The wheels of the chaise rattled over the uneven road as Mountford slapped a gloved hand on his knee. "You have not yet given me an adequate explanation for your abominable behaviour this morning."

Fielding pursed his lips as he stared through the window at the darkening autumn sky, refusing to voice the first response that came to mind.

"Why did you not wait for me? I dressed with unseemly haste and was only a little late."

The whine in his friend's voice pushed Fielding beyond the limit of his patience. "You sound astonishingly like your sister, Mountford. If you are determined to complain, at least strive to do so in a manner more worthy of your sex. I needed to speak to Mr. Latimer on an urgent matter of business, and had no intention of delaying the discussion to suit any convenience of yours. You can either accept my apology or not, but you will hardly make yourself a pleasing guest if you insist on sulking all evening."

They continued their journey in silence. Although he understood Mountford's anger at being left behind, any lingering resentment would be of short duration, and Fielding was otherwise satisfied with his morning's work. Despite the discomfort involved in holding such an interview with a gentleman he was scarcely acquainted with, the result was the best he could have wished for. All that remained now was to seek another private moment with Anabelle and hope she would this time return a favourable response.

Given his own feelings, and those he believed Anabelle to possess, he would accept no other outcome.

His friend shifted in his seat, looking past the postilion to check on their progress. Although Mountford had been into Haltford once or twice since he inherited Blackwood, he had not yet travelled much beyond the town. As a result, everything they now passed was new to him.

Yet for Fielding their route already held memories. This was the road he walked with Anabelle as she accompanied him upon his first visit to Woodside. These were the same black gates they passed through. The older servant who opened the door of the chaise had taken his horse only this morning.

As he stepped down, Fielding stared at the familiar black front door. He had no clearer idea whether Anabelle would welcome his presence this evening than he had that morning. A rare twinge of nerves stiffened his resolve, and he consciously straightened his back and raised his chin.

"A tidy looking place," Mountford said as he alit from the chaise beside him. "You did say we would be dining with the whole family, including the daughters?"

"The elder daughters, I presume." For a moment Fielding wondered whether he was doing the right thing, introducing Mountford to Anabelle, but then he shook his head.

Whatever the events of this evening, he had to believe Anabelle loved him.

~<>~<>~

Anabelle studied her pale reflection in the dressing mirror as the girl placed a final comb in her hair. She had always prided herself on her discernment and judgement of character, and it was humbling indeed to discover that her powers of penetration were no less prone to fault than anyone else. With any other subject, the mistake—held up to the light by her father—would have been embarrassing, but she might have laughed it off soon enough.

As her error involved Mr. Fielding, and strongly influenced her decision to reject his marriage proposal, she found very little to laugh about.

Her father knew of Mr. Fielding's true situation, and had said nothing, but she could not accuse him as the sole architect of her misfortunes. She was responsible for spreading the belief that Mr. Fielding was a steward, and as the day passed she resigned herself to accept whatever consequences might arise, but the decision brought her no peace. Anabelle could not settle her mind until she satisfied herself that Mr. Fielding bore her no ill feeling.

She walked down the corridor and paused at the top of the stairs, just as Mrs Crossley reported a carriage turning into the driveway. Mrs Latimer summoned her daughters to gather in the drawing room

Alone upstairs, Anabelle glanced into her parent's darkened bedroom. Reassured it was empty she crept to the window, just as the shiny black chaise pulled up in front of the house. The postilion went to the horses' heads and John moved forward to put down the steps, allowing the passengers to emerge from the dark interior.

The first gentleman to alight was dressed all in black, with fair hair curling beneath the brim of his hat. As he was unfamiliar to her she assumed it must be Sir Henry Mountford. The second figure that appeared from the chaise was all too recognisable, and the sight of him had a strong effect on her heart, causing her pulse to race.

As Mr. Fielding waited before the front door, the light from the house illuminated him like an actor on a stage. While he appeared little changed from their earlier meetings, her new-found knowledge had the effect of holding up a magnifying glass; focussing her attention upon the small details of fashion and stately air that marked him as a gentleman of quality. Clues she had ignored or overlooked because she had thought she knew him.

She reached out, running the tip of her finger down the cold pane, as though she could somehow reach across the distance to touch him. Then Mr. Fielding indicated with an imperious flick of his cane that Sir Henry should precede him into the house. This was a man used to giving orders, even to his friends.

How had she been so ignorant to think him nothing more than a lowly steward?

Anabelle relinquished her position by the window to return to the landing, her fingers gripping the baluster rail as she listened intently. In the hallway below the visitors said little as Mrs Crossley relieved them of their hats and overcoats, but the familiar timbre of Mr. Fielding's voice floated up to her before the door closed.

Aware that she was expected in the drawing room, Anabelle ran down the stairs and tiptoed past her father's library. When she joined her sisters the room fell silent, but conversation resumed when they saw it was only Belle. As she withdrew to the corner of the room, Mrs Latimer spared her a withering glance before returning to her battle plans.

"I will put Sir Henry on my left. Selina, you will be next to him."

"Me? Anabelle is the eldest. Should she not—?"

"Your father has particularly requested that Anabelle sit at his side, and Mr. Fielding as well. I know not what he is thinking, but we must make the best of it. I am determined that Sir Henry will solicit at least one of you to dance at the autumn ball before he leaves this house."

"What of Mr. Fielding? Must we dance with him as well?"

Mrs Latimer dismissed Diana's question with a wave of her lace handkerchief. "Of course not, for Sir Henry will bring his guests to the assembly. He cannot wish to socialise with his steward every evening, whether they are friends or not. He has his own position to think about."

Anabelle's heart sank into her slippers. She had been so caught up in her own misery it had never occurred to her to enlighten her step-mother to the truth of Mr. Fielding's circumstances. Yet it was clear from her speech that Mr. Latimer had told his wife nothing. "There is something you must know about Mr. Fielding. He is not..."

Mrs Latimer, speculating with Diana and Selina about the colour of Sir Henry's coat, did not hear her, and by then it was too late to try again. The creak of a floorboard in the hall beyond was their only warning before Mr. Latimer opened the door to admit their guests.

~<>~<>~

Upon their arrival at Woodside, the two visitors were shown into Mr. Latimer's study. Once Fielding made the necessary introductions he stood back, waiting in silence as their host solicited Mountford's impressions of the neighbourhood. Sir Henry did not disappoint, enthusing over the beauty of the vistas, the easy distance to town and the many years of pleasure he anticipated enjoying the comfort of Blackwood Hall.

Mr. Latimer, who had risen from his chair with the aid of a stout ash cane, smiled and nodded in all the appropriate places. Indeed, he seemed in no hurry to join the rest of the family and Fielding wondered whether the older man intended to remain here all evening.

"Well," he said at last, "I suppose I should make you known my wife and daughters." As he limped down the hall Fielding offered an arm in support, but he waved it away, saying, "The leg needs exercise if it is to become useful again."

He stopped before a door that looked much like the others. The only difference was the chatter of feminine voices in the room beyond. Glancing at his guests, their host gave what Fielding hoped was an encouraging smile as he turned the handle.

Like a blanket dropped over a birdcage, a sudden silence marked their entrance as the heads of those ladies present all turned, as one, to face them. "Mrs Latimer, may I introduce you to Sir Henry Mountford?"

Mrs Latimer smiled as she offered a generous curtsey. "It is a very great pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir."

"And this, my dear, is Mr. Fielding."

As Mrs Latimer turned to him, her smile faltered, and in place of a curtsey she gave a perfunctory nod before returning her attention to his friend.

Anabelle's step-mother was not as old as Fielding had imagined. He could see where the younger Latimer siblings inherited their fair hair, although he preferred Anabelle's darker colouring. Fielding recognised her type, and her calculating glance that seemed to sum up Mountford's worth to the nearest half-crown.

Not wishing to witness the moment when that same appraisal turned towards him, Fielding allowed his attention to wander. Miss Selina Latimer, known to him from their meeting in Haltford, offered a pleasant welcome, her countenance serene and untroubled. Another girl, similar in colouring to Anabelle, was introduced as Miss Diana Latimer.

Anabelle stood in the corner, almost hidden behind a fresh-faced female. The youngest Latimer in attendance, introduced as Miss Marianne, seemed familiar to him. Then he recalled that she might have been one of the youngsters accompanying Anabelle on the day he had gone fishing. She wore the doe-eyed look of one not long out and as yet uncomfortable in adult company.

Fielding attempted to catch Anabelle's eye, but her focus seemed fixed upon the carpet. Even unsmiling, her beauty cast that of her sisters into the shade. Her pale complexion, and the dark smudges under her eyes, hinted that she had slept no better than he. As her fingers toyed nervously with the fringe of her shawl he hoped that Mr. Latimer had not been unduly harsh with his daughter when he spoke to her that morning.

"Good evening, Miss Latimer. I hope I find you well?"

"I am well, sir." The tone of her response bore none of her usual lightness or assurance, and the uncertain smile that accompanied her curtsey melted almost as soon as it appeared.

A polite enquiry from Mr. Latimer forced him to turn away to answer, yet he could not banish a niggling concern that the source of Anabelle's discomfort was something more than her rejection of his proposal. What else would cause her to react so strangely to his presence?

While waiting for dinner, the other females of the household interrogated Sir Henry about his first impressions of the neighbourhood, while Miss Selina and Miss Diana made similar polite enquiries of him. Fielding wondered if it was a symptom of the family living in such a rural location that any new acquaintance should be received with such unrestrained enthusiasm.

If the daughters bestowed their conversation with liberal impartiality, the same could not be said for Mrs Latimer. After less than ten minutes in her presence, Fielding could see that her attention towards her visitors was uneven at best.

To Fielding, she had been polite but there was none of the gushing flattery he expected from a woman with matrimony on her mind. Apart from asking how he liked Blackwood she showed no interest in his thoughts or opinions. The opposite, however, was true of his friend, who received every excess of civility it was in her power to bestow.

Mrs Latimer's behaviour left him wondering whether Anabelle had, in fact, been correct in believing her mother would never accept him as a suitor. Her dismissal confused and irked him, particularly when Mountford seemed to be so much in charity with her.

Anabelle's bleak gaze rose, and as their eyes met he felt a hitch in his chest as some strong emotion stirred deep within him. Despite everything, his feelings for her had not diminished in the slightest.

Having chosen Anabelle as the woman he wished to spend his life with, it would take more than a mother's disapproval to change Anthony Fielding's intentions.