He had taken one lady on each arm and was leading them up the front steps and into the tiled and marbled great hall with its fluted pillars and marbled galleries. And if the approach to the house had not taken one's breath away, Judith thought, then this surely would. The hall was two stories high and dwarfed any person standing in it.

And yet it was unexpectedly warm. Fires blazed in two large marble fireplaces facing each other at either side of the hall.

The Marquess of Denbigh presented his housekeeper, who

was standing in the middle of the hall curtsying to them and smiling warmly from a face that must boast a thousand wrinkles, Judith thought, and turned them over to her care. Mrs. Hines smiled with motherly warmth at Rupert, clucked over Kate, and led them all upstairs to their rooms.

Tea would be served in the drawing room, she told them, after they had refreshed themselves. She would return to conduct mem there in half an hour's time.

The children had been put into the care of a very competent nurse, who had been provided by the marquess. Judith sank down onto a small daybed at the foot of the high four-poster bed in her room and blew out two cheekfuls of air.

So it had begun. A week's stay at Denbigh. The final week of her punishment, doubtless. There was a week to live through before she could make arrangements to return to her own home in Lincolnshire and try to begin normal life again.

A week was not an eternity. It was a shame that it had to be the week of Christmas so that her first Christmas free of Andrew's family was to be ruined after all. In fact, it was more than a shame, it was infuriating. But nonetheless it was only a week. She must fortify herself constantly with that thought.

She frowned suddenly. All his guests had arrived, he had said. Where, then, were all the children he had promised Rupert and Kate? Had he lied to them on top of everything else?

She straightened her shoulders suddenly as there was a tap on her door and Amy's head appeared around it.

"Are you going to change your frock, Judith?" she asked. "Or are you just going to wash your hands and face?"

"Oh, let us change by all means," Judith said, getting briskly to her feet. She had already made a disaster of an opening scene-her mind touched on her clumsy stumble and the firm security of his arms and chest, and veered away again. At least she would face the next one in a clean and fresh dress and with combed hair. "There is a maid in my dressing room, unpacking my things already."

"Yes, and in mine too," Amy said. "I shall see you shortly, then, Judith." She withdrew her head and closed the door again.

Yes, shortly, Judith thought, drawing a deep breath and walking through into the dressing room.


***

"We were facing that much-dreaded experience," Lady Clancy was telling Judith during tea in the drawing room, "a Christmas alone. Why is it, I wonder, that no one would dream of pitying a married couple for having to spend any other day of the year alone in each other's company whereas any number of people would consider it a dreadful fate on that one particular day?"

"Perhaps because Christmas is for families and sharing," Judith said.

"Oh, undoubtedly," Lady Clancy agreed. "Clement and I have been assuring each other since November that it will be delightful to spend one quiet holiday free of our daughter and her family. But of course it was mere bravado, and Max saw that in a moment. He always does. His home is always filled with lonely persons at Christmas-first at his other home and now here. Not that I am for a moment suggesting that you are one of that number, Mrs. Easton. Your two children are upstairs? They must be weary after the journey. Carriages and children usually do not go well together."

Filled his home with lonely persons? Judith thought as she answered Lady Clancy's questions. That did not sound at all like the Marquess of Denbigh as she knew him.

"He used to fill his house to overflowing," Lady Clancy said. "But last year and this there have been fewer invited guests because he has been taking in the children for the holiday. I daresay it will be very noisy once they arrive. I am not sure whether to look forward to it or to plan my escape tomorrow. But we have had plenty of warning, of course. And I like the idea. I really do admire Max more than I can jsay for actually doing it instead of merely talking about the problems as most of us do. Are you in any way apprehensive about your children's mingling with them, Mrs. Easton?"

Judith looked at her companion, mystified. "Lord Denbigh

mentioned that there would be children here," she said. "But where are they? And who are they?"

"He has not told you?" Lady Clancy laughed. "How naughty of him. They are children from the streets of London, Mrs. Easton, children who had no homes and no prospects for the future except perhaps a noose to swing from eventually. They are housed in the village and fed and clothed and taught. The older ones will be trained eventually to a trade and I am sure Max will see to it that they find suitable positions. From what I have heard, they also enjoy a great deal of recreation and merriment. They will be here, staying at the house, for Christmas."

"Ten boys and ten girls," the marquess's voice said from behind Judith's shoulder. She had not heard him come up. "And a more boisterous score of youngsters you would not wish to meet, ma'am. Did I neglect to explain to you in London who the children were? I did mention the children, did I not?"

He seated himself close to Judith and Lady Clancy and proceeded to engage them both in conversation. His manner was amiable, Judith found. He seemed at ease, relaxed. The country and his home apparently suited him.

Lonely persons? She had been introduced to everyone in the drawing room. Lord and Lady Clancy were without their daughter and her family that year and would have spent Christmas alone. The Misses Hannibal, his aunts, were elderly ladies, both spinsters, who would perhaps not have been invited anywhere else. Sir William and Lady Tushingham she did not know. But she remembered Mr. Rockford. She had been slightly acquainted with him during her come-out Season. Andrew and his friends had used to make ruthless fun of the man because no one could listen to him talk without falling soundly asleep after three minutes if they suffered from insomnia, they had used to say.

Was Mr. Rockford a lonely person too? Did he have no family? Or friends? Somehow it seemed unlikely that the Marquess of Denbigh was his friend. And yet he had invited the man to his home.

And Amy and the children and she. They would have been alone too, lonely despite the fact that there were four of them. Was that why he had invited them? But no, she knew that was not the reason. Besides, she did not like to think of its being the reason for any of the invitations to his guests. The Marquess of Denbigh compassionate? She did not like the image at all.

But what about those children? The ones he had taken from lives of desperation in London and brought here. But she knew only Lady Clancy's version of that story.

The marquess and Lady Clancy had been left to talk alone, she realized suddenly. She was being ill-mannered and not doing her part to sustain the conversation.

Lord Denbigh was looking at her, his keen gray eyes holding hers. "Your children are contentedly settled in the nursery, Mrs. Easton?" he asked. "Mrs. Webber will make them feel quite at home. She was my nurse many years ago and was quite delighted to come out of retirement for the occasion."

"Thank you," Judith said. "Kate had eyes for nothing but the rocking horse before I left, and Rupert had spotted the books."

"But you must not feel that they are being confined to the nursery," he said. "You must allow them downstairs as often as you wish. I have never subscribed to the theory that children should remain invisible until they have grown as sober and dull as the rest of us. And at Christmas time especially children should always be allowed to run wild- or almost so, anyway."

"Thank you," Judith said again.

And she stared, fascinated, as he smiled at her. A smile that only just touched the corners of his mouth and brightened his eyes, but a smile nonetheless. And one that transformed his face for the moment from harshness to handsomeness.

Judith felt that growingly familiar somersaulting feeling within and concentrated on keeping her breathing even.

Chapter 7

"Judith." Amy came bursting into her sister-in-law's dressing room the following morning after a quick knock. "Ah, you are up. His lordship is a magician or a prophet, I do declare. Have you seen?"

Judith had indeed seen and had had much the same thought. And also the thought that if it had only happened one day sooner, or better still, two, she might have been saved. She, not anyone else. Amy would have been disappointed and the children quite despondent.

"Yes," she said. "It must have been snowing in earnest all night for there to be such a thick covering already."

"And it is still coming down," Amy said. "Do you realize what this means, Judith? Snow for Christmas. It does not happen often, does it? Especially fresh white snow. It is going to be perfectly splendid for the children. Have you heard about the children? I do admire Lord Denbigh for doing such a thing. But will this snow impede their coming here tomorrow night, Judith? I do hope not, though of course it could be said that it is not at all the thing for such children to be brought into a house with guests. I think the idea quite charming, however. I hope you do not think it is in poor taste with Rupert and Kate here."