The sight of Woodside's black iron gates had never before brought such relief, and Anabelle could not get through them fast enough.

She had been surprised when Mr. Fielding had come upon them while she taught Joe in the clearing by the barn. It seemed unlikely that he had discovered their meeting place by chance, and the idea of him seeking her out had pleased her beyond measure. For a brief time she had even forgotten his position, thinking of him as no more or less than a pleasant companion. Only when they were walking to Woodside did he reveal the news that turned all her happiness to bitter disappointment.

As they followed the carriage drive towards the house, she wondered whether this would be the last time she spoke to Mr. Fielding. He said he would be leaving Blackwood Hall, but had given no inkling when that event might occur. Yet she could not bring herself to bid him a final farewell. Instead she thanked him for his escort.

"It was my pleasure, Miss Latimer. And may I take this opportunity to say that if you require any further assistance while your father is recovering please consider me at your disposal. Not that you need my help. You appear to be coping admirably."

Although Anabelle was not insensible of his compliment, the pleasure she felt at his praise was no recompense for the future loss of his friendship. "Might you be at Blackwood Hall for a while longer then?"

"Long enough."

Anabelle doubted she would take up his offer of assistance. She was not sure her heart could stand it. She thanked him again before opening the front door. They were met in the hallway by Mrs Crossley, who showed neither shock nor censure at her returning home in the company of an unknown gentleman. Although she knew her father would be in his chamber, she asked Mr. Fielding to wait downstairs while she checked he was awake and prepared to receive his visitor.

As expected she found Mr. Latimer in his favourite chair, staring out of the window. "Papa?"

He smiled at the sound of her voice. "Yes, my dear?"

"Mr. Fielding is downstairs. Will you receive him?"

Her father's quiet acceptance and lack of surprise confirmed that their arrival had been observed by at least one member of her family. "Of course, please show him in. After an hour listening to Mrs Latimer complaining about the butcher, I would welcome some intelligent conversation."

Anabelle made no mention of the steward's intended departure, instead allowing her father to discover the news for himself. She returned some minutes later with Mr. Fielding and made the necessary introductions. Once the two men had completed the formalities, she escaped to her room to consider the implications of the shocking news he had so recently revealed.

Mr. Fielding would soon leave Blackwood Hall.

As she repeated the fact to herself she felt a sharp spasm of disappointment in her chest. She had watched him from beneath her lashes as he sat across the clearing, waiting for Joe's lesson to end. As handsome as he had looked, sitting patiently on the stump with the air of a gentleman, it was not only his countenance that pleased. There had been a comfortable humour in his eyes and generous respect in his tone as he had asked about her father's plans for the estate.

She had known from the beginning that there could never be more than friendship between them. However, she had not realised until today how important it was that she might still occasionally pass the time of day with him, greet him on the High Street in Haltford, or share a nod and a smile across the church on a Sunday.

To discover that he would soon return to his home and position in Yorkshire—more than a hundred miles distant—left her in low spirits indeed.

Anabelle heard muffled voices in the hallway and composed herself just before Diana and Marianne burst into her room, the former wagging an admonishing finger. "We saw you walking down the drive with a man. Who was it?"

She stifled a sigh. "It was Mr. Fielding."

"I told her," Marianne said, "but she didn't believe me."

Diana rolled her eyes. "We couldn't see him very well from our window, but he was very tall and looked rather smart in his blue coat. What's his business here, Belle?"

"Papa wished to speak to him."

Marianne frowned as she looked between her elder sisters. "Why was he walking? What happened to his horse? Can he not afford one of his own?"

She had been so pleased to see him, it had not occurred to Anabelle to wonder why Mr. Fielding had appeared in the clearing on foot.

"Mr. Burgin had a horse..."—Marianne rolled a bright blonde ringlet around her finger—"and a trap too."

"It was probably Sir George's horse and Sir George's trap and Mr. Burgin took them like he took everything else," Diana said, showing herself to be familiar with all the neighbourhood gossip.

Anabelle shook her head. "I know Mr. Fielding has his own horse. I have seen him riding it, and so has Selina."

Diana drew an apple from deep within the folds of her dress and polished it on her apron. "He was probably riding one of the Blackwood horses. Mama says Sir Henry has five thousand a year, so he can afford a stable full of them."

"Mr. Fielding might not be rich, but even a steward can afford to keep a horse," Anabelle snapped, her frustration momentarily overriding her disappointment. "Besides, it is a necessary part of his occupation that he can easily travel from one part of an estate to the other."

"If he doesn't have one of his own I am sure Mr. Pickard would be willing to sell one of his," Diana said, just before she bit into the apple.

Marianne picked up a hair pin from the dressing table, twisting it in her hands. "I wish Papa would buy me a horse. I would dearly love to learn to ride."

"Belle." Diana drew out the syllable, almost turning her name into a question. "Did Mr. Fielding tell you anything about Sir Henry?"

"A little maybe. I do not quite remember." Anabelle recalled most of their earlier conversation well enough, but did not feel up to reliving it for her sisters' entertainment.

"Did he say whether Sir Henry would be back in time for the dance?"

"Yes, probably within the week."

Her young half-sister stood before the mirror, twisting up her loose hair. "Will you marry Sir Henry? Mama says you will."

Anabelle took a hairpin from her fingers, and settled Marianne on the stool. "To say I will marry a man who I have not yet spoken to is a little..." She would have said presumptuous, but as Marianne was close to her mother Anabelle did not want her words repeated in Mrs Latimer's ears. "Just because a gentleman of marrying age takes up residence in the neighbourhood, that does not mean he is looking for a wife."

Marianne stared at her reflection. "What about Mr. Fielding?"

She felt her face grow warm, and was just about to respond when Diana answered for her. "Don't be a silly mouse. Belle cannot marry a steward. What would the neighbours say? Mama would sink with embarrassment."

"I know mama said he does not have any money, but Anabelle has a little of her own. Could they not live off that?"

"Papa would never allow it. Why, only last week I read a book about a girl who falls in love with her father's handsome stable master." Diana settled on the end of the bed, making herself comfortable. "After months of meeting in secret, he asks her to marry him. She accepts and they decide to run away to Scotland, because she knows her father would never give permission. Her father discovers their intent before they have time to leave. He steals out of the house in the dark of night to confront the stable master."

Perched on the edge of the stool, Marianne leaned forward, so as not to miss a single word. "Did he agree to let them marry in the end? Please say they had a happy ending."

Diana shook her head. "They fight inside the stable; the father has his sword and the stable master defends himself with a pitchfork. During the fight a lantern is overset, and the hay catches light. The father escapes the flames, but the lover is trapped."

"No!"

"Yes. When the daughter hears she runs into the burning stable before her father can stop her to be with the man she loves."

A tear rolled down Marianne's cheek. "Does the father relent and save them both?"

"No, he watches the stable burn to the ground, saying it was better for his daughter to die than become the wife of a stable master." Diana clutched her fist to her chest before flinging herself across the bed, recreating the young girl's death for her sisters' edification.

Anabelle threw her arm around the now sobbing Marianne, while casting a warning glance towards her sister. "You know Mrs Latimer does not like you reading those sorts of books."

Diana rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "It wasn't a very good story. The girl was rather stupid to run into a burning stable. I wouldn't do that no matter how much I loved someone."

Marianne grasped a handful of Anabelle's skirt. "Please, Belle. Promise me you won't fall in love with a stable master."

"I have no intention of doing so."

The young girl brushed the tears away and checked her reflection in the mirror. She smiled as her blonde curls swung from the Grecian inspired style Anabelle had seen in a three year old copy of The Lady's Magazine. "I look so grown-up, but I wish I could go to the dance. What is it like?"

As though making up for her earlier behaviour, Diana described the previous entertainment Mr. Gent had held in the rooms above the Red Lion, to celebrate the Harvest festival. She went into great detail about the music, the dancing, and the ladies' dresses. Despite hearing it all before, Marianne sat in rapt attention, soaking up the smallest detail.

While they talked, Anabelle detached herself from the conversation, allowing Diana to continue unchecked. As silly as her younger sisters could sometimes be, she was at least grateful that they had distracted her from her maudlin thoughts about the steward of Blackwood Hall.

She drifted to the window and watched a starling peck the last few berries from one of the trees that grew nearby. After a short while she heard the measured tread of boots in the hallway, and tracked them down the stairs. Following a brief pause, the main door opened and closed and she held her breath. Then Mr. Fielding finally came into view, walking along the carriage drive, heading purposefully towards the gate.

He stopped half way to the gate, looking back towards the house.

Anabelle stepped behind the curtain, out of sight, before peeking around the edge. Her heart thumped as she took in every detail of his appearance: his dark hair brushing the edge of his collar, the blue coat that perfectly suited his tall silhouette, and the ebony cane he carried in his right hand.

After a momentary pause he continued on his way; not only beyond the boundaries of Woodside's garden, but also, maybe, out of her life entirely.

Anabelle shook herself, remembering how imprudent it was to form any sort of attachment to Mr. Fielding. Despite having the manners and appearance equal to any gentleman, his income alone precluded her from considering him as a possible partner in life. Had she been brought up to help in the kitchen, maybe allowed to bake a few biscuits or knead a loaf, then the idea of cooking a meal, making a bed, or doing the laundry would not be so strange to her. Every day couples lived on far less than a steward's salary, with no assistance from servants, and were very happy.

Yet even that simple future was beyond her reach. If she wished with all her heart, her father would never allow her to marry so far beneath her.