It was strange to realize that for a two-month period eight years before she had been betrothed to him. They had been within one month of their wedding when she had run off with Andrew. What would marrige to him have been like? she wondered. Performing those intimacies of marriage with him. Bearing his children. Sharing a home with him in the familiarity of everyday living.

She shivered and turned her attention to the rector.

Halfway through the lengthy sermon there was a slight rustling from the pews where the children sat. A few moments later Rupert wriggled his way between his mother and the marquess, yawned widely, and tried to find a comfortable spot for his head against her arm. She smiled down at him and marveled at how well all the other children were behaving. It was a long and a late service after a busy day.

Rupert's head fell forward and Judith lifted it gently back against her arm. Her son looked up at her with sleepy eyes. He should have stayed at the house with Kate, she thought. But of course he would have been mortally offended had she suggested any such thing.

And then the marquess's arm came about the boy's shoulders, drawing him away from her, and his other slid beneath Rupert's knees and he lifted him onto his lap and drew his head against his chest. Rupert was asleep almost instantly, his auburn curls bright against the dark green of Lord Denbigh's coat.

Andrew's child, Judith thought. Her husband's child cradled in the arms of the man she had jilted and never faced with either explanation or apology. The man who might have been her husband, the father of her children. She felt an almost overwhelming longing to move closer and to close her eyes and rest her head against his shoulder.

She was falling in love with him, she realized with sudden shock. No, perhaps it was already too late. She had fallen in love with him. With the Marquess of Denbigh. It was incredible. But it was true.

There was no longer any thought in her mind of the suspicions that had troubled her in London and again here at Denbigh.


***

"The dear little boy," Miss Edith Hannibal said to the marquess as the congregation spilled out of the church after the service and exchanged cheerful Christmas greetings while the church bells pealed again. "He is fast asleep."

The marquess was carrying Rupert, the child's head resting heavily on his shoulder.

"You must*ive him to me," Miss Hannibal said. "I shall take him home in the sleigh, Mrs. Easton, and his nurse will have him tucked up in bed in no time at all."

"Thank you, ma'am," Judith said, smiling.

"And I shall take that little one on my lap," Miss Frieda Hannibal said. "It was a very long service for children, was it not, Mr. Cornwell? But they behaved quite beautifully. They could teach a lesson to several of the children of our parish, who are allowed to fidget and whisper aloud in church. Edith and I find it most distracting."

"Thank you, ma'am," Mr. Cornwell said, and he waited for the marquess's aunt to seat herself in the sleigh before laying in her lap the little girl who was sleeping in his arms. "This is Lily, ma'am. If she should wake up, you may assure her that her sister is quite safe with Mrs. Harrison and will

be home in no time at all. Lily becomes agitated when separated from her sister."

"Then we must squeeze her sister in between us," Miss Edith Hannibal said. "There is plenty of room, I do assure you, Mr. Cornwell. Come along, dear."

Violet climbed gratefully into the sleigh.

In the meantime, Sir William and Lady Tushingham had singled out two little boys whose eyes were large with fatigue and who, Lady Tushingham declared, reminded her very much of two of her dear nephews, now twenty-two and twenty-four years old, and had taken them on their laps in the other sleigh.

Mrs. Harrison arranged the remaining children into pairs and led the way home. There was loud excitement over the fact that they were to spend the night and all the next day and night at Denbigh Park.

"It's the feather pillows wot tickles me," Toby told a younger child. "Your 'ead sinks right through 'em to the bed."

"Last year we all 'ad gifts," Val said. "But I daresay the guv spent all 'is money last year."

"I remember the mince pies," Daniel said. "I ate 'leven."

"Ten," Joe said. "I counted. It was ten."

"It was 'leven, I betcha," Danial said, bristling. "You want to make somethin' out of it, Joe?"

"It was ten," Joe said.

"Someone is going to be hanging by ten toes over the nearest snowbank in a moment," Mr. Cornwell called sternly.

"I tell you what," Mr. Rockford said, walking among the children and sweeping up into his arms one little boy who was yawning loudly. "Tomorrow whenever you eat a mince pie, Daniel, you let me know and I will keep count. We will see if you can stuff ten or eleven into yourself."

"Twelve," Daniel said loudly. "I 'ave to beat last year's count, sir."

"His lordship's cook may well be in tears,'' Mr. Rockford said. "No mince pies left by the end of Christmas morning. Yes, lad, rest your head on my shoulder if you wish. Now I could tell you a story about mince pies that would have your hair standing on end…"

Amy took Mr. Cornwell's offered arm and walked behind the children with him.

"You must be tired, Amy," he said. "You have had a busy day and have done more walking than anyone else."

"Yes, I am," she said. "But I do not believe I have ever lived through a happier day, Spencer."

"Really?" he said. "You do not find it intolerable to be surrounded by children all day long, listening to their silliness and exasperated by their petty quarrels?"

"But I think of what their lives were like and what they would be like without your efforts and those of his lordship and Mrs. Harrison," she said, "and I could hug them all until their bones break."

"Impossible!" He chuckled. "You are just a little bird, Amy. You would not have the strength to crack a single bone."

"I have always hated even thinking of the poor," she said. "Their plight has always seemed so hopeless, the problem too vast. And I could cry even now when I think of all the thousands of children who might be with us here but are not. But there are twenty very happy children here, Spencer, and that is better than nothing."

"You like children," he said, patting her hand. "I have watched you today talking with them. That is sometimes the most neglected part of our job. There is always so much to do and so much talking to be done to them as a group. I do not always find as much time as I would like to talk with them individually."

"They have such fascinating stories to tell," she said.

He looked down at her. "And all of them quite unfit for a lady's ears, I have no doubt," he said. "I should not have encouraged you to spend a day with us."

"A lady's ears are altogether underused," she said, provoking another chuckle from him. "Perhaps we should be told more of these stories by our governesses or at school

and spend a little less time dancing or sketching or learning how to converse in polite society."

"My dear Amy," he said, patting her hand again, "we will be making a radical out of you and scandalizing your family."

"Is caring about children being radical?" she asked.

“When the children are from the slums of London, yes,'' he said.

"Well then," she said briskly, "I must be a radical."

"All in one tiny little package," he said. "But of course," he added, grinning at her when she looked up at him, "diamonds are small too and pearls and rubies and other precious gems."

“Flatterer!'' she said. She looked back over her shoulder suddenly. "Where are Judith and Lord Denbigh?"

"Lagging a significant distance behind," he said. "I have been in the habit of thinking that Max is as confirmed a bachelor as I have always been. It seems I have been wrong. It is intriguing, though, that Mrs. Easton is the lady who was once betrothed to him. Most intriguing."

"Judith will not have it that he is trying to fix his interest with her," Amy said. "But it is as plain as the nose on her face, and has been since we were in London. I am glad you have noticed it too. I was sure I was not imagining things.''

"And what will you do if she remarries?" he asked.

She was silent for a while. "I have my parents' home to go back to," she said.

"You do not sound enthusiastic about the prospect," he said.

"I will think of it when the time comes," she said.

"A wise thought," he said, curling his fingers about hers as they rested on his arm.

Chapter 11

It did not feel particularly cold. There was no wind and the sky was clear and star-studded. They strolled rather than walked, by tacit consent letting everyone else outstrip them before they were even halfway home.

"Aunt Edith and Mrs. Webber will see to it that your son is put to bed," he said. "He will probably not even wake up."

"They very rarely have late nights," she said, "and the past two days have been unusually active and exciting ones for them."

They strolled on in silence.

"It is Christmas Day," she said. "It always feels quite different from any other day, does it not?"

"Yes." He breathed in deeply. "Even when one cannot smell the goose and the mince pies and the pudding. Happy Christmas, Judith."

"Happy Christmas, my lord," she said.

"Still not Max?" he asked.

She said nothing.