It was a glorious late September day, and Cally was sprawled in a chaise upon the lawns leading to the garden. She was one of those rare creatures that pregnancy did not become. Her alabaster skin had grown sallow. Her raven's-wing-black hair was lackluster. Her face and hands were puffy, and unless she remained reclining for a good part of the day, her feet had a tendency to swell. Worse, with almost three more months until she delivered, her belly was quite distended.

Restlessly, her fingers plucked at a small tray of sugar comfits, discarding one, then another, and finally popping the third choice into her mouth. Her hazel eyes narrowed as she watched her sister playing tennis with Justin St. John. Aurora looked absolutely beautiful in the simple Indian calico print gown. It was really a house dress, but equally suitable to such a rough-and-tumble game as tennis. When had Aurora's waist been so supple and slender as it was now? For a brief moment Cally hated her, and then she felt guilty.

Aurora had been so patient and kind all the summer long, and Cally was not so big a fool that she didn't realize it. Still, she found it irritating to watch her sister having such a good time when she could not. Not that it was the sort of good time Cally was truly envious of, for it was not. And the beaus! There had been any number of them Aurora had flirted with and then discarded. But those young men she refused always remained to become her friends. Cally didn't understand it. One thing remained constant, however. Justin St. John. He was not discarded, and Cally doubted he would have gone if he had been. It was becoming very obvious that he intended to make Aurora his wife.

Cally didn't blame her sister for playing the field, for taking her time, for holding back before agreeing to marriage. If only I had really known what was involved in being married, Cally thought, I should not have been so quick to jump. If I hadn't, it would be Aurora who would be lying here, her belly all blown up, while I flirted with all the gentlemen. But then, of course, I shouldn't be a duchess, Cally considered. Still, she was beginning to wonder if it was really worth it just to be the Duchess of Farminster. In retrospect, all she had needed was a rich, doting husband who would let her live in London and become one of its celebrated hostesses. A rich old husband. A man with grown, or half-grown children who would not make unpleasant demands upon her person, but would be satisfied that she was young, and beautiful, and desired by all his friends, who would, of course, envy him his young and beautiful wife. It would be easy to love a man like that, Cally decided. If only she hadn't listened to Aurora. Aurora was really to blame for all of this nastiness.

Cally's eyes narrowed again. Aurora would be sorry soon enough. Justin St. John looked to be very much the same sort of animal that her own husband was. He would make demands upon Aurora, and Aurora would surely suffer, hopefully, even more than Cally had. And, Cally knew, St. John would not take Aurora to London. He would keep her down here in the country, giving her child after child until her beauty was ruined. And I shall be up in London having a wonderful time, Cally thought. Yes! I shall have my revenge eventually. And St. John didn't even have a title! He was simply a wealthy man with good if nebulous connections to the Hawkesworth family, or so Aurora said.

"Are you all right?" the dowager asked as Calandra suddenly winced in pain. The old lady was seated next to the young duchess, acting her usual role of chaperon.

"The little beast just moved again," Cally said. "I hate it when it does that. Fortunately, it is not too often. I feel as if I had swallowed a roast boar whole, ma'am."

"Being enceinte can be uncomfortable at times," the dowager sympathized, although frankly she was sick and tired of Cally's complaints. All the little wretch did was whine, and she was openly counting the days till she could leave Hawkes Hill and return to London. Valerian had made no bones about the fact that when his wife recovered from her childbirth, she could depart. Farminster House would be put at her disposal, along with a suitable staff. She would have an allowance, which hopefully she would live within, and unless the child was a girl, she would not have to return to Hawkes Hill unless she desired to come. A wet nurse was already engaged to feed the baby.

Aurora ran up and flung herself on the grass. She was flushed and laughing. "You really are a poor loser, St. John," she mocked.

Justin St. John sat down beside her. "No girl should play tennis like that, Aurora. You play like a boy."

"If I were, would you expect me to let you win?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I turn to you for a judgment in this case," he said to the dowager duchess.

"No! No! St. John, you will not get me to take sides in this matter," Mary Rose Hawkesworth chuckled. "You were beaten fair and square. Your backhand is deplorable. Why, I vow that I could have beaten you myself had I been of a mind to play."

He clapped his hand over his chest, a pained expression upon his face. "Ma'am, you have wounded me grievously," he declared.

The dowager rapped his shoulder sharply with her fan. "You are not that delicate a flower, St. John," she scolded him. "Will you stay for supper? Valerian should be back from the mills shortly."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said. "I should like that."

"Cally, will you join us too?" Aurora asked.

Cally shook her head. "I am not comfortable sitting straight up any longer," she complained. "You have no idea, sister, how discomforting a thing it is to carry an unborn child within your own body."

Aurora patted the sticky-fingered hand that lay upon Cally's skirts. "Would you like it if I rubbed your shoulders and feet for you later tonight before you go to sleep?" she inquired solicitously.

"Ohhh, would you?" Cally smiled. "That would be so nice. You are the only one in this whole house who understands how miserable I am, sister. Thank God I have you, else I should die of loneliness."

Mary Rose Hawkesworth bit her tongue to prevent a pithy retort. The entire household had been turned upside down to ensure Calandra's comfort and satisfy her every ridiculous whim. And she positively abused Aurora's kindness, although Aurora never complained. If I remain here another minute, the dowager thought, I shall say something quite cutting. She arose from her chair. "It has become a bit cool for me," she lied. "I think I shall go inside, my dears. Please remain and enjoy yourselves. Perhaps I shall take a nap."

She walked slowly across the lawns to calm herself, but she was still angry at Calandra's selfishness, and knew she could not nap. Entering the house, she decided to walk in the picture gallery. Viewing the family portraits, seeing the faces of those who had come before her, remembering the family history, was always enjoyable. She must bring Aurora here one day soon, if she could get her away from Calandra. Aurora had so very much enjoyed reading the history of the family. She would certainly enjoy putting faces to the names in the book.

It was a long gallery that had been added to the house several hundred years earlier. It had been created from a windowed hallway that originally connected one wing of the house to another. Tall windows ran along one side of the gallery. They faced southwest. The wall opposite was paneled in warm wood. The wide-board floors were well polished and laid with beautiful Turkey carpets of red and blue. Afternoon sunlight now flooded the room displaying the portraits at their very best. Mary Rose Hawkesworth smiled as she entered the gallery.

There was her late husband, looking dashing, and quite handsome. There was their son, Charles, and his sweet wife, Henrietta. There were even separate portraits of Valerian, and his sister, Sophia, as children. The dowager moved deliberately, looking at each face of each lord and lady represented. Here now was the First Duke of Farminster, his wife, and his children. There were his parents, the last earl and countess, and their children. The daughters, the first duke's sisters, were lovely young women. She smiled back at the portraits, and then, suddenly, the Dowager Duchess of Farminster gasped. Unbelieving, she peered at the name plate upon the portrait. It read: Catherine hawkesworth kimberly, 3 may 1630-28 October 1700. The young woman in the portrait was the girl who had been married to the Kimberly who had been given St. Timothy by King Charles II. And she was Aurora's image!

That is why Aurora has seemed so familiar to me, the dowager realized. How many times have I seen this portrait in passing over the years? She looked at the painting next to Catherine Hawkesworth Kimberly. It was of Anne Hawkesworth Meredith, who looked very much like her elder sister. What can it mean? Dear God, what can it mean, the dowager thought. But she already knew what it meant. Valerian was married to the wrong girl, and she could not, at least not now, tell him the truth. If it was the truth. But she knew it was. Who could confirm it for her? Aurora's servant, Martha. She would tell the dowager the truth, if pressed, and she would not allow her young mistress to be hurt. Mary Rose Hawkesworth hurried from the portrait gallery, and going to her bedroom, she sent her maid, Jane, to fetch Martha, ascertaining first that Aurora was still outdoors.

"Yes, my lady, you sent for me?" Martha stood politely before the dowager, curtsying.

"You may leave us, Jane," the dowager said quietly. "Please keep watch as I have asked, and let me know the moment Miss Aurora comes into the house."