When Anabelle heard another knock at her chamber door, she was in half a mind to feign sleep and ignore it. While she had not expected her father to be satisfied with her answer, she had hoped his general apathy for household matters might allow her a longer respite before the girl returned to try again.

However, it was not the maid who entered at her call, but Mr. Latimer himself, leaning upon his crutches. "You see before you the hill, presenting itself before Mahomet. I hope you are not insensible of the compliment."

Anabelle sprang from her place upon the bed and helped her father to sit. "Dear sir! Had I known your reason was so pressing, I would have come to you sooner."

She felt her father's grey eyes upon her as he lowered himself into the chair, and knew what he saw. After her meeting with Mr. Fielding she had lost interest in everything: dinner had turned to ash in her mouth, the wine was like pump water, and the concerns of her family failed to divert her thoughts. This morning she had dressed with no care to her appearance; there was no one to impress and she felt too spiritless to care.

Having glanced only briefly in the mirror, she knew the dullness of her eyes and skin spoke of the long night following Mr. Fielding's proposal, when sleep had all but evaded her.

"Belle," said her father, his voice tinged with exasperation. "What in heaven's name compelled you to refuse Mr. Fielding's offer? I was under the impression you liked the man. Was I mistaken?''

Shocked by his question, it took a moment for her to form a reply. If her father already knew that much, she could do no more harm by revealing the rest. "No! I...I do like him."

"Then why would you not marry him? It is a popular pastime amongst the young, I believe."

She was in no mood to be the source of her father's entertainment. "You jest, but this is not a light-hearted matter. You know I cannot wed Mr. Fielding."

"I am afraid I know nothing of the sort. Pray, enlighten me with your reasoning."

"His position...his income; you would never allow me to be the wife of a steward."

Her father frowned, and then shook his head. "How is it possible you still imagine him to be Sir Henry's steward? You told me you had realised your error."

Anabelle heard the censure in his tone. "Yes, I was mistaken in thinking he would remain at Blackwood, but he said he was returning to his own position in the north."

The smile that now grew on her father's face was familiar to her, as was the twinkle in his eyes. "Have you any further objections, other than your belief of our disapproval? Do you imagine him to be unworthy?"

"No, not at all, but I hope I know better than to welcome an unequal connection. Mrs Latimer would despair if I made such a mésalliance; particularly now, when she has such high hopes of attracting the notice of a wealthy man like Sir Henry."

"A most humble self-sacrifice on your part, my dear, but there was never any need to deny yourself. Mr. Fielding is not a steward. He has never been a steward—not in this county nor any other."

Anabelle's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared at her father, the heat rising in her cheeks. "I do not comprehend you. Why, then, was he working for Sir Henry and what are the responsibilities he spoke of in Yorkshire?"

They were interrupted by Diana, bursting into Belle's room. She stopped dead when she saw its occupants. "Lord, Papa! What are you doing here?"

"More to the point," said Mr. Latimer in his sternest tone, "what are you doing barging in here without so much as a knock?"

"I was only going to borrow..." Diana paled as her eyes darted towards her sister. "I would have brought it straight back!" She stared at them both and then sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"Well, while you are here you can at least make yourself useful. Go down to my library and bring me the small brown book that sits on the corner of my desk."

Thankful to avoid a greater scold, Diana did as she was bid, and Mr. Latimer soon had the volume in his hand. Anabelle tried to read the title on the spine, but the tiny gold letters resisted every attempt.

When they were once again alone, her father bent forward in the chair. "Do you wish to learn something of your Mr. Fielding? I promise you will find it most enlightening."

Curiosity fought with caution within Anabelle's breast, and curiosity won out. She settled herself back onto the end of the bed as her father opened the book and removed the short scrap of black ribbon he had used as a marker.

"Do you know anything of Huddersfield, Belle? No? It is one of the principal seats of the woollen trade. I would not be at all surprised if some of our own local fleeces had been sold within its market hall. Five miles south west of Huddersfield there is a village called Meltham. Is that name familiar to you?"

"I do not think I have heard it mentioned."

"Are you certain? Did Mr. Fielding not speak of his home at all?"

"Only to say he had offered Joseph Marsh a job in the stables there."

"Hmm...well, within these pages I discovered a fascinating addendum to the description of the village. I should like to read it to you, if you will permit me." Without waiting for her answer, he cleared his throat, adjusted his reading glasses and focussed his attention on the page.

"Two and a half miles north west from Meltham is Meltham Park, the residence of Anthony Fielding Esq. The mansion, which is pleasantly situated to the south of the River Colne, was built about eighty years ago by the late Hugh Fielding, grandfather of the current owner, on the site of a very ancient one belonging to the family. The present house is a handsome stone building, with a portico projecting from the south front. It has several good apartments fitted up in a neat and elegant manner. The rooms contain some good family portraits, although none of particular celebrity."

Only then did Mr. Latimer pause from his recitation to observe the effect this news would have on his daughter. In that, at least, she had to disappoint him. "How do you know this family is connected to the Mr. Fielding who has been at Blackwood Hall?"

Her father snorted and shook his head. "I am beginning to wonder what you young people find to talk about when you meet quite by chance in the neighbourhood."

As she opened her mouth to protest, he held up a finger to silence her. "It seems my conversation with that gentleman was more to the point than yours. Mr. Fielding told me something about his estate called Meltham Park—his estate, mind you, not his family's— and I heard enough to know that it casts Blackwood Hall quite into the shade. Your Mr. Fielding is most certainly a gentleman, my dear, and as such I would have no qualms in giving my consent to your marrying him."

Anabelle felt an uncomfortable weight settle in her stomach. This could not be the same man. Surely Mr. Fielding would have mentioned something of his wealth if he had anything to offer. Her father must have misunderstood.

"And if you are thinking me already in my dotage, Belle, maybe this will help to convince you. Mr. Fielding sent it in this morning when he called." He slipped his hand into his pocket, picking out a familiar shape and offering it for her inspection.

She took the visiting card, running her fingers over the square black letters printed across the middle: Anthony Fielding Esq. There was no mention of a trade, or a business address. Instead it offered only the elegant simplicity anyone might expect from a man of wealth and leisure. She glanced at her father. "You knew Mr. Fielding was a gentleman?"

"I knew nothing more of him than you had told me, at least until he came to call."

"Three days ago?" Recalling everything that had happened since she had introduced Mr. Fielding to her father, it was as though someone had put a spark to a tinder box. She jumped up, stabbing an accusing finger at him. "You knew this and did not think to tell me?"

"Had I realised your understanding remained flawed you can be sure I would have enlightened you. When you said you had learned he was not Sir Henry's steward, how was I to know you remained ignorant of his status?"

Anabelle shook her head, too annoyed with herself, and her father, to speak.

Mr. Latimer looked down at the book in his hand with an air of affected disinterest. "You know, a long journey for the sake of viewing a house hardly seems worthwhile when the property has no portraits of particular celebrity. Family likenesses are never so interesting when one does not know the subject. Ah...but wait! I see the appeal of the house improves." He moved the page further away, to bring the small print back into focus, and continued reading aloud.

"The breakfast room is eighteen feet square, finished with fresco paintings and antique ornaments in the style of the Baths of Dioclesian. The chimney piece is statuary marble, partially gilded. The Library, thirty six feet by twenty four and twenty two feet high, is finished with mahogany bookcases, Doric entablature and Mosaic ceiling, while the contents form an impressive collection of classic and polite literature. In addition, there is a very fine painting of The Meeting of Hector and Andromache at the Scaean Gates by Cignaroti; nine feet in length by seven in breadth, taken from passages in the Illiad."

Her father's shoulders sagged. "Well, that makes my own poor book room seem rather dull, does it not? Perhaps I should expend a few guineas from your dowry to purchase a similar piece of art to fill my empty wall. A collection of volumes such as the one described must be the work of generations. I confess a curiosity as to its contents. Maybe, if we are very good, we can prevail upon the owner to allow us to peruse some of his classic and polite literature, eh Belle?"

Anabelle crossed the room to look out of her bedroom window; torn between hope and an uncomfortable sense that she had made a grievous mistake, from which it would be impossible to recover. That she should have refused such a man as Mr. Fielding must have been incomprehensible to him. Indeed, as the memories of his proposal returned with full force, she recalled the shock on his face, and little wonder he should feel so.

He must have thought her quite mad.

Her father's voice cut through her contemplation. "If Mr. Fielding's house does not appeal to your tastes, my dear, then perhaps I can entice you with an account of his gardens?" Returning his attention to the book, Mr. Latimer completed the description with an almost unseemly relish.

"The park is very extensive, measuring twelve miles in circumference, and is beautifully diversified with hill and dale, as well as various plantations that range in fine sweeping masses over the inequalities of the ground. The prospects from the adjacent parts are exceedingly fine, and one view looking back from the south possesses extraordinary grandeur. By judiciously altering the banks of the Bradley Brook they have created an elegant stretch of water that winds gracefully through the park. In front of the house it has been swollen into a great lake, but without any artificial appearance. The approach to the mansion is made over an elegant stone bridge of three arches, erected by Paine."

He sat back in the chair, closing the book as he did so. "If I may be allowed to say, it appears you will be mistress of a very fine estate, my dear."

"Perhaps, had I not turned him away. Such a man, once refused, is unlikely to apply again."

"You underestimate his tenacity, my dear. Mr. Fielding was knocking on my door at an indecent hour this morning, demanding to be told the reasons for withholding my permission. I think I can safely say that his interest in you has not been materially lessened by your rejection."

"When he discovers the reason for my decision I doubt he would be so eager. How can I tell him that I thought him a mere steward?"

"That, my dear, you will have to decide for yourself, and soon."

"Why?"

Mr. Latimer smiled. "Because I invited him to dinner."