The soles of her shoes echoed on the wooden floor as they were led along a wide corridor to the left, passing a large formal dining room, and they were about to enter the main salon at the end when Julia caught sight of a library on the right side of the corridor. Mr. Douglas paused and spoke to someone within.

“Kit, here are Lewis Maitland and his two daughters.” And he led the way into the room. The library was large and lined with tall bookshelves on every side, which were full of volumes from floor to ceiling.

Sitting at a table on the far side of the room was a young man with dark hair who looked up as they came in. He laid down his pen on a list that he had been writing and, rising from his seat, came forward to meet them, limping slightly. His clear green eyes met Julia’s grey ones as their host made the introductions.

“Mr. Lewis Maitland, Miss Maitland, Miss Sophie, this is my son Kit Douglas,” and to his son, he continued, “Miss Maitland, I am told, is very fond of books.”

Turning to Julia, he added, “Is that not so?”

“Yes, sir—what a well-stocked library! Perhaps I might be allowed to have a look at some of the books later on? It’s true, I am fond of reading.”

“But of course,” said Mr. Douglas, looking at his son who, after a slight pause, said, “Miss Maitland, would you like to look at the list of our latest acquisitions now?”

“Oh, I should love to do that. Would you excuse me, Mr. Douglas, for a short while?”

“But of course, my dear. I rarely look at a book, being much more of a practical man myself. The library here was created by my wife, who brought some of the books from her family’s home. And our son Kit here has continued her interest.”

Behind them, Sophie fidgeted at the delay. Noticing this, her host said to Julia, “Lewis and I will take your sister into the drawing room for some light refreshments before you both go riding.”

And he led his other guests out through the panelled double doors towards the corridor, leaving Julia with Kit Douglas.

“Miss Maitland, if you will come to the table, you can look at my list of books and choose some volumes to see.”

Julia crossed the room and sat down on a chair that he had pulled forward next to him. There were several sheets of paper filled with neat writing, which he explained listed the titles and authors of a pile of books on the far side of the table.

“These are some volumes that I purchased on the Continent, before I came home. Which ones will you choose?”

Kit Douglas handed the sheets to her and she looked through them quickly. Then she pointed at three books on the list.

“You have unusual tastes in literature, Miss Maitland.”

She looked at him rather warily, and then caught a hint of humour in his expression, so she said, “My father has always encouraged me to read widely. You consider that inappropriate for a young lady?”

This time he smiled quite broadly. “If I had any sisters, Miss Maitland, I’m sure that they should have access to the same range of volumes as I do.”

He chose the books that she had indicated from the pile and handed them to her. “I purchased two of these whilst I was in Spain, for my regiment was quartered in an old town where there was a very interesting bookshop.”

“Oh, have you been to the Peninsula? Did you meet my brother David there?”

“No, I did not have that pleasure. My father said that he was in the same regiment as the Brandon brothers.”

His manner seemed to her to be rather serious, but that was more to Julia’s liking than the brasher style of many young men.

“You, too, like books very much? Are these all from the Continent?”

“Yes, all those here on the side table—but we have many others on the shelves, as you can see.”

Julia looked quickly through two of the books, conscious of being scrutinised with a clear gaze. When she came to the last volume, the smallest one, she opened it carefully, and then cried out with delight. For it was a Book of Hours, bound in pale brown leather and beautifully illustrated with pictures in many colours highlighted with gold leaf, and with the text written in Latin on cream-colored calfskin.

“So you like La Passerelle?” he said.

“Oh yes, very much. Is that the French title?”

He took the book and opened it towards the end of the volume.

“Not the title—perhaps you would call it a nickname. If you look at this picture, can you see that there is a bridge, reaching across to the next world? See how the artist has coloured the details of the bridge very carefully, using extra detail in gold leaf as it reaches towards heaven?”

“Oh, of course—bridge, gangway—that is la passerelle in French!”

“Yes, exactly right. I came across the book by chance, and I had to buy it.”

She smiled at him. “I can quite understand why.”

He hesitated, and then said, “I purchased it as a gift, but I was unable to deliver the book to the person for whom it was intended.”

There was something in his manner that prevented her from asking more. In any case, it was none of her business.

He coughed politely, and Julia remembered where she was.

“Perhaps we should join the others in the salon now, Miss Maitland. Otherwise, you may not have time for any refreshments before our ride. I hope that you will allow me to accompany you and your sister?”

She inclined her head without speaking, and followed him along the corridor to where her father was sitting with Mr. Douglas and Sophie in the salon, eating some small cakes with a glass of cordial.

“Please excuse the delay, Mr. Douglas, it was entirely my fault,” said Julia, as she sat down to join them.

“Not at all, my dear, I am pleased that you enjoyed yourself,” said her host.

Before they could make any more conversation, there was a commotion at the other end of the corridor, and a thick-set young man of middle height, wearing riding boots and carrying a whip in his hand, came rushing into the room, followed by the groom.

He came up to Sophie, who was sitting next to Mr. Douglas, and said, “I’m here now, Father. Are you Miss Maitland? I hope that you are ready?”

“Jack!” exclaimed his father, but Sophie, unabashed, said, “No, I am Sophie Maitland. That is my elder sister, Julia, over there, with your brother.”

Harry Douglas interrupted them. “Here you are at last, Jack! Introduce yourself properly to our guests, for goodness’ sake. You should have been at the front door some twenty minutes ago to greet them.”

Julia was surprised at his impatience, for she had persuaded herself in advance of the visit that Jack, as the elder son, would be his father’s favourite. But the tone of voice Harry Douglas had just employed was very much more demanding than that he had used a few minutes earlier to his younger son.

Jack Douglas had his father’s broad frame and red face, his loud voice and his rather rough way of speaking. His style of dress was untidy, his fair hair unruly, and his hands large. By comparison, his younger brother was nearly a head taller, and his clothes, though not in the very latest fashion, were neat and well kept, his complexion tanned by the sun, and his wavy dark hair carefully combed.

Sophie was not going to be deterred much longer from her purpose. “Papa, Papa, may I go and put on my boots now—please let me—then we can go riding? Please!”

Sensing the inevitable, her father smiled wearily at Julia, and he and Sophie left the room with Jack Douglas. His brother, Kit, excused himself and went after them with the groom, leaving Julia in the library with his father.

Before she could follow, Mr. Douglas said in a quieter voice, “Miss Maitland? Your father, Lewis, how is he? I had heard that his heart had been troubling him again. He looks rather worn. That concerns me very much.”

“It’s true that he is still not well, sir, and he worries so about the future for all of us, now that the estate will go to our cousin after him.”

Julia might have hesitated, but his kind manner encouraged her to continue. “It is very kind of you to try to help by introducing me to Jack, though it seems that I may need to compete with Sophie for his attention!”

“Jack is twenty-seven years old now but, unless he acquires more gentlemanly manners, he may never be what I had hoped. My sons are very different and it is Kit who takes after my late wife. She was always quietly considerate of others.”

As he spoke, he looked up at the portrait hanging on the wall of a tall dark-haired woman who bore a strong resemblance to his younger son.

“As the owner of Norton Place, I have a local living here where I control the choice of the new curate, but Kit was never interested in entering the church, so I encouraged him to join the regiment, and he did very well. I had purchased him a commission in the Hussars, and then he was off to Spain. But all too soon he was wounded in an engagement with the French and, before he came home, my wife died suddenly.”

Mr. Douglas paused and blew his nose loudly on a large spotted handkerchief.

“Your family’s loss in the next battle was much greater than ours, but both young men were unlucky, for in each case the army had won a great victory—celebrated, of course, by those officers and men who survived.”

“You are right, sir, for Dominic Brandon returned with the sad news of my brother’s death in the war with Napoléon.”

“Yes. But for your father, for that to be followed so soon by his losses because of the bank failing in Derby, it was such bad timing.” And he patted her shoulder in a fatherly way.