Parkes placed the brandy on the bedside cabinet, before he helped to remove Fielding's coat, folding it over his arm with his usual calm efficiency. "Will you require anything else, sir?"

He picked up the decanter and poured a generous measure into one of the glasses. "No, not tonight. You may go."

Once Fielding was alone he unbuttoned his waistcoat and sunk onto the bed. As he unwound the constricting cloth from around his neck the knots in his chest likewise began to unravel, leaving him able to breathe a little easier. He eased off his boots before collapsing across the counterpane, staring up at the pleated canopy above his head.

Time passed, marked by the slow but steady reduction of the decanter's volume, while the darkened room, lit by one solitary candle and the glowing embers in the fireplace, allowed his mind to wander unimpeded.

The revelations of the evening tumbled over themselves, like boulders inexorably rolling down a mountainside, and causing an equal amount of desolation.

As Sally had foretold, the silence and solitude brought with them a clearer lens through which to view the events at Woodside, while the warmth of the brandy thawed the wall of ice that had grown around his heart. As ire gave way to frustration he experienced a deep sense of unease at the abrupt way he had retreated to Blackwood.

With the benefit of hindsight, Anabelle's father now bore the brunt of his temper. Gentleman he may be, but his consideration for his family left much to be desired. Mr. Latimer had known his circumstances and yet had not troubled himself to share that information with his daughter or wife; a decision that had ultimately led to Fielding's own humiliation.

The idea that any man would willingly cast his beloved daughter to the tempestuous winds of public opinion made Fielding angry, but had that not been the desired intent?

Mr. Latimer was an intelligent man. By offering his daughter as a sacrifice, he had relied on Fielding's admiration for Anabelle to defuse his anger. Although Fielding abhorred his method, he could not deny that the older man had achieved his objective.

There was, at least, one point upon which Mr. Latimer had spoken truly. Anabelle had not had the pleasure of meeting the man Mountford had jokingly referred to as the Master of Meltham.

Never once did he consider her presence dull or boring, nor felt as though she was flattering or fawning over him. At no time during their acquaintance had he needed to depress her pretensions with a look or a curt word.

It had not been the Master of Meltham riding across the landscape hoping for a glimpse of her, but Anthony Fielding; a man who, for the first time in his life, had found someone who offered no undue deference, only pleasant, unaffected company and intelligent conversation.

The primary memory of his evening at Woodside was of Anabelle; her shadowed eyes looking back at him from a face made pale by despair and hopelessness. This picture, lovingly drawn in intricate detail, soon turned his frustration towards a new target: himself. By raising his pride for his family and position above all else, he had unjustly laid the blame upon the last person he ever wanted to hurt.

Anabelle's white, nervous countenance floated before him like an insubstantial ghost as he recalled her description of their first meeting. Although his emotions at the time had run too high to concede the truth of her explanation, he now understood how, in a mistaken light, she had identified him as Blackwood's steward.

It was true that he had never specifically mentioned his estate or fortune. He had been far too interested to learn more about her. They had spoken in general terms of Yorkshire, but a description of his home had never passed his lips while in Anabelle's presence. How was she to know him, or what manner of property he owned, if he had made no effort to tell her?

He had thought himself more than capable of dressing himself, yet although he considered his efforts competent, he could not emulate Parkes' way of tying his neck-cloth. Nor had the Blackwood footmen taken quite the same care and effort to brush his coat or clean his boots as his efficient valet would have done.

And yet, even though his appearance may have been lacking in his usual style and grace, Anabelle had enjoyed his company all the same.

In this quiet corner of Hertfordshire he had discovered a woman who had aroused all manner of emotions within him, not least his sincere appreciation and love. Despite everything that had been revealed this evening he still wanted her for his own.

The last wilting remnants of his indignation perished. The love and desire he felt for Anabelle Latimer extinguished every negative emotion that had been ignited by her father's comments at the dinner table.

His acceptance of Anabelle's explanation also bought with it a startling clarity. Finally he understood why she had declined his proposal.

She had refused his offer because she thought him a poor steward, and not because she had no feelings for him. Viewed from that perspective he could not argue with her decision. Miss Anabelle Latimer, as the daughter of a gentleman, had not been raised to wed a working steward and, despite her own inclinations, she had honoured her parents by refusing a match she believed they would condemn.

Now that Anabelle knew the truth of his circumstances would she return a different response? Or had his contemptible Fielding pride blighted his chance to make her his wife?

~<>~<>~

The elderly Latimer carriage jolted as the wheel rolled into another pot-hole, pitching Anabelle into Selina's shoulder. She tightened her grip on the strap and eased herself back into the corner. "Sir Henry must have acquainted his guests with the events of last night. You cannot have considered how uncomfortable my presence may make them."

Mrs Latimer sniffed. "Of course I have, but it matters not what any of us think. Your father insisted that I bring you with us...against my better judgement. I do not know how we are to hold our heads up in Haltford society, but these visits of ceremony must be paid."

Selina covered Anabelle's hand with her own. "It is for the best. The sooner you face our neighbours, the more comfortable you will be. Act as you usually would, and the gossip will quickly be forgotten, returning everything to its proper order. Then you might be able to enjoy the dance tomorrow evening."

Anabelle looked out of the window, doubting whether she would ever enjoy anything again.

They were now driving down Haltford High Street, past the butcher, the library and the milliner's shop. A long sleepless night had left her pale and drawn, while the copious tears absorbed by her pillow had done nothing to relieve her feelings. She had hoped to put the embarrassing dinner with Mr. Fielding behind her, until her father had decreed it vital that Anabelle should accompany her step-mother and sisters on their morning calls.

A few minutes after they passed the last cottage, the carriage slowed and they turned under the grand stone archway that marked the entrance to Blackwood's park. Almost immediately the light coming through the small windows dimmed as they found themselves beneath the canopy of dense branches that gave Blackwood its name.

The dull light suited Anabelle's dark mood. As the carriage travelled inexorably closer to its destination, she felt her heart beating faster. Would Mr. Fielding deign to notice her arrival?

His avowed love for her could never survive such a blow as he had sustained the previous evening. Yet, the thought of never seeing Mr. Fielding again—of having no opportunity to apologise or chance to gain his forgiveness—left her bitterly grieving the loss of his regard.

As much as she desperately wanted to apologise for her dreadful error, the thought of meeting him was more than she dare contemplate. She could not decide what would be worse; being the recipient of a direct snub, or hearing that he had already left the neighbourhood.

Daylight returned to the interior of the carriage as they left the trees behind and entered the oval clearing that had originally been designed to present the front of the house to its best advantage.

Yet closer inspection revealed how time and the elements had weathered the old hall during Sir George's tenure. The lofty sash windows desperately needed a coat of paint, and there was a crack visible in the fanlight above the main door. One of the tall chimneys seemed to be listing to the left, as though weakened by a strong wind, and a foot-long section of the grand stone parapet had fallen into a flower bed.

Anabelle had missed the dilapidated state of Blackwood Hall on her previous visit. She had entered the grounds from the rear, her thoughts fully occupied by the welfare of Mr. Sutton's cattle. As she left, her mind had been too busy pondering the gentleman she had met in the steward's office to notice the decay.

"'Tis a pity to see a lovely house like this in such a shabby condition," Selina whispered as they waited for Mrs Latimer to extract herself from the carriage. "Poor Sir Henry."

Anabelle raised a questioning brow. "What has Sir Henry done to excite your sympathy except inherit his uncle's estate and honours?" Many would regard him as a most fortunate fellow."

Selina blushed as they followed their step-mother up the worn, shallow steps. "Last night he spoke of his ideas for Blackwood's renovation, although he admitted it would take time and money for his plans to be realised. When all is complete, I am sure it will be the most beautiful house in the county."

Anabelle reached for the carved balustrade that bordered the wide stairs on each side. As she leaned against it the stone rocked beneath her hand. She drew back, not daring to touch it again, and hoped Sir Henry would make the masonry his first priority.

When a footman answered the door, Mrs Latimer presented their cards while asking whether the ladies were at home to visitors. He bade them enter, and they waited briefly in the draughty entrance hall before being invited through into the drawing room.

The usual awkward round of curtseys and introductions preceded an invitation from Miss Mountford to sit. Anabelle and Selina sank onto a hard-stuffed sofa with carved and gilded arms and legs.

Sir Henry's sisters were very much as Anabelle expected. Miss Mountford, in particular, appeared elegant in her round gown of white cambric. It was made high in the throat, and finished with a standing frill; a new fashion unlike anything they had seen in Haltford.

Anabelle tried to avoid meeting either of the Mountford sisters' curious appraisals. If they had not yet heard about her embarrassing mistake, and Mr. Fielding's resulting anger, it would only be a matter of time.

"And how are you settling into Blackwood Hall, Miss Mountford?"

"It is very pleasant to be here, Mrs Latimer. I am sure I will enjoy my stay in Hertfordshire."

"Sir Henry was telling me how much he appreciates you agreeing to keep house for him. He mentioned how concerned he was for your comfort, seeing that Blackwood needs considerable work to set it to rights."

"It is fair to say," Miss Margaret Mountford replied with a confiding air, "that the condition of the house is not at all what we are used to." Her lips pursed, giving her round face a pinched, unsatisfied appearance.

"Your uncle was not in the best of health in his final years. I suppose it was to be expected that he would overlook a few things. Gentlemen do tend to turn a blind eye when it comes to curtains and other furnishings."

Miss Mountford smiled. "That is very true. Sir Henry is concentrating on the structural issues around the house. He has left the interior entirely in my hands and I have already sent to town for some pattern books. By Lady Day I am determined that my brother will not recognise the place."

There had been neither sight nor sound of Sir Henry, or any of his other guests. As Mrs Latimer chatted amiably with their new neighbours, Anabelle checked the time against the tall case clock. Ten more minutes remained before common etiquette would prompt Mrs Latimer to leave, and her step-mother was always careful to ensure she did not overstay her welcome.

Only then did Anabelle realise how much her heart had been secretly hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Fielding. Despite being the deserving target of his contempt and anger she still loved him, no matter how futile that love might be. In a few minutes they would rise, thank their hosts and return to the carriage, ending her last opportunity to offer Mr. Fielding her sincere apologies.

Mrs Latimer's voice cut through her private thoughts. "Anabelle?"

She looked up, momentarily disorientated. Mrs Latimer, Selina, and the Misses Mountford were all staring at her, as though waiting for a response. "Yes?"

Miss Mountford smiled. Not a haughty, insincere smile, such as one might expect from a lady used to superior society. There seemed to be genuine warmth in it. "Mrs Latimer and I were discussing my new Norwich shawl. It has quite a novel border that your mother wishes to examine. I wonder if you would be so kind as to help me look for it."

Anabelle could not understand why Miss Mountford would use such an obvious pretext to separate her from her party. Although Selina's eyes reflected sisterly concern, their step-mother was nodding her head in encouragement, as though to demur would mean offending their hostess.

Having no reason to refuse, Anabelle agreed and followed Miss Mountford from the room.