With a gasp of mortification she turned her back. Lucas stepped onto the verge, drawing her with him, feet crunching in the snow. 'Sorry to keep you waiting, friend.'

'Ah, well, bor, you needs be doing your courting inside this weather. Fine wench like that'll soon warm you up,' the carter advised cheerfully as the wagon trundled past, shattering the ice on their impromptu skating rink.

'Oh!' Rowan emerged red-faced and flustered from the shelter of Lucas's shoulder.

He looked at her for a long moment, then went back for the basket. 'This won't do, will it?' he observed as he rejoined her and they began to walk on to Tollesbury Court.

'No,' Rowan agreed bleakly.

'Tomorrow is Christmas Day and the Servants' Ball. We will talk after that.'

'Not now?' They had reached the gates; soon there would be precious little privacy.

'Do you believe in magic, Daisy?' Lucas was looking away from her, out across the frigidly still parkland.

'No.' She shook her head.

'Neither do I. But let's pretend, until tomorrow at midnight, that magic does exist-for us.'

Common sense said End it now. The warning voice inside her agreed. You'll get hurt. Rowan listened to them, to the voices of duty and reality. But I am going to be hurt anyway-better tomorrow than today, she thought defiantly. I love him and it is quite impossible.

'Until the stroke of midnight on Christmas night, then I believe in magic'

'Give me your arm. No one can object with this slippery surface.'

They walked in silence. What Lucas's thoughts were she could not guess, but her own, circling, came up with a bump against a mystery.

I know it is hopeless, because I'm not really a dresser and I could not possibly marry a valet. But why does he think it won't do? Oh my God-he is married.

'Are you married?' Rowan demanded, stopping dead outside the kitchen door.

'No!'

'All right. I just wanted to be sure.' She took the basket from his grip while he was still staring at her and went inside, exchanging greetings with the kitchen maids and Cook as she hurried past.


I know this won't do. The Viscount Stoneley cannot marry a servant-even one with illegitimate blue blood in her veins, even one raised gently. But how does she know? Lucas was frowning over the conundrum as he let himself into Will's bedchamber. His friend was sitting in the window seat, gazing out idly, a book in his lap.

'Not downstairs socializing, Will?'

'Thinking. I can't get a moment to myself down there. If I'm talking to Miss Maylin, Grandmother is hovering, hanging on every word. If I'm not, she's at my elbow trying to get me back.'

'Maddening. Still, you are seeing enough of the girl to convince yourself she won't do, I imagine?'

'She is terrified of me.' Will dropped the book on the floor and swung both feet up onto the window seat, leaning forward to rest his folded arms on his knees and presenting Lucas with the uncommunicative barrier of his shoulders.

'You see-impossible for a countess. The girl's a mouse.'

'A very sweet mouse, and a very kind one. She would be wonderful with Louisa.'

'Do you want a woman who is frightened of you? Of the life you must lead?'

'No. But-'

'I'm sure she would make a wonderful governess, but that is not what you need. You need a Society hostess and an exciting woman in your bed to give you sons.'

'God! Do you not think I have had enough of exciting women? One was enough.'

'You need one who loves you.' Lucas stayed where he was, wondering, with a flash of pain, who he was arguing with.

'I loved Belle. You have no idea what it is like to love and to lose, Lucas. None.'

'Oh, yes, I have.' But he said it too quietly for Will to hear, turning his back to begin laying out his evening clothes.


'How did the music go?' Rowan asked.

Penny shrugged. 'As usual. I played adequately.'

'And the singing?'

'I whispered-as usual.' She fidgeted with her reticule, finally tipping it out on the bed and sorting through the spill of trifles. Rowan tried to study her expression, but Penny would not meet her eyes. 'How are Alice and Kate? And Dorritt and Charles, of course.'

'Very comfortable, and enjoying their holiday. See-your organza is clean again.' It had taken three more rinses, and then careful pressing with warm irons, but now it was perfect again. The manual work had allowed her to think in rather more tranquillity about Lucas. Because of the mystery surrounding Lady Danescroft it was easy to see mysteries everywhere. Lucas simply did not want to become entangled with a woman. He could tell she was falling…no, becoming attached. That was all he could see, surely? He could see this, and was acting to let her know it was going no further than a flirtation.

As Penny admired the dress Rowan let her mind wander back to him. It was her duty to marry well. Sooner or later she was going to find a man, a suitable gentleman, of whom Papa approved and whom she could respect enough to marry. She did not have to love him. Many people would say it was desirable that she did not. And in her heart she would hold the image of the man she did love. So impossibly.

'Did you say something?' Penny looked up.

'What? No. A hiccup, that was all.'

She would go to the ball and have her magical evening with Lucas. And then, like Cinderella, it would all vanish at midnight. Only she would leave her heart behind with him, not her slipper.

'Rowan?' Penny was watching her, frowning. 'You look sad. What is wrong?'

'Nothing.' She forced a smile.

'You are tired, and bored with this, I am sure. I do appreciate you being here, you know.'

'How is it with Lord Danescroft? Honestly?'

'I wish I was not so shy.' Penny looked down at her hands, clasped tightly together. 'I wish I had the courage to speak out about what I truly want.'

'It's the rest of your life, Penny. You must tell the truth about how you feel. I can't help you. I realise that now. There is nothing about Lord Danescroft that your father could possibly object to, and I truly believe he is innocent of everything except making a very poor choice of first wife.'

'Yes.' Penny drew in a deep breath. 'I will do my best. Now, what are you going to wear tomorrow night?'

CHAPTER EIGHT

December 25th

'Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Daisy Lawrence!'

Rowan paused at the top of the ballroom stairs and blinked. The room was thronged with the indoor staff of the big house, the outdoor staff, estate workers and the tradespeople and professional men who serviced Tollesbury Court. Those who were married had brought their spouses and their adult children. It was almost as hectic a crush as a Society ball: the noise level was certainly as great.

But the guests were decidedly different, she realised as she began to descend. There were the upper servants, dressed as she was in the good-quality discards of their masters and mistresses, well groomed, assured in their setting. There were the lower indoor staff, more plainly dressed, awkwardly on their best behaviour, but comfortable in a room they knew.

Then there were the outdoor staff, red of face and decidedly weather-beaten, stiff and proud in their Sunday best. Mingling with them were the tradesmen and their families, the doctor and the curate, the banker's agent and the shopkeepers, their respective prosperity and standing accurately reflected in the gloss of the ladies' dress fabrics and the cut of the men's coats.

Lord Fortescue had done them proud. A string band was playing on the rostrum, hired footmen circulated with laden trays of wines and cordials, and the hothouses had yielded up some of their precious blooms to make the evergreen arrangements glow in the candlelight. On her visits to the kitchen, nervously checking to make sure she did not bump into Lucas, Rowan had seen Cook ordering about a battalion of hired staff to produce a lavish supper.

Now Cook herself, magnificent in deep green bombazine and a turban, was holding court halfway down the room. The prevailing fashion for high waists and low-cut necklines could hardly be said to be flattering to her, but Rowan considered that she had seen less impressive dowager duchesses.

'Miss Daisy?' It was Mr Philpott, nervous in high collar and slightly shiny suit. 'I expect all your dances are taken already.'

'Why, no-none are. I have just come down.' Rowan opened her dance card and showed its clean pages.

She circulated, chatting, her card filling slowly but surely. Where was Lucas? Had he decided after all that this was a mistake? It was becoming hard to maintain her poise and her smile and to focus on whoever she was speaking to, not look over their shoulder for a glimpse of a dark head and elegant back.

She was exchanging polite, if barbed compliments with some of the other dressers, whose sharp eyes had seen the mark on her hem and were smug as a result of it, when she felt a touch at the nape of her neck-as tangible as though he had laid his fingers there. Lucas was watching her.

'Miss Lawrence. May I hope your card is not filled?'

'Mr Lucas.' Her curtsey was shallow, the graceful acknowledgement of a gentleman who was her equal. She was aware of Miss Browne's raised eyebrows, but ignored it. Another few days and she would never see these women again. Provided she did nothing to bring opprobrium upon Penny, she did not care what they thought. She lifted her wrist so he could write in the card against whichever of the four remaining sets he chose. When she looked down she saw the bold 'L' against every one-including the supper dances.