” Maude’s expression grew suspicious. “Have you seen him?”

“As to that…” Therese paused, still considering, then slanted a knowing look at Maude. “I can assure you that Richard—who I don’t believe I had previously met—has not sought refuge with me. However, I do know where he is, and”—she raised her voice to override Maude’s demand to be taken to him immediately—“if you will do as I say, I’ll arrange for you to meet with him.”

Maude studied Therese, saw the resolution in her face, and somewhat grudgingly capitulated. “Yes, of course.” Maude looked at Therese expectantly.

She nearly smiled in anticipation; it took effort to keep her expression unrevealing. “Meet me in this lane, outside the vicarage”—she turned and pointed at the sprawling house on the other side of the green—“at precisely ten minutes to six o’clock tomorrow evening, and I will take you to your nephew.”

Maude looked at the vicarage, then at Therese. “You will?”

Therese inclined her head. “You have my word.” Which, as Maude well knew, was good enough for kings.

Maude heaved a huge sigh. “Well, at least I’ve found him.” She nodded. “I’ll do as you ask.”

“Bring no one else,” Therese warned. “And to that end, I would counsel you not to tell Totty you might have found your errant nephew. Better you wait until after you’ve met and spoken with him to decide who you wish to know all.”

Maude looked suitably aware of the danger. She nodded. “I’ll keep mum until after I meet him.”

“Good. And I would also suggest that you climb back into your carriage and head over to Totty’s with all speed—were I you, as regards this village and its environs, I would play least in sight until ten minutes to six o’clock tomorrow evening. The last thing you want is for Richard to glimpse you and vanish again.”

“Oh dear me, no.” Maude bobbed. “Thank you for your help, Lady Osbaldestone. I’ll meet you outside the vicarage as arranged tomorrow evening.”

With that, Maude turned and started hurrying up the lane to her carriage.

Then Therese called, “Maude?”

Maude halted and turned back. “Yes?”

“I strongly suggest that, tomorrow evening, you wear a veil.”

“Oh. I see. Yes, all right.” Maude bobbed again and went.

Therese remained in the lane until Maude’s carriage rattled off, then she arched her brows, spent two seconds in abstracted thought, then turned and entered Mountjoy’s Store, intent on acquiring a large jar of honey.