Fielding assessed the old timbers hanging precariously over their heads, and wondered whether the oak beams would hold. The remains of the barn roof projected about nine feet from the back wall, providing an area where they could remain dry. Beyond that the dark sky rumbled as large raindrops pelted down from the heavens, crashing against moss-covered stones.

He returned his attention to Anabelle, his suspicions rising. "You have been in here before."

"Yes, with Joe. We were once caught in a summer shower and hid here until it blew over."

Enough stone remained to conceal their presence from anyone who might pass by. The implication of their situation was not lost on him. "Sheltering with a child like Joe is one thing, but being here now, with a man you have not yet agreed to marry, is something quite different."

She laid a reassuring hand upon his arm. "I may have been mistaken about your consequence, but I have no concerns about your character. You will not hurt me."

Anabelle's eyes shone with trust, but it was her mouth, slightly parted, that called to him. He closed the distance between them, sliding a hand across her back as he pressed her against the wall. "Being in such close and private proximity to the woman I love, hurting you is the last thing on my mind."

She sighed and melted into his embrace, but being so close to her left him vaguely unsatisfied.

It wasn't enough. He wanted more.

Neither spoke to break the silence as he looked down into her eyes. The only sound was of the rain pattering on crinkled burdock leaves, the wind rustling in the trees and Anabelle, breathless with anticipation.

He leaned closer, lowering his head to hers. He traced a line with his finger, down her cheek and along her jaw.

Then Fielding pulled the trailing ribbon beneath her chin. He untied the bow that secured her bonnet and lifted it gently from her head, revealing Anabelle's slightly flattened nut brown curls and—finally—an unobstructed view of her face.

"That is better," he said, laying it to one side on a block of fallen masonry.

She raised her hands instinctively, her eyes wide. "If you object to my bonnet, Mr. Fielding, you only had to say."

"I have nothing against your head-wear. It is pretty in its own way, but I came to see you, not your hat."

Anabelle attempted a disapproving frown, but only succeeded in offering him an adorable pout that made him want to kiss it away. "And I suppose the Master of Meltham Park is used to getting his way in everything. My first impressions of you were correct."

"And what were they, my love?"

"That you were high-handed and presumptuous."

His laughter echoed through the partially enclosed space. "It is very true, I cannot deny it. My sisters have always said much the same. Maybe when we marry you will be able to change my ways."

"You forget, I have not yet agreed to take on the task."

He was painfully aware that she had yet to consent, but the teasing note in her voice gave him confidence. He took both her hands in his and brought them to rest upon his heart. "But you will."

Rather than being offended by his declaration she only smiled. "How certain you are in the power of your attractions."

"I know you enjoy a challenge, and what could be more challenging than the opportunity to mould a husband to your liking?"

"I doubt that a man in your position would so willingly allow himself to be altered, when he is used to having everything arranged to suit his whim."

"If you believe that then you sorely underestimate your power over me." He took her face in his hands, intensifying his meaning with a gentle caress. "I love you, Anabelle. There is nothing in this world I would not do for you."

As their eyes met he saw in Anabelle both desire and a strong determination. "Then I ask only one thing," she whispered, reaching up to cover his large hand with her own. "Make me your wife, so we can be together always."

Her words were like a burst of oxygen to the glowing embers that had been smouldering in his gut, turning the dull glow into a bright yellow flame. As the combustion took hold, Fielding gathered her into his arms and his mouth fell upon hers, revealing something of the passion that raged like a fire inside him.

He could feel her heart beating, and he relished the sensation of her soft lips against his as he held her close. As he deepened the kiss she echoed his movements, hesitantly at first, imbuing every naïve touch with her love.

Her familiar fragrance wrapped around him, marking him as hers. It was a vaguely floral, as though she had bathed in rose petals. She slid her hands up, clasping her fingers behind his neck, and they stood intertwined as the wind whistled through the gaps in the stone and the rain stabbed at the rubble beyond their crude shelter.

They lost themselves in this manner for some time until Anabelle broke away, breathless, leaning her head against his shoulder. Fielding was no less affected, his heart racing as he pressed gentle kisses across her forehead.

Anabelle would be his, and soon. He would not be content until she was his wife in every possible way.

A large flat stone offered a place for them to sit, and he turned to face her, determined to fix every feature and expression firmly in his memory so he could enjoy them again later.

As though uncomfortable with such scrutiny, Anabelle smiled. "Will you be attending the ball tonight?"

The thought of attending a country dance stirred mixed feelings within him. He would not wish to see another man dancing with Anabelle. Not tonight. Tonight she would be his alone. "I would not miss any opportunity to dance with my wife-to-be."

Yet his attendance would naturally leave him open to the scrutiny of the neighbourhood. He had no notion how far the story about him being Blackwood steward had spread, but he did not doubt that it would be an uncomfortable evening for him.

"Once the rain stops I must return home. My family will wonder where I am if they find me gone."

"Then I will accompany you and speak to your father."

Anabelle shook her head. "I would not recommend it. The house is always chaotic in the hours before an evening party or ball. I will reveal the news to my father and you may call on him tomorrow if you feel it necessary."

Although Mr. Latimer had already given his blessing to their marriage, Fielding was eager to speak to the older man again, now that he had secured Anabelle's agreement. Despite that desire he remembered those odd occasions when he had stayed with his aunt and uncle during Tilly's season. Whenever they had a party to attend the whole household was thrown into a heightened state of activity. The arrival of a visitor at such time would not be looked upon kindly.

"Very well. I will not intrude on your family's preparations. Instead I will take the time to write to my family and advise them of our betrothal."

"And I also have a letter or two to write. I must tell my aunt and uncle the good news."

He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "I assume you are referring to your relations in St. Albans? The ones you described with such love and enthusiasm?"

Anabelle's expression turned serious. "Oh! What must you have thought of me? I told you about my aunt and uncle because I wanted my poor steward to know that there was more to me than just being a gentleman's daughter. Had I known you were not a steward I would never have said a word."

"Then I am glad you did not know, for I would not have missed the description of your young cousin Henry for the world. He sounds like a thorough scamp."

"He is, but a delightful one. I hope you will not ask me to disdain the connection, for I value my aunt and uncle's opinion most highly. Despite his business concerns they are sensible people, and my uncle is nothing like his sister."

"If they mean that much to you, then of course you may continue to see them. I am not such an ogre as to deny you contact with your family."

Anabelle fell silent, and he wondered what was going through her mind. It was not long before she revealed the direction her thoughts had taken. "Would you allow me to help on your estate, as I did for my father?"

If he had his way Anabelle would be engaged in other pleasurable pursuits―far too busy to spend time roaming around the countryside. "You would put my steward out of work? He has a wife to support and their second child on the way."

"Then I would not dream of hurting him. The poor man's job is safe from me, but I would like to think I could be useful in other ways."

"So you shall. Do not assume that the mistress of Meltham has nothing to do except sit every day on a silk cushion. There will be no shortage of things and people that will require your attention-least of all a devoted husband."

He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss across her fingers. "And if you ever miss your father's turnips I will be more than happy to oblige you with a discussion on the topic."

~<>~<>~

The rain cleared almost as quickly as it had arrived, leaving everything outside their shelter dripping and glistening in the weak autumn sunlight. While neither wished to part so soon, Anabelle knew that she would risk the wrath of her step-mother if she remained absent from home any longer when there was a dance to prepare for.

Mr. Fielding pulled her closer, stealing a final lingering kiss before he helped to replace her bonnet. The thought of being separated, now they had come to an understanding, was only made tolerable by the fact that they would see each other again later that evening.

When she arrived home and crossed the threshold into the hall, she heard her father's voice. "Belle? Is that you?"

"Yes, Papa." She pushed open the door and stepped inside his library.

Mr. Latimer studied her over the rim of his spectacles. "Where have you been?"

"Out for a walk."

"I trust Mr. Fielding is well this morning."

She felt herself colour. "I...how did you—?"

"I was not born with grey hair. You must give me some credit for being young once. I trust you have now settled your differences?"

"We have."

"Very good, and this time you gave him a more positive response?"

She nodded. "I hope you have no objection?"

He waved a lazy hand. "As I told you the other day, I am sure he will make you very happy. 'Tis a relief to hear everything has been arranged so tidily. This resolution will save me the trouble and expense of taking you and your sisters to some tedious watering hole. All you have left to do now is reveal your news to Mrs Latimer." He tipped his head, listening. "And unless I miss my mark, your chance will come sooner than you think."

Anabelle stepped back as the door flew open and her step-mother stormed into the room, flapping her shawl and calling for her hartshorn. "Oh, Mr. Latimer! Anabelle is missing from her bed and none of the maids have seen her this morning. What shall I do?"

Mr. Latimer laced his fingers on the desk as he studied his wife. "There is only one thing to do. I must offer you my congratulations, for you will soon have your most fervent wish granted: a daughter married." He nodded towards the corner of the room where Anabelle stood.

His wife turned around as her brows shot beneath the lace of her cap. "Belle? But how? Who?"

"The gentleman in question is Mr. Fielding; the how I will have to leave to your imagination."

"But...but she called him a steward, insulting him in every possible way!" Mrs Latimer cried as she dropped into the old leather chair, sinking into its capacious depths like a pig in a puddle.

"If Mr. Fielding thinks no less of her for it, who am I to argue?"

"Engaged? To Mr. Fielding!" She fanned her face with her handkerchief. "Who would have thought it? Is it really true?"

"I certainly hope it is true. He seems determined to have her, and I am not of a mind to argue with so formidable a gentleman. Are you not pleased, my dear?"

"Pleased? Of course I am pleased! A daughter married, and to such a rich, handsome man. But what will the neighbours say? Some still believe he is a steward. I cannot have them thinking Belle is marrying a steward. That will never do."

"Then I assume you will take steps to correct the deficiency. What was done by evil report can be undone in the same fashion, and what better place to do it than at a dance, where the great and good gather to partake in harmless entertainment and gossip about their neighbours... and not necessarily in that order."

The mention of the imminent ball recalled Mrs Latimer to her senses, and she subjected her step-daughter to a horrified appraisal. "Belle! Where have you been? What did you do to your hair? How I can contrive to make you look the least bit respectable for tonight I will never know." On her third attempt she released herself from the chair's grasp. "You're soaked through...and look at that mud on your boots!"

Anabelle glanced down, noticing for the first time the unfortunate results of her journey back from the barn after the storm had blown over.

"We must make you look perfect for Mr. Fielding. Return to your room and I will call for Hannah to prepare a bath. Hannah? Hannah!"

Anabelle waited until her step-mother had scuttled from the library before rolling her eyes. She was about to follow Mrs Latimer, when her father spoke again.

"Belle?"

"Yes?"

"After some consideration, I find Mr. Fielding's opinion on you walking out alone has merit. Should you feel the need to take any further early morning rambles I trust you will take one of the maids with you."

"But Papa―!"

"My dear, Mr. Fielding is a man of consequence. If he values you so highly that he wishes to marry you, the least I can do is keep you safe for the short time you remain under my protection. Whenever Mr. Fielding wishes to visit you, he may do so in the parlour with my blessing."

Anabelle wished her father had not chosen such an inconvenient moment to rekindle an interest in his family's affairs. She could only imagine how her betrothed might react to such a restriction.

It seemed that Mr. Fielding would now have to accustom himself to an overprotective parent instead of a lax one, and he only had himself to blame.